A woman with a violent past gets a chance at redemption in this upmarket suspense debut, perfect for fans of Lisa Taddeo and Tiffany McDaniel.

Thirteen years ago, Providence Byrd threw the family car in reverse and ran over her mother. Even though she survived, that single instant of teenage madness made Providence a felon and irrevocably altered her life. When her mother disappears years later under suspicious circumstances, Providence tells herself that returning home is her chance to find closure after a prolonged estrangement from her family. Never mind that this is only half of the truth: she’s also returning to finally confront her abusive father, Tom Byrd. Nothing can stamp out Providence’s certainty that he is guilty of whatever terrible thing has happened to her mother.

As the search unfolds, Providence is haunted by the wounds of her past, none of which cut as deep as the distance between her and her younger sisters. Harmony and Grace are both uniquely scarred by her attempted matricide, and both have their own idea of what reconciliations might look like – if reconciling is even possible. Harmony urges Providence to make their father pay for his sins; Grace begs her to end the cycle of violence that has haunted their family for generations. As her thirst for vengeance collides with her desire to heal her relationships with her sisters, Providence must decide which she values more: revenge or redemption.

Sharp and poignant, Every Sweet Thing Is Bitter is a stunning novel that eschews picture-perfect endings and dares to tell a story about a resilient queer woman and her relentless determination to persevere.

If you’re as big a fan of messy families, broken characters, and unreliable narrators who make questionable choices as I am – you’re going to want to bump this book up on your TBR pile.

The entire story is told from the first-person POV of Providence Byrd, a character who is the definition of a complicated main character, and I mean that in the best possible way. When we first meet her, we know just enough to be intrigued (and slightly horrified): she ran over her mother with a car at seventeen – almost killing her – and did time for it. Attempted matricide isn’t exactly your average backstory, but it sets the stage for a story that’s as dark and raw as it is compelling. But here’s the thing – it’s not that simple. Nothing in this book is.

Providence returns to her tiny, gossip-laced hometown years later when her mother goes missing. And to say it’s a minefield is an understatement. The town is suffocating in that very specific small-town way – one I know too well. Everyone knows everything (or thinks they do), the church is the town’s backbone, and men like her father are rarely questioned.

It doesn’t take long for us to learn more about what really happened all those years ago and why Providence did what she did to her mother, and I appreciated this. The mystery was really about where her mother is now and if someone was responsible for the disappearance. And even then, the story is mostly focused on this fractured family and the awful man at its heart. It’s an exploration of abuse, guilt, survival, and the price of both vengeance and forgiveness.

The real heart of this book, though, is the Byrd family dynamic – or maybe I should say the emotional carnage that used to be a family. The sisters – Providence, Harmony, and Grace – are all beautifully damaged in their own ways. You can feel the ache of what they’ve been through and the distance that’s grown between them. I appreciated that the author didn’t try to sweeten things between the sisters. They’re complicated. There’s no tidy reunion. Just grief, resentment, a tentative connection over their missing mother, and a whole lot of trauma.

And then there’s the patriarch – Tom Byrd. I don’t remember the last time I hated a fictional character this much. I think I hated him even more than the mother in “The Darkest Child,” and that’s saying something! This dude is pure, unfiltered toxicity – the kind of man who uses religion as both shield and weapon. Every time he was on the page, my blood pressure went up. Crewson doesn’t just paint him as a bad father; she builds him into a terrifying, manipulative, abusive monster. And what’s worse? You know men like this exist. That’s what makes it so chilling.

I won’t lie – this book is heavy. There are major content warnings here for emotional and physical abuse, coercion, and the kind of insidious religious control that leaves a lasting mark. But Crewson handles these topics with such care and nuance. She doesn’t sensationalize; she simply tells the truth of these characters’ lives, and it’s devastating.

That said, it’s not all doom and gloom. There are moments of hope and clarity that shine through, mostly in the fragile connections between Providence and her sisters. Harmony is fierce, ready to burn the whole world down for justice. Grace is quiet, longing for peace but unsure how to get there. Watching them navigate their shared pain felt real and earned. I also appreciated Providence’s friendship with Sarah Black Elk – an Indigenous woman she met in prison and is still friends with.

The book doesn’t offer easy answers. It’s not a redemption story in the traditional sense, and that’s what makes it so powerful. It’s about survival, plain and simple – and what we do with the pieces we’re left holding after our world crumbles around us. If you’re okay with dark themes, morally grey characters, and a story that asks you to sit with discomfort instead of looking away, this one’s worth your time.

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