Posts about living in, understanding, and finding the best of mavenhood.
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Reading The Book Club for Troublesome Women by Marie Bostwick from the perspective of an adult woman in 2026 was fun. Some of the expectations placed on women in the 1960s feel almost impossible to imagine today, and others aren’t nearly as far behind us as we’d like them to be.
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The novel centers on four women, each in a different marriage and with varying levels of satisfaction with the lives they’re living. Their conversations begin with literature and segue into questions they’re afraid to ask out loud. Over time, a neighborhood book club becomes a genuine friend group, supporting one another through multiple waves of challenges.
One recurring detail in the novel is a chore calendar that hangs on the refrigerator in each woman’s home, listing the days and times for everything from grocery shopping to vacuuming the curtains. While this seems absurd by current standards, in a pre-internet, pre-cell-phone world, this was a near-guaranteed way to run into your friends or foes. If grocery shopping in the same aisle was a good way to stay connected, it may very well have been welcome. This detail was a clear reminder of how narrowly many women’s lives were expected to unfold.
There are pieces of Viv’s, Bitsy’s, and Margaret’s stories that speak to the decisions we make about our personal, professional, and romantic lives, and who we want to be in each. Each of these women was admirable in her willingness to ask questions that probably weren’t socially safe to ask, or maybe weren’t answered very often in the 1960s. Going back to work, claiming a professional identity, and protecting time for personal work weren’t as common in this time period. Balancing their interests and desires with a mix of spoken and unspoken expectations added pressure, guilt, and a layer of complexity we’ve only partially shed in the last 50-plus years.
The standout, and most mavenhood in spirit, was Charlotte, who stepped out and built something of her own. Opening an art gallery wasn’t just a career choice. It became a place where artists, ideas, friendships, and possibilities intersected. She didn’t continue waiting for life to happen to her; she created a physical and emotional space where other people’s lives could expand alongside her own.
The Book Club for Troublesome Women proved an excellent choice for discussion in our 2026 book club because every woman came away with a different question. Whether our attention settled on Charlotte, Viv, Bitsy, Margaret, 1960s etiquette, or another aspect of the book, we closed it with a different set of questions than the ones we had when we opened it.
Some of the best conversational threads it inspired had very little to do with the plot. What qualifies as abuse today that wasn’t considered abusive in the 1960s? Which barriers to a woman’s success still exist? Are friendships with women more important than a romantic relationship? Those aren’t questions the novel asks or answers outright, and they’re only a few examples of what it invites us to consider. Your questions will be different. That’s the point. That’s exactly the kind of trouble we like
Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke was published in April, 2026, and has already become a runaway hit. The book generated significant buzz before publication, and library waitlists have grown so long that the earliest availability in some formats stretches into 2027.
Depending on the reader, the book is deep or not so deep, with flawed characters that feel familiar or completely unrealistic. Even without giving away any plot twists, there’s plenty to unpack in this story.
The novel centers on a young woman named Natalie and her life on a farm called Yesteryear. Natalie’s inner dialogue forms the backbone of the story, and she isn’t naturally kind, good, or any of the other qualities we often like to assign to a protagonist. Her internal voice and public persona are frequently at odds. More than once, she reminds herself to behave better by asking what her carefully curated online alter ego, “Online Natalie,” would do.
The first story upset comes when we find Natalie confused and disoriented, living in an earlier, shabbier timeline than the one she’s comfortable in. Or perhaps coddled is the more appropriate word.
As we get into the book, we’re not quite sure if the ramshackle version of Yesteryear is a fever dream, a television show, or some kind of elaborate practical joke, and readers can choose to focus on whichever explanation seems most likely. For me, this was important, but secondary.
The clear, honest, and often mean-spirited inner dialogue of an unabashed climber was far more interesting. Natalie is smart, sharp, and quick. It is never entirely clear where these traits came from, as nearly everyone around her seems content with, well, less. Less ambition, less curiosity, or any real interest in something beyond the life already mapped out for them.
What makes Natalie interesting is that in the real world, meaning in person rather than online, she doesn’t pretend to be any better than she is. Her flaws are on full display, and so are her ambitions. The more I thought about her, the more I questioned whether readers were reacting to her behavior or to her honesty about it. Many fictional characters possess the same flaws, and very few are willing to narrate them so openly.
We discussed the book in book club, and one common thread of conversation was how deeply unlikeable many readers found the characters. Words like vile, morally bankrupt, selfish, and lost came up more than once. What struck me was not the criticism itself, but where it was directed. Many of these same descriptors are often aimed at childless women. In this case, readers were applying them to a woman who presented herself as a devoted wife and mother.
I don’t support name-calling, even when the shoe fits. What interested me was how quickly readers reached for labels that are so often aimed at childless women. The discussion was a reminder that selfishness, ambition, confusion, and poor judgment belong to the human condition, not to any particular life choice.
I’ve been asking everyone: Would you want to live in another era? Which one, and who would you want to be while you’re there? In conversation, I sometimes limit the experience to a week, a month, or a year.
Here’s where Yesteryear really offers food for thought beyond the typical parameters of the storyline. Natalie’s mostly miserable inner dialogue during her time in a bygone era raises a question: Where would we be willing to sacrifice our modern conveniences to experience the moments in history we’re most drawn to?
Bathing keeps coming up somehow. It turns out many of us are fascinated by history right up until we’re asked to give up hot water. One person wanted to experience the decadence of Versailles alongside “Let them eat cake” Marie Antoinette, until the reality of 18th century hygiene entered the conversation. Midlife is definitely inclusive of beautifully scented oils and creams, hot showers, and nighttime routines.
The most surprising answer, or perhaps not, was how many women chose the era of Gertrude Stein. More than one person wanted to spend time in 1920s Paris with Stein, surrounded by the artists and writers who attended her evening salons. Henri Matisse, Pablo Picasso, Ernest Hemingway, and F. Scott Fitzgerald all made the guest list. It’s likely not a coincidence the most frequently chosen era was defined by a trailblazer who lived outside of conventional roles and was celebrated for it.
There are lots of reviews and discussions of Yesteryear out there already, but don’t let my focus on something beyond the storyline dissuade you from reading it. The book is well worth the time.
Caro Claire Burke is a strong writer, and nothing about this novel screamed debut. Read it for yourself. As our book club made clear, what you take from Yesteryear depends entirely on what you bring to it. That may be the most honest thing you can say about a book worth reading.
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