Ashley Audrain’s debut novel “The Push” delivers a gut-wrenching psychological thriller that burrows into your consciousness like a splinter you can’t extract. With unflinching precision, Audrain crafts a narrative that dismantles the romanticized notions of motherhood, replacing them with something far more complex and disturbing. This is not a comfortable read—nor is it meant to be. It’s a book that forces you to question the nature of maternal instinct, the reliability of your own perceptions, and the terrifying possibility that some darkness might be inherited rather than learned.
The story centers on Blythe Connor, a woman determined to break the cycle of dysfunctional mothering that plagued both her mother Cecilia and grandmother Etta. When her daughter Violet is born, Blythe struggles to form the maternal bond she desperately craves. As Violet grows, Blythe becomes increasingly convinced that something is fundamentally wrong with her daughter—a concern her husband Fox repeatedly dismisses as postpartum anxiety or simple maternal inadequacy. The birth of their son Sam provides Blythe with the loving maternal connection she’s been seeking, but tragedy soon strikes, shattering their family and forcing Blythe to confront devastating truths about herself, her daughter, and the legacy she fears they both carry.
Masterful Tension in the Ordinary
What makes “The Push” so deeply unsettling is Ashley Audrain’s ability to locate horror in the mundane moments of family life. The novel pulses with a constant undercurrent of dread, even in scenes of apparent normalcy. Blythe’s increasing isolation as a mother who can’t connect with her daughter—and worse, suspects her child of disturbing behavior—creates a claustrophobic reading experience that mirrors her psychological state.
Audrain writes in sparse, emotionally charged prose that perfectly captures the sleep-deprived, hypervigilant state of new motherhood:
“Time goes by so quickly. Enjoy every moment. Mothers speak of time like it’s the only currency we know.”
This stylistic approach serves the psychological thriller elements perfectly, creating a narrative voice that feels both intimate and increasingly unreliable. The short chapters and fragmented timeline accelerate the tension, making it nearly impossible to put the book down.
The Generational Inheritance We Fear
One of the novel’s greatest strengths is its exploration of intergenerational trauma through the stories of Blythe’s mother and grandmother. These parallel narratives reveal patterns of maternal dysfunction that haunt Blythe’s experience with Violet. Audrain doesn’t offer simple explanations about whether disturbing behavior is inherited or learned, instead presenting a nuanced exploration of how trauma propagates through families.
The novel asks uncomfortable questions: Are we destined to repeat the patterns of our parents? Can we ever truly escape our origins? If we recognize the potential for darkness within ourselves, can we prevent it from manifesting? These questions become increasingly urgent as Blythe struggles to understand Violet and protect Sam.
Character Complexity and Moral Ambiguity
Blythe emerges as a fascinatingly complex protagonist—sympathetic in her determination to be better than her own mother, yet potentially unreliable in her perceptions of Violet. Her growing obsession and paranoia make her an uncomfortable narrator to follow, particularly as her life unravels after tragedy strikes.
Violet remains deliberately enigmatic—seen entirely through Blythe’s potentially biased perspective. This brilliant narrative choice forces readers to continually reassess whether Violet is truly disturbed or whether Blythe’s fears stem from her own psychological wounds and maternal ambivalence.
Fox’s character is perhaps less fully realized, serving primarily as a foil to Blythe’s concerns and later as a symbol of what she’s lost. His dismissal of Blythe’s fears represents a broader societal tendency to discount women’s concerns and intuitions, especially regarding their children—a theme Audrain explores with simmering rage.
Critical Perspective: The Novel’s Strengths and Limitations
What Works Brilliantly
Raw portrayal of maternal ambivalence – Audrain fearlessly explores the taboo topic of not feeling naturally connected to one’s child, giving voice to thoughts many mothers have but rarely express.
Psychological suspense – The novel maintains relentless tension through masterful pacing and ambiguity about whether danger comes from Violet or from Blythe’s own damaged perception.
