Look, I'm just going to say it: I did not need to be having feelings about church ladies and their secret affairs while sitting in the school pickup line. Sophie was babbling in her car seat about goldfish crackers, Emma was complaining about her teacher, and I'm over here trying not to visibly react to a story about a woman's decades-long arrangement with her childhood best friend. This is not the multitasking I signed up for.
But here we are. And honestly? Worth it.
Four Hours That Hit Different
At just over four hours, this collection is basically designed for exhausted moms who finish maybe three books a year. I knocked this out in less than a week—school drop-offs, one blessed nap time where Sophie actually slept, and yes, my sacred car-in-garage time. Short story collections are perfect for interrupted listening because each story is its own complete thing. You can pause between "Peach Cobbler" and "Eula," deal with whatever crisis just erupted in the kitchen, and come back without needing a recap.
Deesha Philyaw writes about Black women and girls across four generations, all of them caught between what the church expects and what they actually want. And what they want is messy and complicated and sometimes involves the preacher's wife. The fourteen-year-old crushing on a married woman. The forty-two-year-old who can't get comfortable in her own skin. The serial mistress who has RULES for her married lovers. These aren't characters asking for permission to exist.
Janina Edwards Understood the Assignment
Okay, I need to talk about this narrator because she's doing something really smart. Her voice is mellow—like genuinely soothing in a way that made the explicit content hit even harder? There's this contrast between how calm and warm she sounds and the absolute chaos these women are navigating. She shifts between characters of different ages without doing "voices" in that annoying way some narrators do. A teenager sounds different from a middle-aged woman, but it's subtle. It's in the rhythm, the hesitation, the way certain words land.
The story "Snowfall"—I was folding laundry and had to stop because the grief in her voice was just... yeah. I stood there holding Lucas's tiny dinosaur shirt and had a moment. Not a full ugly-cry, but close.
Not Your Grandmother's Church Stories (Unless Your Grandmother Was Way More Interesting Than Mine)
Here's the thing—this book won basically every award. National Book Award finalist, PEN/Faulkner winner, Story Prize winner. That usually makes me nervous because award books can be so literary they forget to be enjoyable. This one isn't like that. Yes, it's beautifully written. But it's also readable. Accessible. The kind of book that makes you think without making you work for it.
The church setting isn't really about religion—it's about the performance of goodness. These women are navigating communities that expect them to be perfect while giving them zero space to be human. And they find that space anyway. In hospice parking lots. In once-a-year hotel rooms. In their own heads.
I will say—and this is my one caution—this is not background listening. There's sexual content, there's grief, there's complexity that deserves your attention. I tried listening while making dinner once and completely missed an entire story because I was focused on not burning the chicken. Had to go back. So maybe save it for when the kids are occupied or asleep.
Who Needs This in Their Ears (And Who Should Skip)
If you've ever felt like you're performing a version of yourself for everyone else—whether that's church, your mom, the other PTA parents—this book sees you. If you want something short enough to actually finish but substantial enough to stick with you, this is it. If you're curious about award-winning literary fiction but worried it'll be pretentious, Philyaw writes with zero pretension.
Skip it if you need a clear beginning-middle-end plot, if explicit content isn't your thing, or if you're looking for something light and fluffy. This isn't comfort reading. It's the opposite of comfort reading, actually. If you're looking for something on the other end of that spectrum, His Sub is pure escapist fun—steamy, light, and designed to make you smile instead of sit with complicated feelings.
My Garage Door Moment
I finished the last story parked in my garage, engine off, knowing full well I should go inside and start dinner. Sat there for an extra ten minutes just processing. Sophie was asleep in her car seat. The house was quiet. And I thought about all the ways women make space for themselves when nobody's giving them permission.
Then Lucas opened the garage door looking for a snack and the moment was over. But still. Sometimes a book gives you exactly what you didn't know you needed, right when you needed it. This was that book for me.
