Women and Children First

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Alina Grabowski

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A gripping literary puzzle that unwinds the private lives of ten women as they confront tragedy in a decaying town.

Nashquitten, Massachusetts, is a coastal enclave that not even tourist season can revive, full of locals who have run the town’s industries for generations. When a young woman dies at a house party, the circumstances around her death suspiciously unclear, the tight-knit community is shaken. As a mother grieves her daughter, a teacher her student, a best friend her confidante, the events around the tragedy become a lightning rod: blame is cast, secrets are buried deeper. Some are left to pick up the pieces, while others turn their backs, and all the while, a truth about that dreadful night begins to emerge.

Told through the eyes of ten women, Alina Grabowski’s Women and Children First is an exquisite portrait of grief and a powerful reminder of life’s interconnectedness. Touching on womanhood, class, sexuality, ambition, disappointment, and tragedy, this novel is a stunning rendering of love and loss, and a bracing lesson from a phenomenal new literary talent.

Praise

‘A striking debut from a brilliant new voice. Alina Grabowski perfectly inhabits her characters, shining a light on the multidimensionality of both grief and adolescence with great humour and insight.’
— Sarah Jessica Parker

‘Magnetic . . . The ennui of small-town life is perfectly captured in the slice-of-life vignettes, which coalesce into a riveting set of Rashomon-style retellings. Grabowski shows immense promise.’
Publishers Weekly, starred review

‘A smart, propulsive novel attentive to the ways community can fall short.’
— Kirkus Reviews, starred review

‘Craftily constructed and deeply moving.’
Booklist, starred review

‘[Grabowski’s] kaleidoscopic shards glint with a keen eye for life’s unvoiced tragedies.’
— Daily Mail

‘Quietly commanding . . .  Complex and considered.’
Marie Claire

‘In less capable hands, such rapid shifts might have a disorienting effect, but the book spins an entrancing web, the stories channeling the spirit of Mary Gaitskill and subtly building to reveal more and more.’
— Vogue

‘I am a big fan of Women and Children First . . . Alina Grabowski is an astute and limber narrative artist and I could read her prose all day long and never grow weary.’
— Lorrie Moore, author of A Gate At The Stairs

‘Alina Grabowski is a writer of startling wisdom and deep humanity, and Women and Children First reads like a shimmering kaleidoscope of grief and longing, a magic lantern casting spectral illumination across dark surfaces of loss. Its pages smell like watermelon body lotion and low tide and fresh snow; they sing with moments of insight that took my breath away. Every voice is so compelling that I never wanted to leave it, but each new voice immediately seduced me—brought me into its own powerful portrait of intimacy and yearning, the cruelties and compassions that compose an adolescence, or a marriage. Together, these voices collectively summon the chorus of a ruptured community, gesturing toward those spiderwebs of attachment and betrayal that unmake us, and those moments of grace that ambush and rearrange us all.’
— Leslie Jamison, author of The Gin Closet and The Empathy Exams

‘Wow wow wow! Alina Grabowski’s original and brilliantly written novel Women and Children First tells the story of a teenager named Lucy Anderson, who dies at a highschool house party, through the lens of ten different women narrators from her best friend to her principle to her mother. I was dazzled by the author’s skill and emotional depth .’
— Elin Hin Hilderbrand, author of The Perfect Couple

‘Reading Women and Children First is like encountering the best kind of puzzle: each of its pieces is a small marvel, elegant and finely wrought. But then, the chapters snap together in the most satisfying way, creating a full picture that is as sweeping as it is nuanced. Here are friends and foes, past resentments and future hopes, all the mess and beauty of a complicated, compelling community. You won’t be able to put it down until the puzzle is complete.’
— Emily Nemens, author of The Cactus League

Women and Children First so deftly captures the keen insight and angst of youth, girlhood, and womanhood. The characters here are complex and written with such intensity and clarity. The setting, too, is rendered in vivid, blue-hued color. This is a stunning, intricate, and multi-faceted debut from a writer whose long career I can’t wait to follow!’
— Kelsey Norris, author of House Gone Quiet

Published: 11 July 2024
ISBN: 978-1911648819
Format:  B format paperback with flaps
Cover design © Sarah Schulte 
Author photo © Elizabeth Ramos 
Cover photos
          Woman by the sea © Artem Bestsenny | shutterstock 
          Cumulus clouds © Anntuan | shutterstock 
          Seaside © JuliScalzi | iStock 
          Hyannis Harbor © Sanghwan Kim | iStock 

Art Direction by House of Thought 

About the author

Alina Grabowski’s work has appeared in Story, The Masters Review, Joyland, and Day One. She earned her MFA from Vanderbilt, and has received scholarships from the Sewanee Writers’ Conference, the Squaw Valley Community of Writers, and the Juniper Summer Writing Institute.

