In Samantha Crewson’s unflinching debut novel, Every Sweet Thing Is Bitter, we enter the psyche of Providence Byrd, a woman whose single act of teenage violence reverberates through her life like a scream in an empty house. This isn’t a comfortable read—nor should it be. Crewson leads us through the broken landscape of an American family stretched to its breaking point, writing with such raw intensity that at times I had to set the book down to catch my breath.
The novel begins thirteen years after Providence, at seventeen, ran over her mother with the family car. Though her mother survived, Providence served prison time, and their relationship never recovered. Now, her mother has disappeared, and Providence returns to the oppressive small town of Annesville, Nebraska, convinced her abusive father is responsible. What unfolds is not merely a mystery but an excavation of buried trauma, sisterhood, and the question of whether true redemption is ever possible.
Prose That Cuts Like a Switchblade
Crewson’s writing possesses a mesmerizing intensity. Her sentences are crafted with surgical precision—sometimes lyrical, sometimes brutally direct—but always serving the emotional temperature of the narrative. Consider this passage where Providence describes her father:
“He is nearing sixty now, suffering the indignities time eventually visits upon us all: his once dark hair streaked with silver, his once athletic frame hidden beneath too many beers. His face is worn like a catcher’s mitt, dappled with sunspots and scored with crow’s feet, his fishlike lips curled into the cruel frown I still see in my nightmares.”
The novel’s greatest strength lies in Crewson’s ability to paint the psychological landscape of trauma’s aftermath. Providence’s repeated mantra – “People love me. I am lovable.” – reads like a desperate affirmation that breaks your heart precisely because it reveals how thoroughly her spirit has been damaged. The recurring imagery of bite marks as both self-harm and defense mechanism creates a visceral reminder of how trauma can literally be inscribed on the body.
A Cast of Characters Impossible to Forget
The characterization in Every Sweet Thing Is Bitter stands among its most impressive achievements. Providence is a complex protagonist – simultaneously sympathetic and disturbing, self-aware yet blind to her own contradictions. Her sisters, Harmony and Grace, are equally well-drawn, each dealing with their family’s toxicity in distinct ways that feel psychologically authentic.
The supporting characters bring the suffocating small town of Annesville to life:
Gil Crawford, the father figure with Alzheimer’s whose kindness couldn’t quite save Providence
Sara Walking Elk, Providence’s prison friend whose fierce loyalty provides the novel’s moral compass
Zoe Markham, Providence’s former love interest now climbing the political ranks while hiding her sexuality
Sheriff Josiah Eastman, whose failures to protect the Byrd sisters haunt his later years
The novel’s villain – Tom Byrd – is chillingly rendered. He isn’t a cartoon monster but something far more terrifying: an abuser whose moments of mundane humanity make his cruelty all the more unsettling. When Providence observes him organizing his Rockies memorabilia or discussing baseball statistics, we glimpse the ordinary shell containing something rotten and malevolent.
When the Past Refuses to Stay Buried
The central mystery – what happened to Providence’s mother – serves as an effective narrative engine, but Every Sweet Thing Is Bitter is more concerned with psychological exploration than plot mechanics. The novel delves into questions that have no easy answers:
Is violence ever justified if it breaks a cycle of abuse?
Can we ever truly escape our family histories?
What constitutes redemption after unforgivable acts?
How do we reconcile love for someone with knowledge of their capacity for harm?
Crewson shows remarkable restraint in avoiding didactic answers. The story’s resolution offers neither simple moral lessons nor clean absolution. Instead, it acknowledges the messy, complicated reality of healing from generational trauma.
Where the Novel Stumbles
Despite its considerable strengths, Every Sweet Thing Is Bitter occasionally falters. The pacing becomes uneven in the middle section, with Providence’s endless rumination sometimes stalling momentum. A few coincidences stretch credulity, particularly regarding the timing of certain revelations. The final act, while powerful, rushes toward its conclusion, potentially shortchanging some emotional payoffs that deserved more space to breathe.
Additionally, some readers may find the relentless darkness overwhelming. While the novel’s unflinching examination of trauma feels authentic, it occasionally teeters on the edge of trauma exploitation. The narrative would have benefited from more moments of lightness – not to diminish the gravity of its themes, but to provide contrast that would make the dark passages even more powerful.
A Bold Voice in Contemporary Fiction
As a debut novel, Every Sweet Thing Is Bitter announces Crewson as a fearless new voice in contemporary fiction. Her work calls to mind Gillian Flynn’s psychological acuity, combined with the regional authenticity of writers like Daniel Woodrell. Fans of Tiffany McDaniel’s The Summer That Melted Everything or Lisa Taddeo’s Animal will find similar unflinching examinations of violence and its aftermath.
What makes Crewson’s work distinctive is her commitment to portraying queer characters whose sexuality isn’t their defining trait. Providence’s relationship with Zoe and her interactions with other women are handled with nuance and authenticity, adding important dimension to a character who could have been defined solely by her trauma.
The Verdict: Haunting and Necessary
Every Sweet Thing Is Bitter leaves marks on the reader – like the bite marks Providence inflicts on herself, these impressions linger long after the final page. It’s a challenging read that demands emotional investment, rewarding that investment with profound insights into the nature of family, forgiveness, and what it means to remake yourself after shattering.
The novel reminds us that healing isn’t linear, that forgiveness isn’t mandatory, and that sometimes the most courageous act is simply to continue living in the wake of unspeakable pain. When Providence and Grace drive away from Annesville in the final chapter, what lingers isn’t a sense of clean resolution but something more honest: the understanding that some wounds never fully heal, but we can still build lives worth living around them.
Who Should Read This Book
Every Sweet Thing Is Bitter is ideal for readers who:
Appreciate psychologically complex female protagonists
Don’t shy away from unflinching depictions of trauma and violence
Enjoy literary thrillers where character development takes precedence over plot twists
Seek authentic representations of queer characters in contemporary fiction
Are drawn to stories of family dynamics, particularly sisterhood
However, readers sensitive to descriptions of:
Child abuse
Self-harm
Substance abuse
Graphic violence
Sexual assault references
should approach with caution or perhaps choose another title.
Final Thoughts: A Rarity in Today’s Literary Landscape
In a publishing landscape often dominated by easily digestible narratives, Crewson’s willingness to wade into murky moral waters feels both refreshing and necessary. Every Sweet Thing Is Bitter offers no easy absolution or tidy endings—only the messy, complicated truth that some pain can never be undone, only carried forward differently.
Despite its occasional missteps, this is a remarkably assured debut that promises great things from Crewson’s future work. Her unforgettable protagonist and razor-sharp prose make Every Sweet Thing Is Bitter a standout examination of family trauma, queer identity, and the possibility—however fragile—of reclaiming one’s life from the ashes of the past.