Fresh Reads: When We Were Feral by Shasta Grant

Before she wrote the novel, before the residency, before the ninety thousand words that became her debut — Shasta Grant was a little girl in New Hampshire being raised by her grandparents, carrying questions about her mother that she didn't yet have language for. She didn't know then that those questions would one day find their form on the page. She didn't know she'd spend years writing shorter and shorter stories until fiction had compressed itself into flash, then sit down in a house in Orlando that once belonged to Jack Kerouac and finally let something large and long and true come through. She didn't know she was writing toward herself. But she was.

Shasta is the author of When We Were Feral, a debut literary novel set in 1990s New Hampshire about three girls — Maggie and her friends — searching for answers about their missing mothers. It is a novel about friendship in its most primal form, about the particular cruelty and fierce loyalty that live side by side in female adolescence, and about what it means to grow up in the absence of a mother's presence. The book was born from a short story, expanded through a three-month writing residency where Shasta wrote a thousand words a day and didn't plan anything — just followed the girls where they led. The adult timeline she originally wrote got cut in revision, because, as she puts it, everything she loved about the book was in that child timeline. The longing. The wildness. The unresolved ache at the center of it all. Shasta grew up in the world she built in this novel, and she set it in 1990s New Hampshire because she still holds a longing for that place and that time — a longing the book finally gave her permission to explore. Writing it, she discovered something she hadn't expected: how many unresolved feelings she still held about her own mother and the particular wound of maternal abandonment.

This episode is for anyone who has ever circled around a childhood wound in their adult life without fully looking at it — and for every reader who grew up in the 1990s and felt the complicated, electric tension of female friendship before they had words for it. It is for the writer who thinks they only know how to write short things, who needs to hear that the long story is in there waiting. And it is for anyone who has ever needed a novel that doesn't look away from what girlhood actually felt like — not the polished version, but the feral one.