She was a 2019 Emerging Writer Fellow at Aspen Summer Words. She lives in Austin, Texas.

Women and Children First

On the last Saturday in May, I drown in my sleep. It happens quickly. I’m standing at the edge of the ocean and when I look down into the water, the wobbly hand of my reflection reaches up to pull me under. Only it’s less of a pull and more of an angry yank, like my arm’s a dangling ponytail, and suddenly I’m pressed to the sand with my own hand holding me down from above. I want to scream, but my words dissolve into a stream of bubbles. I’m not ready, is what I’m trying to say. But then everything goes black.

I thought you weren’t allowed to die in dreams.

When I open my eyes, I see that I’ve left the window beside my bed open, because sometimes I’m an idiot. The rain’s coming in so heavily that when I sit up, my wet sheets stick to my chest like strands of seaweed. If I weren’t a scientifically minded person, the dream plus the bedroom shower might seem like a bad omen. But I’m an unsuperstitious atheist, so it doesn’t bother me.

The window won’t close unless I bang my fist loudly against the glass, so I tiptoe to Mom’s room at the end of the hall to see if she’s still asleep. In the sliver of space between the wall and the door, I see her: not actually sleeping, but lying on top of her comforter in her underwear, tracing her chin with an unlit joint from the med­ ical dispensary. Lately she’s been wandering around the house half naked, something I don’t appreciate. She says she’s hot, burning up, on fire, but nothing helps—not frozen peas on her forehead or baths full of ice or a sticky balm I bought at Walgreens that smells like chemical mint. What if it’s all in my head? she asked one day, after a doctor suggested meditating twice a day to prevent the flashes. It’s not, I said. But even if it was, it’d still be just as real.

I close the door quietly as possible, but when it clicks I can hear the mattress bounce. “Jane?” she asks, “is something wrong?” But I’m already halfway to my own room, where the rain’s blowing in so fast and thick that my duvet squishes under my sweatpants when I kneel forward to pound the windowpane shut.

Outside, it smells like seaweed and crab shells, which means the street is flooding. The blizzard cracked part of the seawall back in January, but no one cares because it’s on our side of the beach where people actually live, as opposed to the side where people “summer.” Sometimes I’ll walk barefoot against the rushing water with our colander, trying to catch sand dollars or horseshoe crabs (if I dry them on my windowsill, I can sell them to the souvenir shops in the harbor), and a neighbor will see me from their porch. They’ll nod aggressively and say something like, “They think this is acceptable?” except they never say who they are or what this is.

It’s early, seven o’clock, and no one’s up yet. I straddle my bike under the remote­controlled awning that Mom uses to protect her car from the elements, since we don’t have a real garage, just a driveway that doubles as our patio during the summer. I tie plastic grocery bags over my bike seat and my head, even though my hair looks stupid no matter what I do because my ancestors were frizzy­haired Irish peasants who ate too many carbs. I’m about to kick off into the street when I hear our neighbor’s side door open. She moved in six months ago, a little before the blizzard. We never introduced ourselves, or brought a pie, or left a note in her mail­ box, which I guess means we’re unfriendly. She’s pregnant—she’s always been pregnant—but I’ve never seen a man over there. Today she’s wearing an oversized shirt for sleeping and, as far as I can tell, no pants. Her legs are stringy in a way that means her hips are probably small and tight and won’t easily allow a baby to pass through them. I’m never going to have a kid because I don’t like being in unnecessary pain.

She rubs her big belly under her big shirt and looks out at the street. “Must be someone special,” she says, and I actually look around to see who else is out on their porch this early because there’s no way she’d be talking to me.

“What?”

