‘Yesteryear’ Answers the Question: Could Tradwives Survive the Reality They Shill Online?

If you’ve found yourself on the internet in any capacity, from stumbling through Facebook’s short-form content to screen time pushing double digits from TikTok scrolling, you’ve likely come across the fascinating corner of the internet that is tradwives. These accounts, with their perfectly rustic kitchens, adorable children with whimsical, old-fashioned names, and millions of followers, show an idealized version of life: one where mothers always appear put together, spending their days tending to their homes and cooking elaborate meals for their nuclear families.

Obviously, these accounts, seemingly plucked out of the 1800s, have been fodder for discussion for years. Their explicit traditional gender roles and an apparent yearning for a time when anyone who didn’t look exactly like the patriarch of the family (i.e., white, straight, and male) famously didn’t have rights raises eyebrows. There’s an almost eerie quality to it. You can’t look away, even though what you’re seeing feels unsettling, despite the perfect lighting in their homes. So, when a “tradwife thriller” played off that exact eeriness, taking the publishing world by storm, it captured the attention of readers everywhere. Ahead, my full review of the novel everyone is talking about right now—Yesteryear.

Caro Claire Burke

Yesteryear

A traditional American woman, a “tradwife” influencer, suddenly awakens in the brutal reality of 1855—where she must unravel whether this living nightmare is an elaborate hoax, a twisted reality show, or something far more sinister in this sensational debut novel.

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What is Yesteryear about?

Yesteryear follows Natalie, a traditional American woman with a follower count in the millions. She lives in a gorgeous farmhouse, with her ovens and industrial-grade fridges conveniently hidden. She posts her and her effortless life, though her audience doesn’t know about the nannies and producers keeping things running smoothly. The women who comment hate on her page are sick with jealousy. I mean, Natalie is the one living the dream.

That is, until one morning she wakes up to find herself in an 1800s version of her house, somehow transported to an era before electricity, with versions of her children and husband that aren’t the ones she’s familiar with. This isn’t the life she knows, and with every moment she spends in this reality, she realizes it’s one she must escape, whatever the cost.

My review of Yesteryear

Yes, Yesteryear is a thriller with a truly fantastic plot twist, but the most interesting part of the story is definitely its main character. For the entirety of the novel, we’re in Natalie’s head—and let me tell you, it is not a pretty place to be. To say Natalie qualifies as an unlikable main character would be an understatement. While her mind is definitely a space full of hate and vitriol, it’s also an absolutely fascinating setting for this story. Natalie’s point of view as an antihero critiques the tradwife trend so well, and in such a layered, complex way.

The leading narrative about tradwives online is that they are being robbed of their agency—that their traditionalist husbands have forced them into this life. Ballerina Farm’s TikTok comments are full of people urging others to “free her.” I’ve often heard that while she was soaring to the top of her ballet career, he clipped her wings, forcing her into the kitchen and into motherhood. While obviously we have no clue what’s actually happening in these real-world scenarios, in Yesteryear, Natalie is the one fully in control.

Instead of defaulting to a world where the man is the only one who could possibly have the wherewithal to make decisions—and must be the brains behind a multimillion-dollar media enterprise, while the woman just fell into it—Yesteryear allows Natalie to have control over her life. She’s created it on her own from scratch (much like the recipes she posts online). Yes, her inner monologue reveals her disgusting view of others, her selfishness, and her incapability of feeling empathy, but within that hatred, there’s also ambition and a willingness to do whatever it takes to get what she wants.

It makes Natalie extremely cold, blunt point of view that much harder to stomach, along with the real tradwife influencers I see on my timeline. I almost want these women to be victims of their husbands’ masterminding because it’s so much easier to understand a man benefiting from the patriarchy than it is a woman who reinforces it for her own financial and social gain, despite how it works against all other women. The idea that a man hates women is nothing new, but reading how vehemently Natalie hates other women, how she rolls her eyes at them and their goals, and how aware she is that they’re judging her right back isn’t easy to read. Though no matter how harsh her thoughts and opinions are, you’re never without empathy for Natalie. After all, she was born in a world run by men just like the rest of us, and she’s using it to her advantage to provide for her family.

