Moss has always been a political writer, using her fiction to interrogate received ideas around nationalism, patriarchy, tribalism, and violence. In her last two novels, The Fell (2021) and Summerwater (2020), there was a sense that the real-world manifestations of those themes were getting on top of her somewhat—completely understandable; it was getting on top of everyone, but it made for less vital fiction, with the ideas not as fully integrated into the elements of the novel like characters and plot. With her memoir, My Good Bright Wolf (2024), she addressed a number of traumas, not just her lifelong struggle with disordered eating but a more pervasive sense of being an outsider through her complexly-felt identity as the daughter of a Scottish-Russian-American Jew, and what that meant for a girl growing up in postwar England. When I read My Good Bright Wolf, I immediately thought, this is what’s been plaguing her fiction, this has been gumming up the works a little bit, she’s finally gotten it out. And in Ripeness—her first novel since the memoir—that’s mostly borne out. 

It’s still a political novel that filters its politics through the personal, set in the 1960s and the present day. Edith, now living in rural Ireland, writes up her recollections of the months just after she finished school, in which she was sent to Tuscany by her mother, Rachel—a French Jew who survived the Holocaust by fleeing Paris, though the rest of her family did not. Rachel has instructed Edith to help her heavily pregnant bohemian ballerina sister Lydia; she’s to be present at the birth and facilitate the adoption process, which Rachel has arranged, somewhat mysteriously, through a French convent. There are resonances in the present day: Edith's friend Maebh struggles to accept the existence of an American half-brother, a child her mother had as a teenager who was adopted away from Ireland through a convent network. Edith is a fantastically spiky protagonist whose inner monologue is full of self-questioning and academic prodding at her own first thoughts, no matter what the subject. She’s also that rare thing in fiction, a sexually active divorced septuagenarian. Through these two storylines, Moss explores—sometimes quite explicitly, through dialogue and argument; sometimes less so—how we construct our ideas of belonging. For a dual-nationality person this is inherently interesting, but even for those who consider themselves British all the way back to the Jurassic period (you’re not, by the way), it’s such an engaging exploration. If you’ve never liked Sarah Moss, this won’t change your mind, but if you were a fan of her earlier work, you’ll see this as more than a return to form; it’s a development, and a very good one.

I've long loved Sarah Moss's writing, and 'Ripeness' sings with her classic well-observed characters. Ripeness is the story of Edith's travels to Italy to support her pregnant sister through her term, and settled within that are discussions on race, belonging, motherhood, identity. It's doing a lot, and the flow of the sections and the voice sweep you up between past and present that the whole story feels more like a collage than something linear. It's the great kind of book to take on holiday - not in the light-hearted, just-a-bit-of-fun way, but for sitting in quiet reflection when you have time to digest it fully.

Virgin, Mother, Crone. Ripeness or readiness?

My, Sarah Moss’s book, with its sumptuous cover and wide subject matter, covering its central character, at the gate of her adulthood aged 17 to the time, aged 70, living contentedly alone in rural Ireland is a stunning one.

Alternate chapters give us Edith at 17 and at 70, and, with the 70 year old, as she reflects, on her life, we get little snapshots of the time between. She is always though, in the present moment only at 17 or 70.

We first meet this 70 year old in a rather startling way, in the middle of satisfying sex with her equally elderly lover, Gunter, in rural Ireland. This is startling, and really brilliant. Neither are in the time of ripeness, but they are completely ready for the present moment.

The immediate jump to a time some 50 years earlier, has Edith, almost a little like the character of Cassandra in Dodie Smith’s I Capture the Castle, on the edge of becoming. Edith, a passionate reader has got into Oxford. Rachel, her sophisticated and cultured mother, a French Jew of Ukrainian origin, who was the only one from her family who survived the war has decreed Edith should have a gap year before University, to improve her languages, and has sent her to Italy to be with her pregnant sister Lydie, a dancer, in the few remaining months before she gives birth.

Young Edith and old Edith are absolutely and fundamentally connected, we see everything about the girl in the old woman, and the old woman has the glorious open and reflective qualities of the girl she was

I don’t want to give anything about the layered plot, or the themes, away.

