Sarah Moss’s latest offering, Ripeness, arrives as her most ambitious and emotionally complex work to date. Following the success of Summerwater and Ghost Wall, Moss demonstrates her continued mastery of psychological realism while venturing into new territory—the intergenerational consequences of family secrets and the shifting nature of belonging in modern Ireland and beyond.
Set across two time periods, Ripeness by Sarah Moss weaves together the story of seventeen-year-old Edith in 1960s Italy, tasked with shepherding her ballet dancer sister Lydia through a clandestine pregnancy, and present-day Edith, now seventy-three and contentedly divorced, living in rural Ireland. When her friend Méabh receives an unexpected call from an American man claiming to be her long-lost brother, both women must confront how the past continues to shape the present in ways both profound and unexpected.
The Architecture of Memory and Narrative
Moss constructs her narrative with the precision of a master craftsperson, alternating between past and present in a way that feels organic rather than merely structural. The 1960s sections, told in first person from young Edith’s perspective, crackle with the immediacy of lived experience. Moss captures the particular vulnerability of being seventeen and responsible for matters far beyond one’s understanding, while the present-day sections, narrated in third person, offer the reflective distance of age and experience.
The prose itself mirrors this temporal duality. In the Italian sequences, Moss employs the slightly breathless, observant voice of an intelligent teenager suddenly thrust into adult complexities. The writing here has an almost tactile quality—we feel the cold marble of the villa, taste the ripeness of fruit plucked from trees, sense the weight of the unnamed baby in Edith’s arms. The contemporary Irish scenes, by contrast, flow with the measured cadence of someone who has learned to live with uncertainty and make peace with the past’s irrevocable nature.
What elevates Ripeness above mere literary fiction is Sarah Moss’s unflinching examination of how women’s bodies and choices have been controlled across generations. The central narrative—Lydia’s forced separation from her infant son—serves as a focal point for broader themes about agency, shame, and the ways societies have historically managed “inconvenient” pregnancies.
Characters as Vessels of Historical Truth
Edith emerges as one of the most compelling protagonists in recent literary fiction. Her transformation from earnest teenager to self-possessed older woman feels entirely authentic, shaped by the specific traumas and revelations of that pivotal summer in Italy. Moss skillfully avoids the trap of making her either entirely innocent or prematurely wise; instead, she presents a young woman doing her best with impossible circumstances.
Lydia, despite being largely absent from the present-day narrative, haunts the novel with vivid presence. Moss refuses to sentimentalize her—she’s difficult, talented, self-centered, and ultimately tragic. The ballet dancer’s rejection of her infant son reads as both heartbreaking and pragmatic, a choice that speaks to the limited options available to unmarried mothers in 1960s Europe.
The contemporary characters—particularly Méabh—provide crucial counterpoint to the historical narrative. Méabh’s discovery of her unknown half-brother forces a reckoning with her family’s hidden history, echoing themes about the long reach of secrets and the complex nature of identity. The character of Henry, the American brother, is handled with particular sensitivity; Moss avoids making him either savior or intruder, instead presenting him as another person trying to understand where he comes from.
Ireland as Character and Commentary
Moss’s depiction of contemporary rural Ireland deserves particular praise. Having moved to Ireland herself, the author brings an outsider’s perspective that nevertheless feels deeply informed and respectful. The landscape becomes almost a character in its own right—the limestone pavements of the Burren, the changeable Atlantic weather, the small-town dynamics where everyone knows everyone else’s business.
The portrayal of Irish attitudes toward immigrants and refugees adds contemporary urgency to the novel’s exploration of belonging. Through Edith’s observations of Ukrainian refugees and attitudes toward asylum seekers, Moss draws subtle parallels between different forms of displacement and the often arbitrary nature of who is welcomed and who is turned away.