Intergenerational storytelling – The narratives of Etta and Cecilia provide crucial context while maintaining their own emotional impact.
Exploration of gaslighting – Fox’s dismissal of Blythe’s concerns powerfully illustrates how women’s perceptions are often disbelieved, even by those closest to them.
Unflinching examination of grief – The portrayal of loss and its aftermath is devastatingly authentic.
What Could Be Stronger
Character development beyond Blythe – Secondary characters sometimes feel like extensions of Blythe’s story rather than fully realized individuals with their own complexities.
Resolution ambiguity – While the narrative ambiguity serves the psychological thriller elements, some readers may find the ending’s open-ended nature frustrating.
Fox’s characterization – His transition from supportive husband to dismissive gaslighter sometimes feels abrupt rather than evolving naturally.
Pacing in the final third – Following the central tragedy, the narrative occasionally loses momentum before building to its final confrontations.
A Unique Voice in Psychological Fiction
As a debut novelist, Audrain demonstrates remarkable control of both psychological tension and emotional depth. Her background as the former publicity director of Penguin Books Canada perhaps gave her insight into effective literary techniques, but nothing about “The Push” feels derivative or calculated. Instead, it reads as a deeply personal exploration of motherhood’s darkest possibilities.
While “The Push” is Ashley Audrain’s first novel, it sits comfortably alongside other psychological explorations of motherhood like Leila Slimani’s “The Perfect Nanny,” Lionel Shriver’s “We Need to Talk About Kevin,” and Zoje Stage’s “Baby Teeth.” What distinguishes Audrain’s work is its multigenerational perspective and its particular focus on the mother-daughter relationship as potentially inherited trauma.
The Lingering Impact
What stays with you long after finishing “The Push” by Ashley Audrain is not just its plot twists or psychological suspense, but its unflinching examination of maternal fear. The possibility that we might not know our children—or worse, that we might recognize in them something dark that comes from ourselves—creates a primal terror that transcends typical thriller fare.
Audrain writes with devastating clarity about maternal ambivalence:
“I was disappointed she was mine… We were supposed to want each other.”
These moments of brutal honesty about motherhood’s challenges give the novel its emotional resonance beyond the suspense elements.
Final Assessment: A Bold, Disturbing Debut
“The Push” by Ashley Audrain is not a perfect novel, but its flaws are largely overshadowed by its considerable strengths. Audrain has created something rare: a psychological thriller that derives its power not from shocking twists (though these exist) but from its unflinching examination of our most primal relationships and fears.
The novel offers a reading experience that is simultaneously compelling and uncomfortable. It’s the kind of book that follows you into your dreams and makes you look at parent-child relationships with new, sometimes troubled eyes.
For readers who appreciate psychological complexity and aren’t afraid to confront the darker aspects of family dynamics, “The Push” delivers a powerful, thought-provoking experience. It announces Ashley Audrain as a formidable new voice in psychological fiction—one who isn’t afraid to push readers beyond their comfort zones into the uneasy territory where our deepest fears reside.
Who Should Read This Book
Fans of psychological thrillers with domestic settings
Readers who appreciate complex, potentially unreliable narrators
Those interested in explorations of motherhood that go beyond sentimentality
Anyone who enjoyed “We Need to Talk About Kevin,” “Baby Teeth,” or “The Perfect Nanny”
Who Should Approach With Caution
New parents or those with anxiety about parenting
Readers sensitive to depictions of child death or harm
Those who prefer clear resolutions and reliable narrators
Anyone looking for a light or uplifting read
“The Push” by Ashley Audrain ultimately succeeds because it confronts what many of us fear most: that despite our best intentions, we might pass our damage to our children—or worse, that some darkness might exist in them that we cannot control, explain, or heal. In exploring this territory with such unflinching honesty, Audrain has created a debut that is impossible to forget, even when we might wish we could.