Excerpt from Hausfrau by Jill Alexander Essbaum, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Boredom, like the trains, carried Anna through her days.

Is that true? Anna thought. That can't be entirely true. It wasn't. An hour earlier Anna lay naked, wet and open atop a stranger's bed in an apartment in Zürich's Niederdorf district, four stories above the old town's wending alleys and mortared stone streets upon which kiosks vended doner kebabs and bistros served communal pots of melted Emmental.

What little shame I had before is gone, she thought.

"Is there a difference between shame and guilt?" Anna asked.

"Shame is psychic extortion," Doktor Messerli answered. "Shame lies. Shame a woman and she will believe she is fundamentally wrong, organically delinquent. The only confidence she will have will be in her failures. You will never convince her otherwise."

It was almost 3:00 p.m. when Anna reached her sons' school. Primarschule Dorf was positioned next to the town square between the library and a three-­hundred-­year-­old house. A month earlier on the Swiss national holiday, the square was thick with citizens eating sausages and swaying like drunkards to the live music of a folk band under a sky made bright with fireworks. During army maneuvers, soldiers parked supply trucks in sloppy diagonals next to the square's central fountain, which on summer days would be filled with splashing, naked children whose mothers sat on nearby benches reading books and eating yogurt. Bruno had finished his reserve duty years earlier. All that was left of the experience was an assault rifle in the basement. As for Anna, she didn't care for paperbacks and when her sons wanted to swim she took them to the city pool.

That day, the traffic in the square was thin. A trio of women chatted in front of the library. One pushed a stroller, another held a leash at the end of which panted a German shepherd, and a final one simply stood with empty hands. They were mothers waiting on their children and they were younger than Anna by a factor of ten years. They were milky and buoyant in places where Anna felt curdled and sunken. They wore upon their faces, Anna thought, a luminous ease of being, a relaxed comportment, a native glow.

Anna rarely felt at ease inside her skin. I am tight-­faced and thirty-­seven years, Anna thought. I am the sum of all my twitches. One mother tossed her a wave and a genuine, if obligatory, smile.

She'd met this stranger in her German class. But Anna—­his cock's been in your mouth, she reminded herself. He's not really a stranger anymore. And he wasn't. He was Archie Sutherland, Scotsman, expatriate, and, like Anna, language student. Anna Benz, Language Student. It was Doktor Messerli who had encouraged her to take the German course (and, by a backspin of redoubtable irony, it was Bruno who'd insisted she see a psychotherapist: I've had enough of your fucking misery, Anna. Go fix yourself, is what he'd said to her). Doktor Messerli then handed Anna a schedule of classes and said, "It's time you steer yourself into a trajectory that will force you into participating more fully with the world around you." The Doktor's affected speech, while condescending, was correct. It was time. It was past time.

By the end of that appointment and with some more pointed cajoling, Anna conceded and agreed to enroll in a beginner's German class at the Migros Klubschule, the very class she should have taken when, nine years prior, she arrived in Switzerland, tongue-­tied, friendless, and already despairing of her lot.

An hour earlier Archie had called to Anna from his kitchen: Would she take a coffee? A tea? Something to eat? Was there anything she needed? Anything? Anything at all? Anna dressed cautiously, as if thorns had been sewn into the seams of her clothes.

From the street below, she heard the rising cries of children returning to school post-­lunch and the voices of American sightseers who grumped about the pitch of the hill atop which Zürich's Grossmünster was built. The cathedral is a heavy building, medieval gray and inimitable, with two symmetric towers that rise flush against the church's façade and jut high above its vaulted roof like hare's ears at attention.

Excerpted from Hausfrau by Jill Alexander Essbaum. Copyright © 2015 by Jill Alexander Essbaum. Excerpted by permission of Random House, a division of Random House LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.