Only, what a delight this book was. Moss is always a writer whose writing is rich, layered and absorbing. There is also a wonderful theme which begins to unfold midway through the sojourn in Italy, which gets picked up again towards the end of the Irish set sections, with something which happens in the life of her friend Maebh.

Without any heavy handedness there is an ongoing awareness of diaspora, of refugees, of the need for home. Edith herself, on one level is always an outsider, aware of the history which caused her family, across the generations, to flee one place of safety to another, and then another. Here in the present, where she feels is ‘home’ – but maybe is never to be considered her home by those for whom this means ‘born and bred here for many generations’ the community is trying to make a welcome home for Ukrainians, fleeing from the present war. These ‘refugees’ are welcome – but, it turns out that there are other people, from further away places, also fleeing unsafe places, who may not be so welcome.

Edith is a deeply reflecting woman, so her thoughts provide the vehicle for the writer (and the reader) to deeply reflect too, on present day issues which in the hands of a lesser writer, might merely be polemic

Moss has created a central character here who is an absolute pleasure to meet and spend time with, almost as if she is a dear, and known friend.

Ripeness is another triumph from Sarah Moss—quietly powerful, intellectually sharp, and emotionally resonant. Moss continues to demonstrate her remarkable gift for capturing the subtle tensions of modern life: the unspoken dynamics between people, the unease of privilege, the quiet anxieties that hum beneath the surface of the everyday.

The writing is spare yet vivid, and Moss’s ability to say so much in so few words is striking. Every sentence feels intentional. The characters are finely drawn, their inner lives rendered with both empathy and critical distance. There’s a strong undercurrent of unease throughout—social, personal, environmental—that builds with an almost imperceptible force until you realize just how much is at stake beneath the surface.

What I admire most is how Moss never resorts to melodrama. Instead, she trusts her readers to sit in ambiguity, to feel discomfort, to reflect. This is literary fiction at its most intelligent and humane.

Highly recommended for readers who love introspective, thought-provoking novels that linger long after the final page.

There's a line in this book about the protagonist enjoying a book by a writer she has confidence in, and I wondered if this was Sarah Moss referencing her own readership. Since discovering her through Ghost Wall, then reading Night Waking during my own period of night wakings, I have read a new book of hers the moment I can. Usually I can distill what a book of hers is about to something quite simple, but in the case of Ripeness, even the official description - it's about migration, belonging, etc - only offers a loose frame. I found it a substantial novel, that grapples in a human way with what it means to be alive, to be not alive. It is a novel of our times, with our specific crises, but it somehow makes you feel a part of history, which is constantly unfolding. I guess the title is linked to that feeling.

The book has a slowish tempo, and I wouldn't say that there is a plot twist or climax, but the way it builds catches up with you. I frequently found my eyes filling with tears unexpectedly. Now, a few days afterwards, I think it might be one of her best books and a quiet masterpiece.

Ripeness by Sarah Moss

1.Meet Edith,mature woman,survivor of a family ravaged and scarred by The Holocaust,now living off the coast of Ireland,reflecting on or escaping from the successes and failures of her life; trying for contentment while there is still time.
2.Meet Edith, a young girl,on the cusp of going to study at Oxford, sent on a mission to the Italian Lakes,to support her ballet dancer sister, Lydia, accidentally and unhappily pregnant.
One person, two stories from different ends of life, colliding somewhere in the middle. Family, friends,circumstances and events, cause her to consider where do we come from, and does it really matter compared to who we are?
A contemplative story,wonderful characters and locations - Italy lends itself so well to books. I did have to concentrate on the dialogue at times with the absence of traditional speech marks grammar - my only niggle.

#docs.reading.room

Ripeness is two stories in one, focusing on two times in Edith’s life. Now, when Edith, divorced and living in rural Ireland and her friendship with Méabh who is suddenly contacted by an American claiming to be her brother. This gives rise to the second story.

This part of the book is set in Italy in the 1960s when a young Edith ( prior to going to study in Oxford) spends the summer with her sister Lydia a ballet dancer who is due to give birth to a baby who will be given up to adoption through French nuns.

Edith is a young intelligent, bookish girl from a rural farm in the north of England, whose French mother has insisted she look after her elder sister. The summer is one of discovery about herself, her sister and fellow dancers, about living abroad and the shame of giving birth in such circumstances.

