The Quiet Violence of Staying: A Review of Rootless by Krystle Zara Appiah

What if the most radical act of a mother is to leave?
Not in rage, not in rebellion—but in an aching, silent pursuit of something unnamed?

Krystle Zara Appiah’s Rootless opens in the aftermath of that choice. Efe, a Ghanaian-British woman, walks out on her husband and young daughter. No warning. No grand justification. Just absence. From this emotional crater, the novel unfolds—layering memory, migration, motherhood, and the haunting silence of expectations unspoken.

It is a deeply moving novel that dives into the heart of personal and familial conflict. It is a compelling and emotionally charged novel that explores the intricate dynamics of marriage, motherhood, and personal identity. The story centers around Efe and Sam, a couple whose relationship is put to the test by an unexpected pregnancy. Efe, who feels trapped by the demands of motherhood and her own unfulfilled dreams, makes a drastic decision that forces both her and Sam to confront their true desires and the cracks in their seemingly perfect life. Efe, feeling suffocated by the demands of motherhood and her own unfulfilled dreams, makes a bold decision that forces both her and Sam to reevaluate their lives and relationship

Rootless is a thought-provoking and heart-wrenching read that will resonate with anyone who has ever felt torn between their dreams and their duties. It’s a powerful exploration of self-discovery and the courage it takes to pursue one’s true desires, even in the face of societal pressures.

At first glance, Rootless might seem like a story of personal crisis. But beneath its calm, measured prose is a seething interrogation of what it means to be a woman shaped by competing scripts: cultural duty, familial inheritance, marital love, and the thin, neglected line of selfhood.

Appiah refuses the neatness of villain or victim. Efe is neither. She is, instead, a woman fraying under the accumulated weight of being everything to everyone. What makes this debut novel remarkable is its refusal to sensationalize. There are no villains, only systems. No melodrama, only memory. Efe’s choice to leave is neither celebrated nor condemned – it is understood. And in that understanding, Appiah invites her readers into uncomfortable compassion.

The novel moves non-linearly – past and present weaving like breath. We witness Efe’s youth in a Ghanaian immigrant household where silence is a form of discipline, and trauma is buried, not spoken. We see her romance with Sam, tender but laced with cracks. We see motherhood – beautiful, yes, but also consuming. Appiah’s great strength is restraint. She writes with a cool, clear tone that lets emotion pool underneath. The result is a narrative that feels both intimate and distant, like a confession told through glass.

Appiah’s writing is poignant and evocative, capturing the raw emotions and internal struggles of her characters with great sensitivity. The novel delves deep into themes of love, mental health, and the challenge of balancing personal aspirations with family responsibilities. Efe’s journey is particularly moving, as she grapples with the societal expectations placed on women and the pressure to conform to traditional roles.

The narrative is well-paced, with each chapter revealing new layers of the characters’ personalities and their complex relationships. The dialogue is authentic and relatable, making the reader feel intimately connected to the characters’ experiences. It is raw and honest, capturing the essence of human emotions and the struggle to balance personal aspirations with family responsibilities. The characters are vividly portrayed, each with their own unique flaws and strengths, making them incredibly relatable. Efe’s journey is particularly poignant, as she battles societal expectations and the pressure to conform to traditional roles.

Rootless is not just about one woman’s escape. It’s about the slow, daily erasure of self that many women – especially immigrant women – endure. It’s about the tension between cultural continuity and personal freedom. And it’s about how mental health, when left unspoken in a family, can shape generations. Zara doesn’t exoticize the diasporic experience. Instead, she captures its internal dissonance with grace and precision.

This is not a novel about escape. It’s about the daily erosion of self. About what happens when a woman’s desires are buried under generations of expectation. About how unspoken trauma shapes families, and how silence itself can be inherited.

On the whole, Rootless is a thought-provoking and heart-wrenching read that will resonate with anyone who has ever struggled to find their place in the world while navigating the demands of family life. It’s a powerful reminder of the importance of self-discovery and the courage it takes to pursue one’s dreams, even in the face of adversity.

Rootless is a quiet, devastating novel about how hard it is to stay—and how costly it can be to leave. It lingers not because it shouts, but because it whispers what many are afraid to say: that love, culture, and duty are not always enough to hold a person in place. Sometimes, the most human thing to do is to walk away.