When Natalie is thrust into the 1800s, she’s forced to actually experience the messaging her account has been pushing. While she definitely believes the anti-women rhetoric she peddles online, she is forced to experience the true brutality of that message. What it really means to answer to a man, without millions lining your pockets to soften the blow. When her illusion cracks, she attempts to find her way back to the world where she shows a subservient life online, urging women to follow her way of life, but she actually has the power. Though as we see this play out, you can’t help but ask yourself if she ever actually had the power in the first place.

Another incredibly interesting theme in the novel is the idea of performance. The juxtaposition between Natalie’s inner monologue and her actions reveals how, with every step, she is performing. Whether that audience is her actual social media followers, societal expectations, or her private performance for God, it pushes us to investigate where we perform in our own lives. Natalie is obsessed with appearing flawless to everyone around her, and while she certainly goes to greater lengths, it’s something we all attempt daily.

“Yesteryear is one of the most fascinating deep dives into modern internet culture I’ve ever read.”

When someone passes as perfect—even when we know it’s a lie—we can’t help but will them to misstep, to reveal the true messiness inside them. As an audience, a part of us enjoys watching Natalie (and the other trad wives on our FYP) fail, spiral, and unravel because it means that even someone who has money, success, and privilege can’t be perfect. And when even they have flaws, we finally give ourselves permission to have them, too. In this book, we watch that crash and burn, knowing Natalie’s part in it, wanting her to succeed and fail at the same time. Diving into that contradiction is exactly why Yesteryear has caught the attention of so many.

The tradwife phenomenon is such an effective backdrop for this character study. There’s something romantic about that traditional cowboy life. I mean, cowboy romances are thriving right now. Yellowstone has a million spinoffs. Every It girl in New York City is wearing cowboy boots down the street. The image of being able to afford a sprawling, beautiful patch of land and create our own rustic retreat (complete with all the luxuries of modern life we’re accustomed to, of course) with an Americana aesthetic is an easy sell. And no matter what the comment section of these accounts looks like, we’re fascinated by the story these people are telling.

Even if you love your independence and the desire for children is nonexistent, when you’re drowning in your nine-to-five, we can all romanticize a life where your biggest worry is whether your sourdough starter will rise. Part of us wants to believe the tradwife lie that’s being sold, and Yesteryear takes that desire and explores it deeply, deconstructing the fantasy. It’s addicting, just like scrolling through these influencers’ pages.

While on Instagram, you may create your own stories about the slightly eerie families you see online—Yesteryear fills in those “what if” blanks for you, expertly highlighting both the possible sinister nature of these accounts and how the world around us is to blame with its extreme views, constant breaking news, and the kind of chaos that makes an escape into the past look oh-so shiny.

So, should you read Yesteryear?

If the hook “trad-wife thriller” hasn’t already convinced you to pick up this book, let me be the push you need. Yesteryear is one of the most fascinating deep dives into modern internet culture I’ve ever read. Caro Claire Burke manages to craft one of the most unlikable main characters I’ve ever encountered while still leaving readers with empathy for her. It expertly critiques gender roles, the way we consume content, and how we perform for an audience—whether that audience scrutiny comes in the form of a God, an Instagram follower, or societal expectations. It’s one of those books you read and immediately want to start over to catch everything you missed the first time.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lauren Blue, Associate Editor & Book Club Co-Host

As an Associate Editor for The Everygirl, Lauren ideates and writes content for every facet of our readers’ lives, from must-read books and behind-the-scenes interviews to beauty products she can’t live without. When she isn’t sitting in an AMC watching the latest buzzy release, she can be found scouring Goodreads for the perfect pick for The Everygirl Book Club. There, she co-hosts discussions with members, debating plotlines, fancasting characters, and, of course, tossing in her own recommendations.

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