this was fine. i usually struggle with pandemic narratives and this relied heavily on the context of the COVID-19 pandemic. the mystery itself never really had me on the edge of my seat, though, which was what i had expected from a book like this — so i ended up feeling a little dissatisfied, i suppose.

this book was okay, but could have been better. I do love a good mother daughter story and seeing their growth, their downfalls, and love and guilt and emotions are great. This book was still a bit hard to get through. there were too many dull moments and made it difficult to read at points

Thank you to NetGalley, to the author, and to the publisher for this complimentary ARC in exchange for my honest review!!!

there is so much that i appreciated about this book, especially as a parent to a young child. donatella through lucia’s character as well as rubina’s, has managed to capture the pain of a child growing up and away from a parent. her conversation with rubina in which rubina reflects on the fact that she may only see her son so many times again in her life hit me in my heart. not only because it’s painful to imagine this separation that we know will inevitably come, yet we resist believing will come. but also because it’s painful to imagine this separation occurring due to an unanticipated new character in your child’s life (i.e. a lover, an assaulter, a move away to a city, etc.)

i was so hopeful as this book began, as i loved the writing and the ideas. unfortunately i found myself disappointed by how confusing it was, particularly after the first few chapters when she starts mixing in reflections on her daughter in the present, apparent memories of her daughter a few years back, then suddenly we are at her choir class that we didn’t know she was in, then she is reflecting on a little girl struggling to walk and we can’t tell if it’s a memory of her daughter? then it seems she’s somehow a physical therapist or something? the point being it’s too often unclear who or when we are talking about.

potentially this is a result of a poorly executed translation, though i find ann goldstein to be such an incredible translator so that feels unlikely.

having said all this, i did not find many reviews addressing this particular issue that i experienced so perhaps this was merely my distracted life that caused me to miss details.

my only other observation was that indeed as many of the reviews acknowledge there is a bit of a elena ferrante narrative underpinning all of donatella’s books (among others) and while i love this when it works, it can lead one to expect a particular level of clarity in plot/character development that elena is so capable of. elena’’s ability to specify the character’s name so often could be seen as tiresome to a new reader of her work but after reading books like this one, you realize how crucial that is to understanding where we are at in a story and who is involved.

again i am mostly dissapointed as i truly love what this book is touching in, it feels incredibly real and relatable and it’s wonderful to have these ideas explored by women who are such talented writers and thinkers, like donatella clearly is. i perhaps just wish her editors had helped her clarify the story she was trying to explore a bit more..

Set in the rugged landscape of Central Italy’s Maiella mountains, The Brittle Age follows Lucia—a physiotherapist navigating a separation and adjusting to life with her daughter Amanda, who’s returned home from Milan during the pandemic. When Amanda’s return stirs up memories of a brutal double murder and attempted third, of which Lucia’s friend was the only survivor decades earlier, the novel weaves a quiet exploration of trauma, motherhood, and the shadows of a violent past. Inspired by real events, it aims to reflect on the way personal and collective histories imprint themselves on individual lives.

There are parts of this novel that I really did appreciate. The writing is smooth and accessible, and the shifting timeline—particularly the way it touches on past events—adds an emotional undercurrent that occasionally sparked something deeper. The most powerful element, for me, was the portrayal of the mother-daughter dynamic. Reading from the perspective of a mother reckoning with her past, her decisions, and her own daughter’s pain was unexpectedly moving. As someone who gave my parents a hard time growing up, this perspective made me reflect on things I hadn’t considered before.

But despite the emotional potential, the overall execution didn’t quite work for me. The pacing was a real struggle—the first half felt overly drawn out, often repetitive, and too heavy with introspection without enough narrative movement to balance it. And then, when the novel finally delves into the past and the crime that defined Lucia’s youth, it sped up so quickly that the emotional and thematic depth I’d been hoping for got lost in the rush. I admire quiet, character-driven stories (I do love the Neapolitan series, after all), but this one felt like it lingered too long where it didn’t need to—and rushed where it truly mattered.

I admire what the author was trying to do here, and I think readers who love slow-burning, meditative portraits of motherhood and mortality may connect with it more than I did. But I personally wanted more exploration, more emotional growth, and a more even narrative rhythm to anchor me in the story.

Thank you to NetGalley and Europa Editions for the advanced copy in exchange for an honest review.