Transmigrating Abroad to Write Novels - Reviews

I need to just sit with this scene for a moment. Emma crying her eyes out, grabbing Jolene's clothes, saying "Emma will be good, Emma won't run around, Emma can wash herself, Emma can eat by herself"—this is a CHILD trying to bargain for her mother's love. She's listing all the things she can do to prove she's worth keeping. I literally had to pause the book. That hit different. The original owner had neglected this kid for years, probably because she was drowning in alcohol and self-pity. But the moment Jolene takes over and actually SHOWS up for Emma, the child responds so visibly. She goes from being quiet and obedient to having a full meltdown when she thinks she might be abandoned. That's not a spoiled kid—that's a kid who's never had security and is terrified of losing the one good thing that's happened to her. And Jolene's reaction is perfect. She doesn't get angry. She doesn't dismiss it. She just... gives in. Takes Emma with her to the treatment center. Later, she deliberately frames it positively for Emma: "It's a good thing Mom brought you along." That's not just manipulation—that's a mother protecting her child's heart while also getting what she needs done. The burger scene broke me too. Emma's eyes lighting up at a simple hamburger, waiting obediently for permission to eat. After eating bread for so many meals, this is a luxury. And Jolene feels that warmth in her heart watching her. She even thinks about how if all children were this well-behaved, she wouldn't have moved away from her family in her past life to escape marriage pressure. The emotional core of this story is so strong. It's not about romance or drama—it's about a woman learning to love a child who was previously unloved, and a child learning to trust again.

Okay so let me just say—this opening chapter is a masterclass in how to hook a reader without explaining anything. You drop us right into the chaos. Jolene wakes up with a splitting headache, surrounded by empty liquor bottles, and before she can even process what's happening, CPS is banging on the door. No preamble, no exposition dump, just pure momentum. The plot twist here isn't some big reveal—it's the transmigration itself, and honestly, the author handles it brilliantly by not wasting a single paragraph on it. We don't get a long internal monologue about how she died or what system brought her here. Nope. She just wakes up, the memories flood in, and she immediately starts making decisions. That's it. That's the hook. What I loved most was the escape sequence. The landlady goes downstairs to deal with CPS, and in that exact second, Jolene grabs Emma and bolts. Not a moment of hesitation. The fire escape scene—rusty iron door creaking, the alley reeking of garbage, Jolene's hangover making her vision swim—this is where the plot really grabbed me. Every detail served the urgency. And then the restroom scene? Genius. They lock the door, wait for people to leave, and Jolene washes herself and Emma with hand soap. It's pathetic and tender at the same time, and it makes the stakes feel real. The church scene is where the plot pivots from survival to something else entirely. Jolene realizes she can use her situation—penniless mother with a child—to get help from the church. It's clever, almost manipulative, but in a way that makes you root for her. And that ending where she says she used to work as a live-in nanny for three years... cut off mid-sentence. I need to know what happens next. One thing I'm curious about: who reported them? The text mentions it but never explains. Is it the landlady? A neighbor? This feels like a plot thread that will come back to bite them, and I'm here for it.

Hunger. It's everywhere in these chapters and it's not just about food. Emma is physically hungry—she's eaten dry bread for days, she scrapes every drop of sauce from her plate, she lies about being full because she's terrified of being a burden. Ben is hungry too, but his hunger is more complicated. He's starving for attention, for his brother to come home, for someone to notice he exists. Jolene understands this on a deep level because she's hungry in her own way—hungry for a second chance, for stability, for a family that isn't made of dogs and cats. The book rental scene is where this theme really clicks into place. Jolene doesn't just ask for a book; she proposes a contract. A business arrangement. She's treating Ben like an adult because that's the only language he seems to understand. And Ben, who's been treated like furniture by his own brother's schedule, gets to feel like a person who can set terms and make deals. The contract becomes a symbol of something bigger—it's about mutual respect, about two people who've been overlooked deciding to negotiate on equal ground. Even Giovanni matters here. He's the one who sees both kids eating and smiles. He represents the warmth that's missing from the Raymond household. Every meal in this story is a tiny act of rebellion against the neglect these children have endured. Food isn't just sustenance—it's love, it's care, it's proof that someone noticed you were hungry and did something about it.

