Yesteryear

“I am not the victim here, but I am the only one who remembers why.”

There are books you read, and then there are books that live in your periphery like a ghost you’ve grown too comfortable with. Yesteryear is the latter. I went into this expecting a standard contemporary narrative about memory and nostalgia, but Caro doesn’t do "standard." This was refreshing in a way that felt like a cold glass of water to the face (startling, sharp, and impossible to ignore).

What struck me most was the tonal whiplash that somehow worked. One moment, I was nodding along to the narrator’s observations about the mundane ache of growing up, moments so relatable they felt plucked from my own diary. The next, Caro veers into the outlandish. There were sequences so surreal I had to put the book down and ask, "Is this actually happening?" But that’s the magic of Caro’s prose. She tethers you to the narrator's emotional core so tightly that you accept the absurdity because the feeling behind it is so honest.

The author performs a masterclass in empathy here. I found myself fiercely defensive of the protagonist. I wanted to side with her, to justify her choices, to see the world through her specific, distorted lens. I was rooting for her.

And that’s why the plot twist didn't just surprise me, it physically hurt.

By the time the floor dropped out and the 'unreliable narrator' tag finally clicked into place, I was already too far gone. I wasn't just observing her descent; I had already followed her into the basement.

When the realization hits that your guide might be the villain (or at least, not the hero you signed up for), it feels like a personal betrayal. My heart didn't just sink; it felt like it was being ripped out because I realized I had been complicit in her delusions for 300 pages.

Looking at what others are saying in the community, the consensus seems to be that Yesteryear breaks the traditional "thriller" or "literary fiction" mold. It’s a genre-bender. Some reviewers found the "outlandish" parts polarizing, but for me, that’s exactly what made it different. It captures the way trauma makes the world feel distorted and "other."

If you want a safe, predictable read, look elsewhere. But if you want a book that will make you question your own judgment and leave you staring at the wall long after the final page, pick this up. It’s haunting, it’s bizarre, and it is utterly human.

I would love to have a book 2 from someone else's perspective, Caleb or Clementine maybe, just in real time not in the aftermath.