Writing Mummy Noir

‘I wanted to write the ultimate horror story: What if my child vanished? What if this happened to me as a mum?’

By Amanda Cassidy

Kidnapped kids, Machiavellian mummys, babies switched at birth, twisted toddlers…Why do women, many mothers themselves, want to write about the deeply sinister when it comes to parenthood? 

As an author of a brand new psychological thriller, Breaking (Canelo Crime) I’ve an idea why so-called Mummy Noir has gained such traction among book club readers. And mostly, I think it’s down to power. 

Historically, the most powerful person in a child’s life was their mother. It may be why many of the old fairy tales had scary female villains – the evil stepmother, the witch who kidnapped the baby, the old hag with a poisonous apple. What’s especially frightening in these stories is imagining the person who is supposed to be a benevolent nurturer – the very one to protect you – turn against you. That’s suddenly complicated; The mother who doesn’t mother. Or worse, the mother who wishes her child harm. And vice versa. 

In the case of my debut novel, Breaking, it’s this type of scrutiny, against her motherly ideals, that Dr Mirren Fitzpatrick finds herself up against when her eight-year-old child disappears. 

When her daughter Alannah goes missing on a Florida beach during their dream holiday, it emerges Mirren was in a beach bar at the time. The media, and eventually the public, turn on her and her perceived abandonment of her young daughter. After all, what kind of mother leaves her child unsupervised to go drinking? Such judgement has stalked women for generations. We are judged by society, yes, but also by ourselves. 

When my eldest daughter arrived into the world, it was everything the Hallmark cards shouted about – the snuggles, the soft hands, the overwhelming ache of love. But with this newfound joy often comes suffocating responsibility. 

Suddenly a new glimmer of fear danced around my hospital bed– an anxiety that something, anything, everything was going to happen to this dot of new life that had just been placed into my shaking arms. It was almost too much to process overnight. 

The weight of these new responsibilities culminated in me not letting her out of my arms. Mostly ever. I feared she would be switched, I feared someone would drop her. I feared she’d die in her sleep, I feared I wasn’t giving her enough milk, or too much milk. Once home, I’d race to her cot, convinced she wasn’t breathing. I worried she’d overheat, she’d freeze to death, or roll off the nappy-changing station. Whatever happened, it would be all my fault. I knew it, and I knew everyone else knew that too. But it felt so vital to be constantly primed to her safety. It felt so horribly powerful to be suddenly tasked with her survival. 

We joke about superhero mums and the strange alchemy of those parents who manage to ‘do it all’. But now, ten years and three children deep, motherhood still feels like I’m groping blindly in the dark, with surprises potentially around every sticky-fingered corner. And, as we all know, fear of the unknown is an important tool when it comes to writing a good thriller. 

I want to bring all my readers to this table. I want them all to imagine what it might be like to feel that guilt, that heart-stopping anxiety, to put themselves into a scenario where a mother might lack that or be judged for wielding their power in a way that isn’t considered “worthy.” 

I wrote Breaking in a beach bar myself, watching my three young children playing in the sand nearby. I wrote it so that readers can step inside Mirren Fitzpatrick’s mind with (hopefully) compassion, or trepidation –to walk in her shoes. That’s also why I wrote it in the first person. It’s uncomfortably intimate. You are Mirren as she runs up and down Wilkes Beach screaming her child’s name over and over. You are Mirren as she realises her youngest daughter might not be coming back to that hotel room, ever.

The responsibility to raise a life, to keep it safe, and clean, away from sharp corners and mean girls and every danger life presents. That’s huge. Fiction can reverse that, throw it upside down, remove the parameters, add trolls and keyboard sleuths, and leave you with the ultimate horror story; What if that was my child?

To springboard from something that’s supposed to be so safe to something so jarring is fascinating as a writer. In fact, it becomes a different creature entirely, something much more menacing. An innocent child who isn’t so innocent, or a nurturer who doesn’t nurture, a baby snatched from a pram, an evil twin, a demon child. Dark motherhood sees the warm ideals of parenthood shattered with a pen. 

But remember, too, that the severing of a sacred bond, is in some cases only a perception. In other words, murky motherhood doesn’t always mean there’s a smoking gun. Either way, as their popularity increases, it’s clear such stories are currently unputdownable. 

 And even though I do enjoy the creepy cliff-hangers of all thrillers, the unease of stories like The Push (Ashley Audrain) or All Your Fault (Andrea Mara) trump a creaky basement door or a bloody handprint every time.

Ultimately, Mummy Noir boils down to one single thing; The perverse horror of imagining something so awful could possibly unfold in a situation that should normally be comfortingly ordinary. “Imagine that happened to my child,” you shiver. “Imagine that happened to me.”

And there’s nothing more chilling in the entire world. 

Breaking by Amanda Cassidy (Canelo Crime, £14.99) is out on October 6th 

Available to pre-order here

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Amanda Cassidy is a freelance journalist, commissioning editor and former Sky News reporter. Shortlisted for the Irish Journalist of the Year Awards, and more recently the Headline Media writing awards, her features have clocked up over seven million readers. She’s a frequent contributor to national radio, print and television and holds a BA in French and Italian from Trinity College Dublin. When she’s not on a plane, you’ll find her in her cottage in Dublin where she lives with her husband and three young children. Breaking is Amanda’s first novel.

Twitter https://twitter.com/AmandaCasssidy

 

Tags: featured, women writers

Category: On Writing