"All the Days I Did Not Live" by Anna Vaught

The trope of the husband who controls the wife, so she has a less than fulfilled life, is now so common it has become a genre. It has a long history stretching back at least as far as Anne Bronte's The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. More recently we have had The Names by Florence Knapp. This novella-length addition to the genre differs in that Gabriel the controlling husband does not physically abuse his wife, Catherine, nor seek to lock her in an asylum, nor steal her children; Gabriel's sins include driving too carefully, not liking sex in the afternoon or sleeping in bed naked, not being much of a drinker, and thinking that social media was only for young people. His most serious transgression, judging from the fact that it appears just after the half-way point, is that he failed to protest when Catherine's father suggested she was stubborn, unlike his wife who was "really quite pliable these days. You have to break them in." (Ch 10)

Whilst I sympathised with Catherine, I also felt sorry for Gabriel. I'm not sure he had much fun in life. Perhaps he controlled his wife but only to the extent that everyone in a lasting relationship has, from time to time, to compromise and to modify their behaviour, to suit their partner. 

Gabriel, in short, through his moderation and his cautious approach to life, prevented Catherine from being as wild as she secretly wished. She sees her time with him as "days I didn't even live” (Ch 13). His death is therefore not, for her, a cause for mourning but an opportunity to behave in ways that would have shocked him and shock his children, who seek to control her by getting the GP to prescribe medications.

Catherine's father, on the other hand, is a nasty piece of work. There are hints that he might have (sexually?) abused her; when he dies it is because “Sometimes the shock of being known for what you are is too much.” (Ch 20)

In the period shortly after Gabriel has died, Catherine is accompanied by what seems to be poltergeist activity: there is a strange drumming sound in the house, things fall to the floor and smash. This added an interesting and entertaining dimension to the story.

Chapter 9 contains a moment of exposition which drifts away from the close 3rd person narration almost to the extent of breaking the 4th wall, a paragraph of 'author's message'. I found this 'bumped' me out of a closer identification with the narrator; perhaps this was a deliberate moment of alienation a la Brecht.

The book has a gently lyrical, elegant, controlled style: sometimes it felt that the author was more like Gabriel than Catherine. The story is told mostly from the PoV of Catherine (including interior monologue) but sometimes from that of Alec, a widower living in Paris. In common with many modern novels, it is told in the present tense, although there are frequent flashbacks. I enjoyed the way so much is left unsaid, including what the father did, and what Catherine's daughter really feels about her post-mortem transgressions.

Selected quotes:

• “Alec would see men looking her up and down, favourably; women, favourably and spitefully.” (Ch 6)
• “You’re not as sad as you ought to be.” (Ch 13)
• “promise-crammed" (Ch 14)
• “How did time feel when it was measured only in shadows?” (Ch 15)
• “She has puttered out intellectually, allowed herself to be domesticated.” (Ch 15)

February 2026; 116 pages
First published in 2026 by Renard Press

This review was written by

the author of Bally and Bro, Motherdarling 

and The Kids of God

Anna Vaught has also written (and reviewed in this blog):

• The Zebra and Lord Jones
• Her Winter Song