She used to be a career artist. She used to have ambition. She used to be and have and do many things. Now, she is just Mother. Her days revolve around her two-year-old son, who she cares for singlehandedly while her husband travels 5 days a week for work. She loves her son, but her experience of staying home with him has been less than ideal. And now, she has a patch of fur growing on the back of her neck. And maybe a tail, that maybe wags. And sharp teeth. And she can't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she's turning into a dog?

As Mother's transformation progresses from day to day, she finds it more and more difficult to adhere to conventional motherhood when this new unpredictable, undeniably canine version continues to beckon. The more her husband worries about these changes, the more she starts to feel like herself . . . 

Nightbitch was published in 2021, and was adapted into a feature film starring Amy Adams that released in 2024. 

I stared at this book in my Kindle library for years. While I knew I'd enjoy the story from the description alone, I was worried about what mental sludge it might dredge up. As much as I love speculative literary fiction and anything designed to activate feminist rage, I wasn't interested in dwelling on my own postpartum days (months, years) at all. I shouldn't have worried—while the story was just as gruesome as anticipated, the familiar taste offered me nothing but relief.

Just a few hours after birthing my first child, I stood unclothed before the mirror in the hospital room's ensuite bathroom and ran my fingers over my face, my midsection, my hips, my arms and legs. I was desperate to find something I recognized as myself, because the reflected image felt like an alien doppelganger. I barely slept that night, or any night for the next several months, as I found myself at the beck and call of a tiny human who I loved dearly, but who seemed to hold me in contempt for having introduced her to existence. It wasn't until a few years later that I realized I'd experienced severe postpartum anxiety and depression, and that this rather extreme-feeling dissociative state was likely my brain's way of protecting me. All this is to say, the idea of that protection manifesting as a canine transformation wasn't much of a leap. 

While I recommend anyone who has concerns to review the main list of trigger/content warnings, I can't sing the praises of Nightbitch loudly enough. If you've ever found yourself wondering what it's like to be a mother or a caregiving parent, this book does an excellent job of catching the emotional memory of feeling overwhelmed, spent, and running on id fumes.