How Does 'When We Believed In Mermaids' Explore Family Secrets?

The novel 'When We Believed in Mermaids' digs deep into the emotional wreckage left by family secrets. It follows two sisters, Josie and Kit, torn apart by lies and tragedy. Josie fakes her death, leaving Kit to grapple with grief until she spots her sister on TV years later. The story unravels through alternating timelines, showing how childhood trauma shaped their bond. Their parents' hidden affairs and neglect festered into generational wounds, forcing Josie to reinvent herself entirely. The ocean becomes a metaphor for those buried truths—endless, unpredictable, and capable of both nurturing and destruction. What hits hardest is how Kit's search for answers forces Josie to confront the past she fled, proving some secrets can't stay submerged forever.

'When We Believed in Mermaids' handles family secrets like a surgeon peeling back layers of scar tissue. The Bianci sisters' childhood seems idyllic—beachfront home, free-spirited parents—until you notice the cracks. Their mother's alcoholism and father's infidelity are downplayed as 'eccentricities,' but the girls absorb the damage. Josie develops self-destructive tendencies, while Kit becomes hypervigilant. The novel's brilliance lies in juxtaposing their adult lives against flashbacks of pivotal moments—like when Josie took the blame for Kit's mistake, foreshadowing her later sacrifice.

The secrecy isn't just about hiding ugliness; it's performative. Their parents curate a bohemian facade, making the girls complicit in pretending everything's fine. This shapes Josie's decision to stage her death; she's replicating the family habit of erasing problems rather than facing them. The Auckland earthquake serves as a literal and metaphorical rupture, exposing buried truths. When Kit tracks Josie down, their reunion isn't warm—it's messy, raw, and steeped in decades of unspoken accusations. The book argues that some secrets are prisons, and the only escape is tearing down the walls.

What sets this apart from other family dramas is its refusal to tidy up the aftermath. Josie's new identity as Mari isn't a clean slate; it's a desperate attempt to outswim her past. The mermaid mythos woven throughout symbolizes how family legends distort over time—what was once a childhood game becomes a lifeline for Josie, then a haunting reminder of what she lost. The ocean, ever-present, mirrors the secrets: vast, shifting, and impossible to fully navigate.

This book wrecked me in the best way. It's not just about a sister who faked her death—it's about how families collectively rewrite history to survive. Kit and Josie grew up believing their parents' chaotic love was normal, only to realize later how much it cost them. The secrets here aren't dramatic reveals; they're quiet erosions. Like when Josie covers for their mom's drunkenness by calling her 'sleepy,' or how their dad's 'business trips' always coincided with new 'aunts' visiting. The sisters develop their own secret language, mermaid lore, to cope, which makes Josie's disappearance even crueler—she took their shared mythology with her.

Barbara O'Neal doesn't romanticize reconciliation. When Kit finds Josie living as Mari in New Zealand, their confrontation isn't cathartic—it's brutal. Josie's new life was built on lies too, proving the cycle never broke. The most poignant detail? Josie keeps a hidden box of childhood treasures, clinging to fragments of the sister she abandoned. The mermaid motif resurfaces here; just as sailors mistook manatees for sirens, the sisters misremember each other. Their childhood wasn't as golden as Kit recalls, nor as wretched as Josie pretends. The truth, like the ocean, is too vast for simple narratives.