YESTERYEAR (2026)
By Caro Claire Burke
Alfred A. Knopf, 391 pages.
★★★
In some circles, Yesteryear has been hailed as this generation’s Handmaiden’s Tale (1985). That would be an atmospheric achievement for a debut author such as Caro Claire Burke. Hers is an entertaining novel, but Margaret Atwood was an accomplished poet and had published five well-reviewed novels before she released Handmaiden’s Tale. I do understand, though, how younger reviewers and readers could make a connection, but it misrepresents both authors. Atwood wrote a cautionary tale during the Ronald Reagan years when Second Wave feminism was under attack; Burke’s book is a satire on the shallowness of American culture and the vulture-like extremes of capitalism.
Our anti-heroine is Natalie Heller Mills is what is sometimes derisively called a “trad-wife;” that is, an old-fashioned young woman who wants to live a Biblical life. Natalie is college-educated, but much about undergraduate life offended her. If you know the Bible, though, it’s easier to imagine a Biblical life than to practice one. In practical terms it means she and her cowboy hunk-husband Caleb try to simplify and live as much off-the-grid as possible. The latter is very hard to do these days. Rather like the Amish who show up at farmers’ markets, her preserves and eggs attract buyers, word-of-mouth praise, and media attention. On the surface, Natlie is the poster mom for the religious right, as she pops out a new baby even year–six in total. Still, there are lots of things she can’t get the hang of; for instance, her bread comes out of the oven more suitable for building material than human consumption.
Before you can say “Trinity Broadcasting System,” Christian TV, bloggers, radio shows, and magazines all want a piece of Natalie, Caleb, and the kiddos. Their household becomes filled with cameras and the Mills family are reality TV show stars. Money starts to pour in from Natalie’s many side projects, but who can actually produce everything from nutritious meals to handmade rugs, books of aphorisms, a clothing line, etc. Who wants to haul water or learn on the fly how to cook venison stew? The viewers know nothing of her hidden industrial stoves, freezers, and refrigerators, or her team of childminders, cooks, product producers, and social media experts.
Readers are invited to speculate whether Natalie is a good-girl gone wrong, or if she was always a con artist. Are all those kids really hers? Some of the juiciest parts of the novel juxtapose Natalie’s inner thoughts and unsaid word bubbles with what she actually does and says– with a smile plastered on her face. But is she a fraud? Every time she has a vile thought or is less than kind, she tosses off quick prayesr or apologies to God.
Can you imagine being part of today’s gotcha media hounds? Back in the 1970s, a show called An American Family followed the Loud clan. Bill and Pat Loud only had five (gulp!) children, but they also drew 10 million viewers per week, though they didn’t even try to live a pioneer lifestyle. Things didn’t go well for the Louds, who eventually divorced when the cameras that made them famous exposed their warts. Numerous observers blamed their family collapse on the maddening pressure of being under the microscope. Burke avoids that debate, but she does ask us to consider a very different scenario.
What if you woke up and had been transported to the past? Natalie finds herself in 1855, without assistants, scripts, or Instagram. Just her, a very different Caleb, a hearth fire, a day filed with chores, and a big kettle filled with lye soap to boil and scrub ragged clothing and send them through a hand ringer. Natalie wants to flee, but how can she leave her kids when Caleb is fornicating with another woman? Is this the work of Satan? Is God testing her as if she were a female Job? Has she gone insane? There is a resolution, but one open to interpretation. Some readers will find this bold; others will feel cheated.
What we can say is that Caro Claire Burke has incisively butchered a few sacred cows. Hers is an indictment of materialism, an evisceration of of social influencers, a takedown of hypocrisy, an exposé of fake “reality” shows, and a backdoor condemnation of religious hucksterism. Ultimately, Yesteryear is closer to The Rainmaker than The Handmaiden’s Tale. Does the Devil smile like Burt Lancaster?
Rob Weir
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