I’m on a streak of reading books with deeply unlikeable protagonists. My July book club picked Yesteryear, and although I couldn’t make the meeting, I picked up a copy from my local bookstore before a trip to Montana.
I started reading the day before my flight and couldn’t put it down. Between airport delays and hours in the air, I finished the entire novel before landing—a rare feat for me these days.
A Novel Inspired by the Tradwife Aesthetic
Yesteryear follows Natalie Heller Mills, a “tradwife” influencer who builds her family—and eventually her empire—on an Idaho farm. The setup immediately reminded me of Ballerina Farm, although Caro Claire Burke has never, to my knowledge, said it was a direct inspiration.
If you’re unfamiliar with the term, the tradwife movement celebrates women whose primary role is homemaking, raising children, and supporting their husbands’ ambitions. Online, the aesthetic revolves around homemade bread, homeschooling, sprawling gardens, and idyllic farm life. Ironically, many of the movement’s most recognizable influencers have built highly profitable businesses by selling a vision of domestic simplicity.
Natalie follows a familiar trajectory. She drops out of Harvard to marry her wealthy boyfriend, Caleb, intending to build the life he’s always wanted. The problem? Caleb doesn’t actually know what he wants. His dreams shift constantly, leaving Natalie to create a vision for both of them: the farm.
One passage perfectly captures the life Natalie imagined but never quite lived:
“I think of all the charcoal sketches of my life. All the things I meant to do and didn’t. I meant to learn Junebug’s personality. I meant to walk through these woods. Meant to go fishing in our river with the boys; to pocket salmon by the handful and then lie out on the sun-warmed rocks and listen to the rushing water. I meant to turn off my phone. I meant to revive the old apple orchard I’d been so excited about when we first bought the property. I meant to actually learn about farming, and to actually learn how to grow things, not just a child or an Instagram account but a carrot, a calf, a sapling. I meant to have a media empire…”
When Instagram Becomes the Product
The farm itself is largely a failure, but Natalie discovers she’s exceptionally good at performing the role of perfect homemaker online.
After prominent voices in the manosphere embrace her content, Natalie goes viral. A conservative media personality praises her as the ideal wife and mother—beautiful, hardworking, endlessly devoted. Millions begin following her. Some admire her. Others hate-watch every post. Either way, her audience grows.
Before long, maintaining her online persona becomes a full-time occupation. Natalie slowly forgets how to be a real person—though I’m not convinced she ever knew how. Her identity becomes inseparable from the character she’s created for Instagram, and watching that performance consume her is both fascinating and unsettling.
Burke juggles influencer culture, religion, marriage, motherhood, politics, and internet fame with surprising confidence. It’s messy, often outrageous, and wildly entertaining.
Motherhood as Performance
The most heartbreaking aspect of Yesteryear isn’t the influencer culture—it’s the children.
Natalie doesn’t seem to enjoy motherhood. She has sacrificed every personal ambition in pursuit of an idealized version of family life, only to discover it leaves her increasingly resentful. She also lacks the imagination to create a life that’s authentically hers, borrowing everything from recipes to fashion choices from the internet.
Despite having a loving mother herself, Natalie struggles to form genuine emotional connections. Nearly everything she does feels curated for an audience.
The children ultimately pay the highest price. They’re either displayed on social media or expected to work the farm. Their childhoods become content, labor, or both. With two deeply self-absorbed parents, they never really have a chance.
A Brilliant Premise with a Rushed Ending
For most of the novel, Burke keeps the tension remarkably high. Natalie is a wonderfully unreliable narrator whose memory lapses and growing paranoia make it difficult to know what is real and what isn’t.
Unfortunately, the final quarter doesn’t quite live up to everything that comes before it.
Burke uses Natalie’s story to examine the intersection of influencer culture, conservative politics, online masculinity, and religious performance. Those themes are compelling, but once Natalie’s life begins to unravel, the story accelerates from psychological tension to outright catastrophe. The complexity that made Natalie such an intriguing character starts to disappear, and I found myself wishing for more ambiguity and fewer narrative shortcuts.
I also wanted more consequences for some of the men whose choices helped create the world Natalie inhabits. The novel asks fascinating questions but ultimately settles for cleaner answers than I was hoping to get.
Final Thoughts
Even with my reservations about the ending, Yesteryear is an excellent read.
The writing is sharp, the pacing is addictive, and the novel raises thoughtful questions about motherhood, ambition, authenticity, and the impossible expectations created by social media. It’s exactly the kind of book that sparks long conversations, making it an outstanding pick for book clubs—or a compulsively readable addition to your beach bag.
Just don’t blame me if you find yourself tossing it across the room after the final chapter.
Final Thoughts
Yesteryear is a compulsively readable novel that skewers influencer culture, tradwife aesthetics, and the impossible performance of modern motherhood. While the ending loses some of the psychological complexity that made Natalie such a fascinating protagonist, Caro Claire Burke delivers a thought-provoking novel that’s perfect for sparking book club debate. Get It on Amazon (If You Dare).
One-line takeaway: Yesteryear asks what happens when a woman builds her entire identity for an audience instead of herself.
For fans of: The Last Mrs. Parrish, Yellowjackets, influencer culture, unreliable narrators, dark domestic fiction, and book club novels that inspire spirited discussion.
Where I read it: On the way to Montana, devouring chapters between airport delays and a long flight—finishing the entire novel before we landed.
Momtrends Rating: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Book Club Score: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (Outstanding discussion potential)
Would I Recommend It? Yes—for readers who enjoy morally messy characters and contemporary fiction that tackles social media, motherhood, and ambition.
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