THE HOUSE OF DEEP WATER

Three women—two white and one biracial—reckon with a Michigan hometown each thought she had escaped.

As this debut novel opens on fictional River Bend, “perched just above the state line in the soft crook of the St. Gerard River,” its citizens register the sounds of particular truck and car engines, signaling the comings and goings of the individual townsfolk: “Women, especially those of limited means, must learn to read the signs.” This shrewd line sets up a tale preoccupied with rural American limits and rupture, all marbled with prosaic details, such as meatloaf stretched with too much oatmeal. Mercurial Beth DeWitt has returned from North Carolina with two teenage children, stymied by job loss and divorce. Linda Williams, whom Beth once babysat, retreats from her own cratered marriage in Houston. And Linda’s mother, Paula, who bailed out of River Bend years ago when her kids were small, arrives to secure the divorce from her husband that her Wyoming lover wants for them. Still, the main strip of this tale runs through Beth, who's biracial, damaged by a childhood of macroaggressions and the surly neighborhood babysitter’s malevolent son. Beth's trauma sits astride this book, tucked into short italicized chapters which puncture the present-day story. That story, in turn, brims as Beth’s elderly father impregnates Linda, Beth resumes furtive sex with the town’s alcoholic married bad boy, who reeks of “cigarettes and Aqua Velva,” and Paula dithers with her still-besotted ex. No reader would expect these scenarios to end well, but McFarland knows her way through the murk. Angry women mud-fight in a public pigsty, and the Williams clan navigates a surprisingly recuperative farmhouse Christmas, scrolled out in one long tracking shot. Some of the writing is expository and belabored, but the flood hinted at in the title arrives and delivers. So, in the end, does the story.

A matriarchal tale asks who can thrive in small-town America.