Wild Dark Shore

Wild Dark Shore by Charlotte McConaghy (2025) I start so many books and give up on them at some point—my time here is finite, and books are infinite. I have no rule, just go by feelings, if and when. So, I guess it says something about the compelling narrative here that I raced to the end while also intensely disliking it. I’ve rarely been so conflicted about a book! I’m wondering why, exactly. The reasons I don’t connect to a book could be its voice, or simply subject matter—and I rarely go in for stories about parenting, not to mention, romance, so there’s that. As far as reasons for, aftermath of, and dealing with trauma—that depends. The trauma here is so over-the-top as to almost feel like a parody—and I liked that! And then, I suppose an element that sometimes turns me against a book is when I’m feeling manipulated by the author. With this book, I think it had to do, in part, with the way information is withheld and doled out, and the “cliffhanger” style—but that’s something I often like—so I don’t know. Maybe I need to take responsibility for feeling manipulated, and put that on me. There certainly is a lot to love in this book. Remote island lighthouse outpost, natural history, botany, woodworking, intensely cold conditions, huge storms, grappling with climate change, fascinating characters, mystery, dead mothers (well, not that so much—though it did get me wondering again why every other book I read has the presence of a dead mother). I especially loved the description of the island, the plants, the seeds, the animals. It brought forth for me those difficult thoughts, like, why are we here, and how did what’s here get here, and is there any sense in it all, or plan. The usual stuff about God, I guess. Which then led to me thinking about when an author creates a world of characters who you (the reader) care about, and then puts them in motion, why do we sometimes accept it without question, and why do we sometimes feel like the author is treating us (the reader) unfairly, due to the fate of their characters? I’m guessing that most of the people who love this book don’t dwell on such questions, and maybe for me, it’s just a matter of not connecting. But it’s hard, too, when there is so much here that I really liked. I’ve rarely been so conflicted about a book.

2.19.26