Child of These Tears

by Molly McNett

In the early years of the eighteenth century, the settlers living in the hamlet of Hartfield Falls in "English America" face the looming threat posed by historical and political forces beyond their control. Queen Anne's War has brought the French and their Native American allies into deadly proximity to New England's colonists.

On one fateful day in the depth of winter, young Constance Baker is taken captive in a bloody raid on Hartfield Falls and marched north to Canada-a march she barely survives. Soon her destiny becomes bound up in a struggle between her English parents, the Mohawk tribe into which she has been adopted, and a French Jesuit priest, who reluctantly takes on her spiritual direction. In this crucible of loss and suffering, of clashing faiths and sensibilities-where sacrifices are sometimes demanded and sometimes freely given-all will be irrevocably changed.

In a manner reminiscent of George Saunders's Lincoln in the Bardo, Child of These Tears is told in polyphonic form, through a variety of narrative genres-captivity tale, commonplace book, letters, and journals. The result is a searing, unforgettable novel that explores the nature of memory, belonging, redemption, and grace.

Genres: Fiction, Historical Fiction

212 pages, Paperback

First published September 30, 2025

Reviews

[Lori]

Child of These Tears is a polyphonic tale of a family shattered by violence, each voice tracing its own path through loss, captivity, and the search for belonging.

Set in the 1700s, the English and French—alongside their Native American allies—collide viciously in a small hamlet, leaving the Baker family at the center of the devastation. When the chaos subsides, Constance and her mother are swept up with the surviving villagers. Her siblings are brutally murdered, her father has vanished, and the captives are marched into the woods, their futures uncertain.

The story unfolds through a mix of narration, journal entries and letters as they all try to find their way back to each other: her father’s decent into madness, her mother’s grief, the observations of a French priest at the camp, and Constance’s own captivity story—a traumatized young girl, separated from her family, clinging to survival. Together, these perspectives weave a chorus of sorrow and resilience.

It’s not a pleasant story, but it is a compelling one. The prose moves quickly, carrying you through brutality and tenderness alike, and leaves you sitting with the weight of what survival costs.

I don't think this will be for everyone, but for those who enjoy epistolary historical fiction, you won't want this one to fly under your radar.

[Bob Koelle]

Quite a tour de force of different writing styles and voices. A huge amount of research is evident, about captivity narratives. I read this as a Catholic, and the author wrote it as a non-Catholic, and the startling attitudes about the Church was fascinating - was it worse for Constance to be kidnapped, or sold to the French and become {shudder} Catholic? The father's decompensation, when he starts writing about random knowledge like unicorns or Galileo, and his return to coherence, was very interesting. His treatment of toddler Constance - locking her in the cellar for defiance - shaped so many things that subsequently happened to her. The Catholic priest is probably the most accessible character to modern readers, so human and caring.

[Colin Mustful]

It takes a little time to find your footing, but once the narrative clicks into place, the story becomes deeply absorbing—a moving exploration of loss and survival. Set amid a convergence of competing forces—English, French, Native, and religious—the novel unfolds through distinct voices, each offering a vivid and believable perspective. While the historical details can feel distant at first, these layered viewpoints come together to create a rich, deeply human portrait of a world long past.

[Rebecca Layng]

I loved this book. I admit, it took me a bit to get into it, following the characters as the narrative jumped between perspectives, but once I was in, I was enthralled. Child of These Tears accomplished what I’ve hoped to find in a work of fiction—it captured objectively and empathetically (and eloquently, I might add) the complex divide between various perspectives of religious/cultural truth. The question, “what is truth?” resounds for me at the conclusion of the book, and I think the author, Molly McNett, did a remarkable job treating each perspective with equal gravity, showing none more or less true than the other. At the core of each of the characters is the divine, and there is mercy enough, room enough for every soul. It wasn’t a religious book, but in its subtleties it struck this profound religious chord for me. And I’m very glad I read it.