Book Recs From Friends #4: Steph Halchin

A literary fiction lover in DC

Feb 23, 2025

This is Book Recs from Friends. A series where some of my favorite book-loving people on Substack share book recommendations. Because books are always better with friends...

I'm delighted to share recommendations from one of my favorite literary internet people today! Steph Halchin writes The Lit List on Substack and shares book recommendations on her Instagram, @stephgetslit. She works as an editor (sadly, not of books) in Washington, DC.

I first came across Steph's Instagram a few years ago and loved her book recommendations. Our taste in literary fiction overlaps and I'm always finding out about books from her that I don't see many other folks talking about. Since then, she started her Substack and I am always delighted when a new issue lands in my inbox.

From internet deep dives on interesting novels to her monthly round-ups (her love of K-dramas is so fun!) to thoughtful think pieces on literary life, I always find under-the-radar book recommendations or a new way of thinking about something I read.

Steph is vocal about her decision to be child-free, and that's resonated with me in the last few years as I've grappled with my own decision. So I was delighted to see she chose to share recommendations that shine a different light on motherhood and showcase how women break the mold of being confined solely to the role of mother. So, without further ado, I'll hand it over to Steph...

Book Recs from Friends: Steph Halchin

Written by

Steph

of The Lit List

By the time women are in their mid-thirties, we’re well-equipped to answer loaded questions about motherhood: Do you have children? Do you want them? How many? How many more? Why not?

As someone who has always known she didn’t want to have kids, I have complicated feelings about both motherhood and womanhood, the latter of which is so often defined by our ability to reproduce, reducing us to our biology and excluding nonbinary and trans people. Though it is an increasingly common circumstance, being a woman without kids can feel isolating and final, but it can also feel freeing, opening up the door to a broad expanse of a future.

Perhaps because I’ve decided I’ll never be a mom, I love fiction centered on motherhood narratives. I am obsessed with “bad mom lit,” which holds a mirror up to flawed women whose identities do not dissolve upon giving birth but rather transform, sometimes to their own detriment. I love characters who wear their desire and rage and joy on their sleeves instead of submitting to expectations that require all women to be good mothers, as narrowly defined by a patriarchal, capitalist society.

I’m not alone; motherhood narratives are increasingly popular in literature as writers lend their diverse perspectives to allow us, children or no children, to feel represented. Rachel Yoder’s Nightbitch, in which a tired, underappreciated mother is increasingly convinced she is becoming a dog, has made it into every corner of the bookish internet and even all the way to a screen adaptation featuring Amy Adams.

Reminiscent of the narrator in Nightbitch’s struggle for autonomy and control, I was fascinated by the fugue state of The Nursery by Szilvia Molnar. In this short novel, the narrator is balancing a newborn infant with her shifting identity and the aftereffects of the physical trauma of giving birth. Trapped in her apartment while her husband is at work all day, she finds herself in a Yellow Wallpaper-esque descent toward dark thoughts and fears that she might hurt her baby. It’s a difficult read at times, and at first, I hesitated to recommend it to anyone who wanted to have kids. But it’s necessary to read tales of madness existing alongside the joy and wholeness of parenthood.

There is a madness in the desire to become a mother, too. In the horror novel Motherthing by Ainslie Hogarth, the narrator, Abby, can dream only of motherhood. She desperately wants to become the perfect mother because she never had one, unable to reach beyond the binary of mother vs. not-mother and escape a cycle of toxicity that has kept both her and her overbearing mother-in-law – now a ghost haunting Abby and her husband – in a cage of their own design.

I Love You But I’ve Chosen Darkness by Claire Vaye Watkins is a work of autobiographical fiction that explores women’s desire, which we often shrink and relegate to a dusty corner post-motherhood (notably, not a phenomenon when it comes to fatherhood). Watkins’ protagonist would be described as a bad mother by many: She leaves on a work trip, her husband and baby at home, and decides not to return, instead doing whatever the hell she likes. With the expectation that a woman’s identity will shift so entirely upon birth that it can only be defined in relation to her children, a woman who desires something selfishly or unapologetically is deemed a bad mother, in literature or otherwise.

And Madwoman by Chelsea Bieker seeks to redefine our expectations of women as nurturing protectors. Like Motherthing, it portrays a woman learning how to be a good mother without having been tenderly mothered herself, all while her perfectly curated but secret life is unraveling toward exposure. Though I’d probably define this as a literary thriller, it is ultimately a story of motherly love and the bonds that have created a silent network of solidarity among women. Domestic abuse is central to the plot, so I caution readers to check any content warning before deciding to read this.

It is a relief to see women’s personhood celebrated, whether they have children or not, and complicated narratives of motherhood open up the understanding of women like me, who have chosen not to be mothers at all. As always, it is literature reminding us to challenge our beliefs and make space for everyone.

Thanks, Steph! I love this topic and these recommendations. You can connect with Steph by following her Instagram or by subscribing to her Substack!