All Bark—No Bite: A Review of Rachel Yoder’s “Nightbitch”
“…most women can see themselves represented in Nightbitch—in her quiet resentment, intelligence and passion, and her exasperation at everything and everyone that stands before her.”
Almost folkloric, Rachel Yoder’s novel chronicles the life of a woman – her evolution as an artist, a first-time stay-at-home mother, and her transformation into her canine counterpart. A tossup between horror, fiction, and magical realism, Nightbitch presents a twisted and abstract portrayal of the trials of womanhood and its complex relationship with personal identity. A true testament to its contemporary essence, Nightbitch fits seamlessly among modern texts, maintaining dry humor and a self-reflective nature that engage and disarm audiences as they contemplate gender politics, identity, and traditional representations of motherhood.
Beyond those themes, the novel contemplates the idea of monstrousness, specifically regarding women – explicitly questioning whether a woman’s freedom to act and exist as she desires constitutes grounds for being considered monstrous. This line of inquiry affirms its place as a text within women’s studies and feminism. Unfortunately, Yoder’s inability to commit to these acts of extreme monstrosity causes Nightbitch to lack impact. Exemplifying third wave feminism in literature, Yoder creates a piece that, while highly relatable for twenty-first-century women, remains too “safe” to be considered a progressive text due to its excessive digestibility.
The novel operates within the very framework it seeks to criticize and fails to distinguish itself from it. Throughout the story, we are led to assume that the mother’s transformation into Nightbitch is synonymous with an increase in ravenous, unruly, and, pointedly, bitchy behavior. However, aside from the occasional non-conforming fashion choice and the adoption of a canine diet, Nightbitch is never genuinely deserving of being labeled anything remotely close to a bitch. Not once throughout the narrative can she be described as aggressive or dangerous, nor can we deem her insane or unreasonable. In fact, for most of the novel, she is self-aware of her actions and limits, justified in her anger and outbursts against the systems working against her. She lacks the radical weirdness and aggression one might expect from a feminist horror story about succumbing to one's darkest urges and raging against the powers that be. Yet, Yoder insists on labeling this woman, whose worst crime in the novel is the climax in which she calmly communicates with her husband that he must begin doing his share of the parenting – a bitch.
Even worse, the novel is incredibly sympathetic to the husband character, despite his complicity in upholding these inequities and the lack of change in his character. Yoder even creates space for Nightbitch to shoulder the blame for her husband’s shortcomings – blaming herself for not communicating sooner, rather than condemning the husband’s lack of initiative as a partner and parent. It glorifies the husband and his agreement to parent as if it were not the bare minimum; as a result, it suggests that asking for the bare minimum from the men in our lives is a harsh or extreme act.
The novel is not a complete loss, however. Many aspects of the piece can be appreciated; for example, its non-explanatory nature absolves the women within it of the invisible labor of making themselves digestible or understood.
It also expresses strong sentiments about the complexity of womanhood, birth, and motherhood. I firmly believe that most women can see themselves represented in Nightbitch—in her quiet resentment, intelligence and passion, and her exasperation at everything and everyone that stands before her.
Even more, Nightbitch serves as a wonderful measure of social tolerance for women and the current state of feminist thinking. I do not blame Yoder or even some audiences for perceiving Nightbitch as subversive or extreme. As a society, and as women, we have conditioned ourselves to view the very act of having a thought, opinion, or voice as rebellious and political — so it is understandable that Yoder would perceive her protagonist voicing anything (even if articulated appropriately, within reason, and without causing harm) as radical. Nightbitch is a reminder of how low our tolerance is for women deviating in any way, and it stands as a testament to the lengths society has taken to silence women entirely.
In this way, Nightbitch serves as an excellent introduction to feminist literature and ideology, allowing audiences to begin questioning the world around them and taking their first acts of retaliation against it. However, it should be regarded as just that – an introduction. I firmly believe that the novel should not be categorized as radical by any means. May readers enjoy Nightbitch as the beginning of their literary journey, but as they explore richer texts, they should be assured that despite its contained oddness and minimal hostility, women could still stand to be a little weirder, to have more bite, and to be bitchier than Nightbitch can even begin to envision. Yoder takes commendable first steps into these ideas but fails to drive them home. I hope those who read it are inspired to go further – to make their oppressors uncomfortable, to be bold with their boundaries, to be unapologetically difficult – and to reap the benefits of their self-advocacy.