Review of The Leveret by Anna Goldreich
- thedebutdigest
- 7 days ago
- 2 min read

The Leveret is a gorgeously tender short novel exploring grief, baby loss and queer love. Clare and Phoebe move to the countryside in an attempt to fix their relationship after the miscarriage of their daughter. But what is meant to bring them together, only tears them further apart. Phoebe feels suffocated, her sense of identity lost as she returns to the rural village she worked hard to escape. She’s struggling to reconnect with Clare, doesn’t know how to heal her or how to resist being consumed by grief in her presence and so she leaves Clare to fend for herself in a large unfamiliar house and buries herself in work.
Clare’s is a wild kind of grief. Left alone with her thoughts, there’s nothing to stop her spiralling and when she finds a baby hare seemingly abadoned in the fields, she brings it home to mother it. Cute at first but soon the leveret grows into a wild thing that kicks and bites her bloody, yet still she can’t let go. The leveret becomes the baby she lost and whilst her family watch on helplessly, Clare slips deeper and deeper into a depressing unreality.
This is an intense and haunting read but one that felt deeply neccessary. Goldreich has carved space for many kinds of grief, shedding light on how different people cope with baby loss. Both Phoebe and Clare’s perspectives are handled with deep empathy. They are equally intimate and unflinching, showing the hardest parts of a relationship between two imperfect people going through the hardest of times. Clare’s POV struck a particularly emotional chord with me as I really felt her attachment to the leveret and her deep desire to be a mother as well as her battle with her mental health.
I recommend this novel delicately. There are parts that some may find triggering but ultimately, I do think lots of readers will find comfort and understanding between the pages here and they will certainly find beautiful and poetic prose.
Published on 18.06.2026 by Penguin
Reviewed by Abi
.
.
.




Comments