In her debut novel “The Push,” Ashley Audrain delivers a chilling psychological thriller that peels back the veneer of maternal bliss to expose the raw, often terrifying underbelly of motherhood. This is not a cozy bedtime read—it’s a visceral exploration of what happens when a mother’s worst fears about her child might actually be true. Or are they?
The novel centers on Blythe Connor, a woman determined to break the cycle of troubled motherhood that plagued both her mother Cecilia and grandmother Etta. When her daughter Violet is born, Blythe’s hopes for maternal connection quickly dissolve into a disturbing suspicion that something is fundamentally wrong with her child. Is Violet truly disturbed, or is Blythe projecting her own traumatic lineage onto an innocent child? This central question propels the narrative with relentless tension, forcing readers to constantly reassess their assumptions.
The Architecture of Anxiety: Structure and Style
Audrain constructs her narrative with architectural precision, befitting a story where the protagonist’s husband Fox is, ironically, an architect. The short, fragmented chapters mirror Blythe’s increasingly fragmented mental state, while the second-person narration—Blythe addressing Fox directly—creates an unsettling intimacy:
“You slid your chair over and tapped my textbook with the end of your pencil and I stared at the page, hesitant to look up.”
This direct address positions readers as both voyeur and participant in this familial collapse. We’re simultaneously drawn in and held at a distance, much like Blythe feels with her own daughter.
Audrain’s prose is sparse yet evocative, with a rhythmic quality that sometimes approaches poetry in its intensity. The contrast between this devotion to her son Sam and her detachment from Violet creates a discomfiting portrait of maternal selectivity that few writers dare to explore.
Generational Hauntings: The Cycle of Maternal Trauma
What elevates “The Push” beyond a simple bad-seed story is Ashley Audrain’s careful exploration of family history. The novel weaves between timelines, connecting Blythe’s struggles to those of her mother Cecilia and grandmother Etta. These historical interludes create a textured psychological backdrop that complicates our understanding of Blythe’s perceptions.
The novel asks: Is there such a thing as inheriting “bad motherhood”? Can maternal inability be passed down like eye color? The women in Blythe’s family seem to share a common refrain:
“One day you’ll understand, Blythe. The women in this family… we’re different.”
While this generational framework adds depth, the pattern occasionally feels too neat, sacrificing some nuance for thematic symmetry. Nevertheless, these flashbacks provide crucial context for understanding Blythe’s heightened anxiety around her own maternal capabilities.
The Unheard Mother: Society’s Dismissal of Maternal Instinct
One of the most compelling aspects of “The Push” by Ashley Audrain is its unflinching portrayal of how women are not believed—particularly mothers whose experiences don’t match societal expectations. Fox’s dismissal of Blythe’s concerns exemplifies this gaslighting:
“You never dealt with your grief properly. You’ve never faced it.”
Key ways the novel explores this dismissal:
- Fox consistently minimizes Blythe’s concerns about Violet
- Medical professionals treat her anxiety as hormonal or delusional
- Other mothers present idealized versions of motherhood that isolate Blythe
- Society’s expectation that mothers should innately love their children regardless of behavior
This aspect of the novel resonates deeply in our current cultural moment, where women’s voices and intuitions continue to be questioned or diminished.
The Forbidden Maternal Truth: When You Don’t Bond With Your Child
Audrain’s most daring achievement is her willingness to explore a mother who simply doesn’t connect with her child—possibly for good reason. The societal taboo around admitting maternal ambivalence or outright aversion makes this territory particularly unsettling.
Blythe’s inner thoughts are brutally honest:
“I was so disappointed she was mine.”
“These are thoughts I never let leave my lips. These are thoughts most mothers don’t have.”
The relief she feels upon having her son Sam—with whom she instantly bonds—only compounds her guilt and confusion about her relationship with Violet. This contrast between her children creates a perfect crucible for examining parental favoritism and the myth that maternal love is automatic and equivalent for all children.
Crafting Ambiguity: The Psychological Mastery of Unreliable Narration
“The Push” succeeds largely because of Ashley Audrain’s masterful deployment of the unreliable narrator. As readers, we’re never allowed to fully trust or dismiss Blythe’s perceptions. Evidence accumulates on both sides: Violet’s seemingly calculated cruelties versus Blythe’s unstable family history and increasingly questionable behavior.
This ambiguity is meticulously maintained until the very last pages, where the novel’s final scene delivers a gut-punch of continued uncertainty:
“I pushed him.
I pushed him.
These are the words I think I can hear.”
Is this confession real, or is it Blythe’s desperate need for validation? The brilliance of “The Push” by Ashley Audrain is that it refuses easy answers, leaving readers to grapple with their own biases about motherhood, mental health, and the nature of evil.
Where the Novel Falters: Pacing and Character Development
Despite its considerable strengths, “The Push” by Ashley Audrain occasionally stumbles. The pacing in the middle section becomes somewhat repetitive, with too many similar scenes establishing Violet’s concerning behavior. Some readers may find themselves wanting the plot to advance more quickly through these examples.
Additionally, while Blythe is exquisitely rendered, secondary characters sometimes lack dimension:
- Fox is primarily defined by his dismissiveness and later infidelity
- Gemma serves mostly as a plot device rather than a fully realized character
- Male characters generally receive less psychological depth than female ones
These aspects don’t significantly diminish the novel’s impact but do represent areas where Audrain’s obvious talent could have been further showcased.
Comparisons and Context: Where “The Push” Stands in Psychological Fiction
As a debut novel, “The Push” announces Ashley Audrain as a formidable new voice in psychological fiction. The book bears comparison to other noteworthy explorations of disturbed family dynamics:
- We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver (similar themes of maternal ambivalence and potentially dangerous children)
- Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn (intergenerational female trauma and psychological unreliability)
- Baby Teeth by Zoje Stage (the “bad seed” child narrative with maternal perspective)
What distinguishes Audrain’s work is her particular focus on the maternal inheritance of psychological damage and her willingness to leave her central question unresolved.
Final Assessment: A Disturbing Yet Essential Read
“The Push” by Ashley Audrain is not a comfortable reading experience—nor should it be. Its power lies precisely in its willingness to disturb, to push readers into uncomfortable territory around motherhood, family, and psychological perception.
Strengths:
- Unflinching exploration of maternal ambivalence
- Masterful use of unreliable narration
- Elegant, taut prose style
- Compelling intergenerational storyline
- Brave handling of taboo subjects around motherhood
Weaknesses:
- Occasional pacing issues
- Some secondary characters lack dimension
- The intergenerational pattern sometimes feels too neatly constructed
For readers brave enough to face its darkness, “The Push” by Ashley Audrain offers a profound meditation on motherhood’s complexities that lingers long after the final page. Audrain has crafted a psychological thriller that transcends genre conventions to ask fundamental questions about family, inheritance, and the terrifying possibility that sometimes a mother’s worst fears about her child might be justified.
This is not merely a thriller about a potentially troubled child but a nuanced exploration of how we become who we are—and how the past reaches forward to shape our most intimate relationships. Audrain’s unflinching debut marks her as a writer unafraid to venture into the darkest corners of the human experience, especially those we’re least willing to acknowledge.