BookBrowse Reviews All the Other Mothers Hate Me by Sarah Harman

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Florence, an ex-pop star turned mom to 10-year-old Dylan, is exhausted. To make matters somewhat worse, Dylan's school bully goes missing after a field trip.

Thirty-one-year-old Florence, a former pop star, is going through an identity crisis. Things don't get any better once her 10-year-old son's bully goes missing. Florence would be lying if she said she didn't feel a smidge relieved by the horrific situation, but she is on edge, and reasonably, her heart hurts for the boy's mother. Maybe Florence doesn't feel as bad as she "should," but she can keep up appearances by teaming up with a fellow mom, Jenny, to investigate the case — just as long as her son isn't implicated and the police aren't involved. Sarah Harman's All the Other Mothers Hate Me is a darkly funny exploration of maternal existential dread, loneliness, aging, and identity that had me equal parts barking out laughter and holding my breath. Harman's ability to wield playful humor without undercutting the seriousness and grave circumstances of her subject is something I absolutely loved.

I really enjoyed Florence's irony as a character. On the one hand, she scrutinizes people who are obsessed with keeping up appearances and reads them as disingenuous. On the other hand, she is consumed with how people perceive her, and critical of everyone around her. Harman's writing reflects this trait very well throughout, no matter how distressing any given situation is. A great example is the initial meeting of all the parents, faculty, and police on the missing student case. During that scene, Florence paints a vivid picture of how everyone looks, as that is what she is the most preoccupied with. Not only are these descriptions visceral and biting, but there is commentary on how she looks in comparison. In what ways does she look the same, better, or worse? How does Florence's dissection of these people's appearances affect how she views their quality of life? Harman writes:

"Karl Thedor is one of the Old Dads, a group of melted-looking men on their second or third wives who rarely show up at school events and when they do they look vaguely confused and start handing out butterscotch candies. You can practically hear his arthritis as he hoists himself into a standing position."

Even on the car ride to the meeting, Florence notices superficial details while in conversation with Jenny, one of the only other moms who talks to her: "Jenny's face lights up…Her earnestness knits a deep divot between her eyebrows. I know someone who can fix that for you, I think, but decide not to mention it. We're not friends yet."

Readers can't be too quick to dislike Florence. After all, you understand how she came to be. You would be lying if you said you never found jokes about people's appearances funny, one aspect of the humor integral to the novel. Undoubtedly, this is because a great amount of social currency comes with how people perceive each other, and the easiest way they can analyze one another is by building associations with certain visual characteristics. Florence's entire life has been constructed around this painstaking judgement: as a pop star, her image was everything to her. As a mother, how her image is scrutinized has shapeshifted, but the intensity to which she feels judged remains just as high. Is she a good enough mother? Does she have a good enough job? Does she participate enough at her child's school, where she feels like all the other mothers hate her? Is she meant to let go of her dreams? Is she washed-up? While navigating the answers to these questions, her anxieties lead her to isolate and constantly, internally pit herself against other moms. The overarching question is: am I good enough? The answer seems to be an insatiable "no." And no matter what, Florence seems to self-sabotage.

As much as I enjoyed the ridiculousness of the novel, the ending is so very strange. I love an oddball ending more than anyone: my ability to suspend disbelief is pretty unbelievable. That being said, the resolution comes out of nowhere. The story has many red herrings, which are appreciated and typical in a mystery thriller. Though I was fine with none of those tense avenues becoming what "really" happened to the missing boy, I felt like most of them would have made a lot more sense than the reality. Not only that, they would have felt scarier and more interesting. The red herrings are also more fleshed out compared to what actually happens, and even going back, looking for signs of what was to come, I was confused and disappointed. I think the novel could have maintained its sinister but generally upbeat ambiance with a different ending, though the resolution didn't put me off so much as to make me write off everything else I loved about the story as a whole.

All the Other Mothers Hate Me is a deliciously strange novel, though not too cerebrally strange for the more casual reader. It caught me at a good time between some of the more distressing reads I've come across lately, especially since everything in the world feels set on fire. If you're trying to break out of a reading rut and could use equal parts mystery, suspense, existential thought, and humor, this is the perfect solution.

This review first ran in the March 12, 2025 issue of BookBrowse Recommends.