Present day Edith supports her friend through the realisation of her mother’s trauma and shame. A secret taken to the grave. While writing a letter to the child she knew only briefly. A very moving read

The story is told over a dual timeline by the central character Edith.
It begins in Ireland, where an older Edith is living alone, after divorcing her husband of many years. She leads a quiet, simple life and has a small circle of friends, including her lover Gunter and her best friend Méabh.

When Méabh tells Edith that she has received a letter from an American man, claiming to be her long lost brother, Edith remembers another baby boy given up for adoption many years ago.

We are then transported back to the 1960’s, where a naive 17 year old Edith finds herself in Italy. She’s been sent there by her mother, to look after her sister Lydia, who’s in the final stages of an unplanned pregnancy.

This was quite a slow read and I kept waiting for a big twist and for the two timelines to collide, but they didn’t.
With thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for this arc in exchange for an honest review.

Many thanks to the author, Sarah Moss, @netgalley, and the publisher, Pan Macmillan, for a digital ARC of this novel, which is published on 22 May. It follows Edith through dual timelines. In the first, she’s just left school and is on a gap year, instigated by her unconventional mother. When Edith’s elder sister Lydia becomes pregnant, Edith is sent to rural Italy to assist her before and after the birth. In the second timeline, Edith is retired and living in rural Co. Clare, in the West of Ireland. She has a disagreement with her friend Maebh over anti-refugee protests. However, when a startling event occurs in Maebh’s family, she turns to Edith for help.

This is such a well-written and accomplished novel. It weaves together themes of identity and belonging, as well as looking at the past history of women giving up their babies for adoption – or being forced to. The themes complement each other well, and the book subtly makes a case for more understanding and empathy towards those who have been forced to flee their native lands, without becoming at all preachy. You can understand clearly from her past experiences why Edith is able to put herself in the place of the refugees when she’s confronted with the protesters – and why it sets her apart from others in the village.

Edith has a liberal and tolerant outlook on everything. For instance, when she’s young, she’s able to empathise with her mother’s emotional distance and lack of interest in parenting, even while she’s personally affected by it. She believes that Maebh turns to her because she’s an outsider, but I think it’s more likely to be her tact and understanding that attracts Maebh. It’s the kind of tolerant, caring perspective that we could all learn from, and it reminds me of the argument from the fifties and sixties that reading novels can make you a kinder and more liberal person. The writing is also skillful without being showy in any way, and it was a pleasure to read. It’s so well-constructed and well-written that I would recommend it to everyone.

Ripeness by Sarah Moss is a clever and well plotted book set over two timeframes. We meet Edith when she is 17 and when she is 70. The older and wiser woman is reflecting on her trip to Italy in the 1960s in a letter to her nephew who was adopted after being relinquished by her sister. As the first person to hold him and care for him, Edith feels a responsibility to share her family history and memories of the first weeks of his life with him. This focus brings depth and layers of both information and emotion.
I particularly liked the parallels between Edith's mother as a Jewish woman having to leave her home in the 1930s, Edith as an English woman in Ireland, and attitudes towards the African asylum seekers. Clever!
I was intrigued by Edith's refections and experiences. Ripeness is a thought proking and rewarding read.

Unfortunately, this was not to my taste because of:
1. The Irish names, which I did not know how to pronounce to myself when reading;
2. The layout I.e. no speech marks so sometimes it was hard to see what was talk and what was description etc., plus the paragraphs were very long and contained a mixture of speech and prose.
The themes addressed were interesting especially the comparison of the Jewish refugee mother with the Ukrainians now. I have recommended this to friends who are fans of this author though.

I loved the time span covered in this book. I always enjoy novels that follow characters through their lives so that you can really get to know them. I did find the style quite wordy, but that is just a personal taste as it's more literary than I am used to. Lovely characters and story.

The book is super exciting and would love to read more from the author!

Thankyou netgalley for the ARC

While I have previously enjoyed Moss’ work, Ripeness left a bad taste in my mouth. For a novel about the messiness of identity, colonialism and immigration, and where the main characters’ mother is an Israeli settler, the fact Palestine was not mentioned on a single occasion (while Israel was written about several times) was very troubling to me.

