
18 Dec Die, My Love by Ariana Harwicz – Book Review
You know when you pick up a book and it feels like you’re strapping into a rollercoaster blindfolded? That was Die, My Love for me. I’d heard whispers about how intense and raw it was, but I wasn’t prepared for the sheer feral energy Ariana Harwicz packed into such a slim book. I read it curled up on the couch with my dog, who gave me side-eye every time I gasped or muttered, “Whoa,” under my breath.
This book reminded me a little of those days when life feels too much—when every sound, every conversation, every chore makes you want to scream into the void. I haven’t exactly had the narrator’s experience (thankfully!), but her frustrations with motherhood and feeling boxed in? Yeah, that hit home.
What’s it about?
Die, My Love is like peeking into someone’s brain when they’re on the brink of unraveling—and it’s wild. The story is set in rural France, where the unnamed narrator lives with her husband and baby. From the outside, it might seem idyllic: a quaint countryside, a cute baby, a partner who tries (and fails) to understand her. But inside? She’s suffocating.
The narrator wrestles with her roles as a wife and mother, which she seems to both crave and despise. She’s full of rage—at her husband, her child, the world—and it spills out in ways that are both terrifying and darkly poetic. There’s lust, violence, alienation, and this simmering question of whether she’s spiraling or whether the world is pushing her over the edge.
It’s not the kind of book that holds your hand or gives you neat answers. It’s messy, fragmented, and unrelenting—like the narrator herself. And honestly? That’s part of its brilliance.
What This Chick Thinks
I adored this book, but let me tell you, it’s not a cuddly read. Harwicz’s writing is sharp and jagged, like broken glass glinting in the sun. It cuts deep, but you can’t look away. The prose is almost stream-of-consciousness, with sentences that swirl and overlap, mimicking the chaos inside the narrator’s head. It reminded me a bit of Virginia Woolf, but Woolf with a raw, animalistic twist.
What I loved most was how visceral it felt. Harwicz doesn’t just tell you the narrator is angry or trapped—you feel it in your bones. There were moments I had to put the book down and just breathe. The intensity is relentless, but it’s also what makes the book so unforgettable.
That said, this isn’t a book for everyone. If you need a clear plot or characters who are easy to root for, Die, My Love might drive you up the wall. But if you’re into stories that explore the darker corners of the human experience, this is your jam.
I did find myself wanting just a little more context—why is the narrator so broken? But maybe that’s the point: sometimes there isn’t a clear reason, and that’s what makes it so terrifying.
Final Thoughts
If books were drinks, Die, My Love would be a shot of something strong and bitter—maybe tequila with a bite of lime. It’s not a book you sip and savor; it’s one you down in a rush, gasping as it burns on the way down. It’s intense, beautifully written, and uncomfortably real. Harwicz takes you into the abyss and makes you sit there, squirming, until you can’t look away.
Score: 9/10. A raw, haunting masterpiece that won’t be for everyone but hit me like a punch to the gut.
Try it if you like:
- The Vegetarian by Han Kang – For its dark, visceral exploration of a woman rebelling against societal expectations, with writing that’s just as haunting and spare.
- Blue Nights by Joan Didion – While less feral, Didion’s book captures the raw, unfiltered emotions of motherhood and loss in a way that feels just as personal and cutting.
- Dept. of Speculation by Jenny Offill – A fragmented, poetic dive into the inner life of a woman navigating marriage and motherhood, with a similar mix of beauty and brutality.
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