I tore through this domestic thriller from 1958, when being a wife and mother was seen as a woman’s highest calling. Fremlin’s depiction of one exhausted mother of three is so vivid and her slow unraveling so compelling, that even though this has never been my experience, I very much wanted to see how Louise would get herself back to reality. The family’s new lodger—taken in to offset the costs of the new baby, Michael—seems at first to fit right in to the family, but her subtly odd behavior gradually makes Louise worry. She begins to suspect Vera Brandon has some ulterior motive for taking the room and spending so much time with her husband. Is Louise losing her perspective from lack of sleep, or is she sensing something real? Her nosy neighbors, her bickering daughters, and her absent husband all exacerbate Louise’s claustrophobia and her isolation, and they also point to the dark side of mothering in the 1950s. A very skillfully written book with a surprising ending.