Strengths That Elevate the Work
The novel’s greatest strength lies in its emotional honesty. Moss doesn’t provide easy answers or neat resolutions. The baby given away in Italy remains lost to his birth family; Méabh’s relationship with her newfound brother remains tentative and complex. This refusal to tie up loose ends feels true to life’s essential messiness.
The writing itself is consistently excellent, with passages that linger in memory long after reading. Moss has a particular gift for capturing the physical sensations of emotional states—the weight of a baby against one’s chest, the ache of standing too long on cold stone floors, the relief of swimming in cold Atlantic water.
The historical research is impeccable without being showy. The 1960s Italian setting feels authentic in its details, from the social restrictions placed on women to the specific challenges of international adoption. Similarly, the contemporary Irish setting rings true in its portrayal of both the warmth and insularity of rural communities.
Areas for Critical Consideration
While Ripeness by Sarah Moss succeeds on multiple levels, it occasionally struggles under the weight of its ambitions. The parallel between the 1960s forced adoption and the contemporary refugee crisis, while thematically coherent, sometimes feels somewhat heavy-handed in its execution. Moss’s political sympathies are clear, and while they align with many readers’ sensibilities, the novel occasionally tips toward preaching rather than dramatizing.
The pacing, particularly in the present-day sections, sometimes slackens as Moss explores the minutiae of daily life in rural Ireland. While these details contribute to the novel’s overall atmosphere, they occasionally feel excessive, particularly when contrasted with the taut urgency of the historical narrative.
Some readers may find the novel’s structure demanding. The shifts between time periods and perspectives require active engagement, and the complex family histories—both revealed and concealed—can be challenging to track. This isn’t necessarily a flaw, but it does make Ripeness a novel that rewards careful reading rather than casual consumption.
Literary Context and Comparisons
Ripeness by Sarah Moss stands alongside other recent novels exploring the long-term consequences of institutional control over women’s reproductive choices, such as Claire Keegan’s Small Things Like These and Tara Westover’s Educated. Like these works, Moss’s novel demonstrates how personal trauma and societal oppression intersect in ways that reverberate across generations.
The novel also belongs to the growing body of literature examining immigration and belonging in contemporary Ireland, joining works like Colum McCann’s Let the Great World Spin and Nicole Flattery’s Show Them a Good Time in exploring how identity and place intersect in complex ways.
Moss’s previous works, including Summerwater and Ghost Wall, established her as a writer particularly skilled at examining the psychology of families under pressure. Ripeness extends this interest while adding historical depth and broader social commentary.
Final Assessment: A Novel Worth Its Weight
Ripeness by Sarah Moss succeeds as both intimate family drama and broader social commentary. Moss has created a work that honors the complexity of human experience while never losing sight of the specific, lived details that make fiction compelling. The novel’s exploration of how secrets shape families across generations feels both timely and timeless.
While not without its minor flaws—occasional heavy-handedness in its political messaging and some pacing issues—Ripeness represents a significant achievement. It’s a novel that grows in the mind after reading, its themes and images continuing to resonate and deepen. Like the fruit of its title, it reveals new layers of sweetness and complexity with time.
For readers who appreciate literary fiction that grapples with serious social issues without sacrificing narrative complexity or emotional depth, Ripeness offers rich rewards. It confirms Moss’s position as one of the most thoughtful and accomplished writers working today.
Similar Books Worth Reading
For readers who appreciated Ripeness by Sarah Moss, consider these complementary works:
- Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan – A powerful novella about Ireland’s Magdalene laundries
- The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett – Explores family secrets and identity across generations
- Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell – Historical fiction examining grief and family dynamics
- Transcendent Kingdom by Yaa Gyasi – Immigration, family, and the weight of the past
- The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida by Shehan Karunatilaka – Complex family histories and political upheaval
- Normal People by Sally Rooney – for its nuanced portrayal of Irish social dynamics
A thoughtful, well-crafted novel that succeeds in its ambitious scope while maintaining emotional authenticity throughout.
