Unpublished critique on Yesteryear
'Yesteryear' needs a psych ward, not a red carpet
By Asra Ghouse
"Natalie believes that as a woman she must be a wife and pop out babies. The book, too, enjoyed a targeted push through a digital birth canal into readers’ hands. Everyone was led to believe it's a ‘must read’ even before it sold a copy."
By now, if you haven't heard of Caro Claire Burke's ‘Yesteryear,’ you’re probably living under a digital rock. Or you're a self-classified literary elite who won't pick a book just because everybody is reading it. In this case, that might have been a wise decision.
Burke's debut is everywhere! By August 2026, the book had reportedly sold around 1.4 million copies worldwide. Amazon MGM Studios acquired its film rights in 2024, long before its April 2026 publication, with Anne Hathaway attached to star and produce.
It was a win-win. Everyone shook hands, probably high-fiving each other, when they saw that a wealthy influencer transported from her aesthetically-curated, luxurious existence into the 1800s, made for quite a hook.
‘Yesteryear’ was marketed as a take on tradwife influencer Natalie, the sole earner of her domestic household. That in itself is a paradox. A traditional wife who is also the breadwinner, and that too as an influencer? Wow!
Natalie believes that as a woman she must be a wife and pop out babies. The book, too, enjoyed a targeted push through a digital birth canal into readers’ hands. Everyone was led to believe it's a ‘must read’ even before it sold a copy.
Within five months of release, it trickled to find its way to reading groups, such as The Hyderabad Library, Book Club@Communitie, and Read A Kitab.
But there’s a glaring mismatch between the book’s marketing and its material. ‘Yesteryear’ is actually about Natalie’s psychological unravelling. The book’s representation of mental health is one of its biggest problems. Natalie’s symptoms are all over the place. The novel offers inadequate texture for a lay reader to understand her devolution. It also makes her mental deterioration a rather absurd plot device.
Interestingly, mental health practitioners term the book ‘important’ albeit with caution.
Dr Achyut Murari, with clinical experience in psychiatric assessment at the Institute of Mental Health, interpreted Natalie’s need for control and reluctance to seek help, through ego-syntonic traits. These people think and believe very strongly that their behaviour is the only true thing. Natalie can never accept that something is going haywire or against how she has assumed herself to be.
Counselling psychologist Smirthi S argued that Natalie is both responsible for the harm she causes and a product of the systems that failed her. She cites Natalie's rigid adherence to traditional values instilled by her family, and the contradiction of having to embrace motherhood when she appears to derive little pleasure from raising her children.
This matters in India where postpartum depression remains poorly understood; motherhood is treated as an extension of womanhood. Indian couples say, ‘We’re pregnant!’ But post-partum blues, considered a cardinal sin, come only to the woman. The father is literally never in the picture; they’re usually not allowed in labour rooms or ultrasound rooms.
The book's marketing did not foreground mental health. Why? Because the spicy drama of a traditional housewife influencer is lucrative to sell. Dr Murari fears that a lay reader would reflexively accuse Natalie of not being a good mother, without even considering her husband, Caleb, as the start of the problem.
Far be it from anyone to say, ‘Ban Yesteryear! It lacks clinical vocabulary to explain its material.’ Fiction is not a diagnostic manual. But publishers and actors, such as Hathaway must recognise the responsibility that comes with packaging such a book, particularly when its subject carries consequences beyond the story.
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