Where the Crawdads Sing, by Delia Owens

Read this book if: You like a good survival story, but wish it would also hurt your feelings.

Don’t quit reading until at least: The end of chapter 7.

Delia Owens’ debut novel, Where the Crawdads Sing, is the fictional story of Kya, dubbed ‘Marsh Girl’ by residents of Barkley Cove, North Carolina. In it, young Kya survives alone with little to no means on the marshy coast outside of town. She endures – among other things – child abuse and neglect, abandonment, and severe poverty. Retreating is her only defense and loneliness becomes a necessary but largely comfortless ally. Folded into the story is the mystery of Chase Andrews’ death. Chase is the foil to Kya’s character; he is (at least relatively) wealthy, popular, and accepted, and as the town mourns his loss they cast about for a convenient scapegoat.

If you’ve ever suffered a rejection, Kya’s story will scrape the wound open again and pack it with salt. Merciless in its many heartbreaks, delivered one after another, the first half of this book is really going to hurt. You’ll keep coming back for the descriptions of the North Carolina marsh, which are so vivid you will put the book down feeling as though you’ve made each of Kya’s gritty little discoveries (rare and precious bird nests, feathers, and shells) yourself. Delia Owens is a published wildlife scientist and zoologist and gives real-life depth to her descriptions of swamp life. Luckily for her readers, Delia also proves to be an incredible artist and her descriptions do not dry out as a consequence of their scientific accuracy. I promise.

Though well done, the mystery of Chase’s death feels secondary to the story of Kya’s personal development. The mystery is tidily solved and its resolution subtly foreshadowed. It is satisfying. However, I found myself more invested in realizing a resolve to Kya’s abandonment, feeling impatient when the story alternates back to the detectives and their progress every other chapter.

While Tara Westover’s Educated can’t be brought into comparison because it is a non-fictional autobiography, I did find myself drawing parallels between the stories – particularly in the slow instinctual development of the two young girls’ (Kya and Tara’s) emotional defense mechanisms, and the compassionate but frustrated empathy that they bring to the reader. I would say that if you appreciated Educated, then you may find yourself similarly satisfied by this novel. 

If you’d like to read along: in March 2020, I will be reviewing The Midnight Plan of the Repo Man, by W. Bruce Cameron.