The entire point of the novel collapses in on itself because of Palestine’s glaring omission.

What a beautiful cover for a beautifully written book. I have loved Sarah Moss's writing since reading her first novel, Cold Earth and she gets better with each one. Hers s intelligent fiction which forces you. to reflect on modern life and the issues surrounding us.

Ripeness is a dual timeframe narrative which goes between mid sixties Italy where 17 year old Edith has been sent by her mother to look after her pregnant sister, and contemporary Ireland where Edith is now living. In Italy, the young Edith is thrown into a situation she can barely understand. She is about to become an adult and her adolescent insecurity is shown vividly. She copes very well with the situation however, In Ireland. Edith is now a self assured woman, confident in her choices (to get divorced, to live along, to take a lover) She is at peace with herself.. But Ripeness is about so much more than one woman. Issues such as belonging, migration, motherhood are all explored,

A wonderful book. Thanks to the publisher and NetGalley for the ARC.

I think my enjoyment of the book was definitely dashed since it threw me into a sex scene right at the beginning. It made for a very strong opening, however it did catch me off guard and (obviously, this is a personal preference) as I am someone who does not enjoy sex scenes all that much, it did take coming back after putting it down for some time for me to get back into enjoying it.

While I did end up enjoying it eventually, I just did not click with the authors style of writing, which is a real shame because I think the message that was being shared was beautiful. It took me quite a while to really get into the book, and while I think Moss is beautiful with her words, it is just something I could not connect with and it left me without much feeling at the end of it.

I’ve been a fan of Sarah Moss ever since her first book, *Ghost Wall*, so I was thrilled to get my hands on a review copy of her latest, *Ripeness*. In this new novel, we follow Edith at two different points in her life: as a teenager with plans to go to Oxford (which get delayed) and as a woman in her seventies, living in Ireland. Between those two moments, we get glimpses of her life—marriage, a son, a divorce—but by the time we catch up with her in Ireland, she’s content, with friends and even a lover.

That said, a lot of Edith’s past, especially her younger years, still shapes her life and that of her sister, Lydia. Their mother was Jewish and fled to England during the war, marrying an English farmer. But she never really settled, eventually leaving for Israel after losing her family in the Holocaust. When Lydia, a ballet dancer, finds herself pregnant, she’s sent to an Italian villa by Igor (possibly the father) to give birth and give the baby up for adoption. Edith is asked to stay with Lydia, take care of her, attend the birth, and look after the baby under the housekeeper’s disapproving eye until the sister arrives to take the baby away.

This storyline also connects to Edith’s friend in Ireland, and through these different threads, Moss dives into so many aspects of women’s lives—from Edith’s mother to her own experiences, to Lydia’s struggles. It’s especially relevant with the current state of Europe, under attack and in turmoil. The book really made me reflect on my own family—my mom’s Italian roots, my dad’s Irish background, and my own mixed heritage that includes Jewish roots, all tying into the themes of displacement and identity. It’s clear Moss is passionate about Europe staying open and welcoming, and how important it is to retain our humanity, especially in times of crisis.

One of the most emotional parts of the book is when Lydia gives birth, and you see Edith struggle with the overwhelming decisions being made for her, especially when it comes to her desire to keep the baby as her own nephew. If you’ve ever had a child, I dare you not to be moved by those moments.

This book is a beautiful exploration of how women protect themselves, how they manage to be so many different things to different people—mother, sister, wife, daughter—and how often things are done to them that they have to live with. It’s also a stark reminder of the ongoing threats to women’s rights and freedoms around the world. Women’s education, healthcare, and rights are still under attack, and that’s something we should all care about, no matter where we’re from.

This novel would be perfect for a reading group because it’s full of topics that will spark deep discussions. I absolutely loved it and highly recommend it.

My first Sarah Moss—and I think I’m a little bit in love!

"Ripeness" is a beautifully layered novel that reminded me why I love reading. It’s a compact exploration of family dynamics, identity, migration, and belonging - so rich in meaning that it feels almost too short, yet somehow just perfect in its brevity.

The story unfolds across two timelines: one set in the 1960s and the other in the present day. Moss masterfully weaves these threads together, creating a tapestry of past and present that resonates with deep emotional truth.

