Our Take

Wayward belongs to a small and valuable category of novels that are genuinely funny about things that are genuinely painful. Spiotta writes midlife female restlessness — the insomnia, the body, the slow erosion of a self that was always partly borrowed — with a wit and precision that makes the book feel like an act of recognition rather than observation. Samantha is not always sympathetic, but she is always real, and Spiotta never condescends to her or to the reader.

The novel's structure is loose and digressive in ways that feel intentional — mimicking the mental state of a woman who has stepped off the expected path and is not entirely sure where she is going. The Syracuse house functions less as a plot device than as an organizing metaphor: beautiful in its decay, full of potential that may or may not be realized, requiring more than anyone budgeted for. It is an extremely good metaphor, and Spiotta wears it lightly.

Readers who loved Rachel Cusk's Outline trilogy for its cool, probing examination of women's inner lives, or Jenny Offill's Dept. of Speculation for its fragmentary, funny take on marriage and selfhood, will find Wayward a richly satisfying companion. One of the more quietly radical novels about what women want — and what they're willing to risk to find out.