When Leah’s 3-week research trip to the ocean’s floor turns into 5 months of unexplained silence, Miri is stuck floating somewhere between grieving and hoping that Leah might still return. When the submarine does resurface, the Leah that comes home is changed, changing.

‘The problem isn’t that she went away, it’s that nothing about her going away felt normal. It isn’t that her being back is difficult, it’s that l’m not convinced she’s really back at all.’

When Leah returns, she is the ghost of herself and Miri is haunted by memories of what they’ve both lost beneath the waves. This is made even more poignant by Leah’s POV being relegated to the ocean floor, with Miri largely left to describe the beautiful relationship they had, and the aftermath of Leah’s return, alone. While under the ocean, Leah clutches hold of Miri, and thoughts of her wife tether her to the earth. In the final chapters as the craft begins to ascend, these thoughts seem to buoy them back to the surface. There’s a vagueness in whether or not Leah had any idea what would happen to her when she emerged, but it’s heartbreaking to imagine her accepting the inevitable and still making this journey home just to say goodbye – just to help Miri let her go.

I commented while reading that I was struggling to connect, and I’ve read other reviews that note a detachment or coldness to the novel. In retrospect, I think this is fully intentional. The rationalisation and the focus on function over emotion in both Leah and Miri’s POVs is a trauma response captured through narrative voice. It’s a tremendous show of skill from Armfield.

This drifting novel, poised as a blend of romance and horror, finds its depth in its expression of grief following traumatic, sudden loss. To me, Our Wives Under the Sea was a devastating reflection on the act of letting go, and especially the brutal, paradoxical inconceivability of trying to let go of someone who’s still beside you.

I adore Armfield’s writing and I'm so glad to have finally read her haunting debut novel.