“Must be a special boy to get you to ride your bike through this storm.” The rain’s making her shirt stick to her stomach, and I can see the pointy nub of her flipped­out belly button. We watch a piece of driftwood float down the street, and I wish I could grab on to it and float away from this conversation. “What’s your mom think about him?”

“I’m going to work,” I explain, pulling at the collar of my Village Market polo.

RRR, 20 November 2024:Women and Children First by Alina Grabowski

The Guardian, 4 September 2024: A moment that changed me

Maire Claire, 1 August 2024: We’ve found the best books of 2024 to curl up with

A Life in Books, 17 July 2024: Book Review

Katy Hessel, 10 July 2024: July Newsletter, 15 Great Things to Read

Vanity Fair, 16 May 2024: 14 Books We Can’t Stop Thinking About This Month

The Boston Globe, 7 May 2024: Set in a decaying South Shore town, the girls are not all right

Today, 7 May 2024: Alina joined by Sarah Jessica Parker to discuss the novel

WBUR, 7 May 2024: Alina Grabowski’s debut novel ‘Women and Children First’ lives up to the hype

Book Q&As with Deborah Kalb, 7 May 2024: Q&A with Alina Grabowski

The Brooklyn Rail, May 2024: Review

Oprah Daily, 20 April 2024: The Best New Books of Spring

Katie Couric Media, 19 April 2024: 26 Books for Every Mom on Your List

Real Simple, 19 April 2024: These Are the Best Books of 2024 (So Far)

Vogue, 20 March 2024: The Best Books of 2024 So Far

The New York Times, 11 March 2024: 27 Works of Fiction Coming This Spring

Kirkus Reviews, 17 February 2024: Women and Children First by Alina Grabowski

Goodreads, 29 December 2023: 87 New Debut Novels to Check Out This Season

Oprah Daily, 19 December 2023: The Most Anticipated Books of 2024

Booklist, 1 November 2023: Starred review 

Publisher’s Weekly, 22 September 2023: Women and Children First starred review

Editor Notes from Commissioning Editor Susie Nicklin

A couple of years ago I was in a rooftop bar in Worthing with my friend and author Suzanne Joinson (we publish her book The Museum of Lost and Fragile Things in September 2024). We were with another friend whose youth was spent nearby and who has returned to West Sussex to live.

And I said to them in amazement: we are in a rooftop bar in Worthing! Can you imagine saying that sentence when we were teenagers! We all grew up on the South Coast of England and went to local state schools. The scents were disinfectant, sweat, Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche or Lynx, and fear, and the sights were bad skin, ill-fitting school uniforms, terrible haircuts and NHS spectacles and braces. Bullying was rife, as were alcohol, drugs, smoking, underage sex, drunken driving, casual violence. Very few of our peers were focussed on their schoolwork. The aim was to get high, to get away, to get married or to get lost – maybe all four. The highlights, in terms of socialising, were the pub, the pier, the local night club, various fields, and house parties from which the adults had injudiciously absented themselves.

The three of us did get away, even if two returned; we travelled together extensively for a few years, leading working lives that few of our schoolmates would have recognised. It was astonishing to me, though, how most people survived those years. The approach to child rearing was perhaps different – we were children of the 60s and 70s – and neoliberal capitalism under Thatcher hadn’t yet really taken root. Helicopter parenting hadn’t been invented, university was free of fees and we all got cost of living grants, so the world seemed like a more casual place, one we could take for granted. I did wonder, though, that so few serious accidents happened.

That is partly why I was intrigued by Women and Children First by Alina Grabowski. Set in a decaying coastal enclave in Massachusetts, it describes the death of a teenage girl at a house party. Since she isn’t able to tell her own story it is related to us via ten different women’s voices, each of whom knew her and can add detail to her character and lifestyle. This polyphonic approach, reminiscent of Women Talking by Miriam Toews or the slightly aslant tone of Elizabeth Strout, ultimately creates a highly memorable person, rounded and full of colour. I loved it.

But don’t take my word for it. My USA counterpart is Sarah Jessica Parker, who has done extensive media with Alina for her imprint in Zando Projects, SJPLit. She adored this book. As did Publishers Weekly, Kirkus, Booklist, Vogue, and Lorrie Moore and Leslie Jamison. I hope you’ll love it too.

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