What a deliciously unsettling and thought-provoking book this is! Moss has an incredible gift for capturing the beauty and complexity of everyday life. Her descriptions are vivid and evocative, filled with musings on universal themes like religion, friendship, sex, and death. Each page felt like something to savour - there’s a quiet power in her prose that lingers long after you’ve finished reading.

This was my first encounter with Sarah Moss’s work, but it certainly won’t be my last. "Ripeness" left me moved, reflective, and eager to explore more of her writing.

What a beautiful novel this is, from someone writing at the top of their game. Structurally and stylistically, it’s a treat, with alternating sections telling the stories of the same character, Edith, fifty years apart. The younger Edith tells her own story, in the first person, through the device of a lengthy letter to a child, to be read in the future, explaining the circumstances of the child’s birth and subsequent life. The sections dealing with the older Edith are set in rural Ireland and are told in the third person. The sense of a whole life is given real substance by this technique, with the gaps and inconsistencies generating as much authenticity as the threads that clearly stretch unbroken through the fifty years that separate the two portrayals. What is the relationship between each of us and our younger selves? How much of our lives could have been predicted by the clues provided by our beginnings?
The book uses the two settings, 1960s Tuscany and Ireland in the 2020s, to explore some weighty themes: Antisemitism and the fallout from the holocaust, refugees and immigration, what constitutes nationality and a sense of belonging, family bonds, conventionality versus bohemianism. All of it, though, is firmly rooted in character, relationships and drama. There are two major plot strands, but plot is not the narrative driver here. It’s Moss’ gorgeous prose that drives the reader on. Well, this reader anyway. (although in the second half, there were a couple of occasions when I felt the reflective lyrical writing slowed the narrative down. I’m nitpicking, but hence the four stars, rather than 5). Beautiful descriptions of both Tuscan countryside and small town/village life in the Republic are subtly blended with Edith’s reflections on first growing up and then getting old. Both are done brilliantly - her awkward, self conscious sense of being out of her depth in the artistic commune in Tuscany is as wonderful as her sense of self and certainty as an older single woman still grasping life with both hands. It’s a very compelling affirmation of the truth that one of the joys of later life is the liberation of not giving a toss what other people make of you, and doing it without being a boor or a reactionary old redneck.
Honestly, this is a must read book. Beautiful and thought provoking.

"There's something Fascist , don't you see, in the idea that your genes are your story? I have learnt this: there are no border guards at the chambers of your heart. It's only the immigration officers who might care, where your mother was born, what passport your father carried.
If history grants you the chance, be free of all that, that's my advice”

My first foray into Sarah Moss’ writing did not disappoint; she’s an exquisite writer, and her latest novel, Ripeness, shows an author at the height of their literary powers. Edith is the novel’s main character, and we see her story unfolding across two timelines, fifty years apart. In the present(ish) day, Edith is living on the west coast of Ireland, enjoying an uncomplicated life - or so it seems, for Edith is a little haunted by the events of one Italian summer about fifty years prior. This Italian summer is explored in the second timeline; here, Edith is 17, living with her pregnant older sister Lydia and her mates in a Tuscan villa. Lydia is here as she’s been sent away to deliver her first child and immediately hand it over for adoption. Grim!

I enjoyed this a lot while still finding it quite hard going; Moss’ language is dense, she doesn’t use quotation marks and is fond of the odd philosophical tangent. None of this is a criticism, it just didn’t suit me at the time of reading. That said, I still found myself drawn in by Edith’s stor(ies) and loved some of Moss’ more political commentaries. There’s a subplot about refugees coming to Ireland and local resistance to the same that she ties to her family history of Holocaust Survival, which sounds like a reach but was superbly done. Moss also explores the emigrant experience (like Edith, she is English living in Ireland), what that means as a form of identity, and how it affects feelings of belonging to a place or a people.

Strangely, I felt more drawn to present-day Edith’s story than teenage Edith - I found the older version of the woman more compelling, though what little action happens in the novel takes place in the 1960s section.

Repeated mentions of Isr*el got my back up, given the ongoing genocide taking place in Gaza, but other than that i’d recommend this novel - it’s a multi-layered story of womanhood, place and identity that probably would have offered a lot more to me if I hadn’t been reading it during a particularly exhausting week.