Not Her Daughter by Rea Frey

About the book:

(from the publisher) Gripping, emotional, and wire-taut, Not Her Daughter raises the question of what it means to be a mother—and how far someone will go to keep a child safe.

Emma Townsend. Five years old. Gray eyes, brown hair. Missing since June.
Emma is lonely. Living with her cruel mother and clueless father, Emma retreats into her own world of quiet and solitude.

Sarah Walker. Successful entrepreneur. Broken-hearted. Kidnapper.
Sarah has never seen a girl so precious as the gray-eyed child in a crowded airport terminal. When a second-chance encounter with Emma presents itself, Sarah takes her—far away from home. But if it’s to rescue a little girl from her damaging mother, is kidnapping wrong?

Amy Townsend. Unhappy wife. Unfit mother. Unsure whether she wants her daughter back.
Amy’s life is a string of disappointments, but her biggest issue is her inability to connect with her daughter. And now Emma is gone without a trace.

As Sarah and Emma avoid the nationwide hunt, they form an unshakeable bond. But what about Emma’s real mother, back at home?

Genre: Fiction/Domestic Suspense/Women’s Fiction

If this were a movie, I’d rate it: PG-13

for language (including f-bombs) and adult themes

About the author:

Rea Frey is an award-winning author of several nonfiction books. She lives in Nashville with her husband and daughter. Not Her Daughter is her debut novel.

Connect with the author: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

My take:

Such an interesting idea behind this book! Thought-provoking and full of moral and ethical nuance, an element I’m always so pleased to find in women’s fiction. For the premise alone, and the explorations thereof, Not Her Daughter grabbed my attention and made it a must-read.

From page one, I was dying to know, What happens? And accordingly turned the pages rapidly to find out. While for me and I’d guess most readers, the issue of right and wrong isn’t the question, the emotional grey area within leaves plenty of room to explore. In the telling of her story, the author chunks up her narratives from the main characters and moves back and forth in time — which could be confusing, but in the hands of this skilled writer, is not. The structure actually helps keep the reader engaged and the story moving.

The hard part — and the challenge the author set for herself — was finding enough likableness in the two main women to keep the reader caring for them. The abusive mom is obviously unlikeable, but it truly was hard to find anything sympathetic about her. She’s just awful — almost, but not quite, unbelievably so. It was hard to want to spend time inside her narrative. And Sarah, despite her brokenheartedness and compassion for a wounded child, I found only marginally sympathetic. The novel has a gritty, almost cynical tone that wasn’t wholly appealing, at least not to me. Language, for example, was rougher than I prefer. And I’m still debating whether the ending was one I can live with.

For all these reasons — the very fact that it’s complicated and bound to be controversial — it would make a great book club read. Or a movie — which I hear is going to happen. I’m curious already to see how moviemakers interpret this novel. While I didn’t love it, it’s certainly one of the more intriguing books I’ve read this year.

Thanks to St. Martin’s Griffin for providing me this book free of charge. All opinions are mine.

Buy it here. 

After words:

Have you read any books lately that have left you feeling ambivalent?