Can we talk about how the dialogue actually works here? So many novels fail at writing children, and these kids sound REAL. Ben: 'Too bad I can't make any money though.' — muttered to himself. That's not a line a writer invented. That's a kid who's genuinely calculating and slightly disappointed, spoken under his breath because he's embarrassed to admit it out loud. Emma: 'Didn't you say you've read this book many times already?' — wait, that's Jolene. But Emma's response is pure kid silence. She doesn't say anything, just stares with wide eyes. The author communicates everything through action here, which is exactly how kids operate. Giovanni: 'You're amazing. I thought I was going to lose my job last month.' — his dialogue is animated, expressive, slightly dramatic. Perfect for a cheerful Italian chef who's been through hell with previous nannies. Raymond: 'He once forced me to chase away the last nanny by threatening not to eat.' — dry, faint smile, delivered with the exhaustion of someone who's dealt with this too many times. Jolene's internal monologue is also doing a lot of work. Her thoughts about parenting novels, about writing formulas, about whether she'll be a live-in nanny for the rest of her life—these reveal her past-life identity without any exposition dumps. The narrative voice balances her professional observer perspective with her growing emotional investment. It's subtle. It's effective. And the dialogue never feels like adults putting words in children's mouths, which is the most common mistake in this genre.

The bookstore scene is genuinely one of the most vivid settings in this whole novel. Let me paint it for you: Jolene walking through Sunset District's secondhand shop, flipping through Danielle Steel paperbacks, noticing the price ranges, watching kids sit on the floor reading picture books while sci-fi fans browse Ender's Game in the corner. The author doesn't just describe the place—they make you feel the texture of this world. $3 for vintage rentals, $25 for hardcovers, the specific titles on display (A Game of Thrones, Sex and the City, Executive Orders)—these details ground the story in a real time and place. Then there's the swimming lesson scene. Two hours at the pool, Jolene and Emma watching Ben splash around, the envy in their eyes. Emma calculating that eating Uncle Giovanni's food will help her grow taller. The domestic warmth of it all. And Giovanni! 'With his deep-set eyes, black curly hair, and expressive face, he spoke with great animation.' One sentence and I can picture this guy. Former head chef, poached for a high salary, visibly relieved that Jolene didn't get chased out like the last nanny. The three-story house, the three staff members on payroll, the Sunset District setting—every detail reinforces that this is a wealthy but not ostentatious household. Raymond is young, capable, carrying the family on his shoulders. The world feels lived-in. I could walk through these rooms.

There's one scene in this section that I keep replaying in my head, and it's the one where Jolene takes a photo of Ben at the piano school. "Jolene stood outside the glass window and, bathed in the sunset glow, took a candid shot of him practicing piano—an ordinary, everyday moment." That's it. That's the whole description. But it paints such a vivid picture. The glass window separating her from him. The golden light washing over everything. Ben, focused, small, doing something ordinary that suddenly feels sacred because someone is watching him and wanting to remember it. The worldbuilding in this section is subtle but effective. We get specific details that ground us in time and place: the Canon EOS 1000F camera, the public school enrollment process (no interview, just residency and legal status), the bookstore near the piano school, The First Wives Club promotional article (September release, so we're in early 1996), the New York Academy of Art mentioned in Jolene's novel outline. These aren't just set dressing—they're anchors that make the world feel real and lived-in. The school itself is described efficiently: public, free, no interview process. This tells us about the American education system and Jolene's position within it—she's navigating a system that's designed to be accessible but also bureaucratic. The paperwork she submits is her weapon against uncertainty. Home is another key setting. Raymond's house has a study with a camera, a hallway where Ben practices piano, bedrooms where bedtime stories happen. It's warm but also slightly formal—Raymond wears a black suit every day, there's an air of mystery about his work. The contrast between the formal exterior and the domestic interior (kids doing homework on the floor, Jolene reading with animal voices) creates a sense of a family in the making. The park where Jolene takes the photo of Emma on the swing is another domestic landscape—ordinary, safe, American suburban. It's in these everyday spaces that the story's emotional weight accumulates.

The bathroom scene. Let me just say it. Jolene giving Emma her first real bath in what feels like forever, using her bare hands because there are no washcloths, and the bathroom has this brand-new orange-scented body wash sitting out like it doesn't have a care in the world. The contrast between Emma's dirty, starved little body and this pristine, well-stocked bathroom is doing so much heavy lifting. And then the reveal—Jolene blow-drying Emma's hair and this pale, big-eyed, long-lashed little beauty emerges. The author writes 'Jolene screamed internally: Oh my god—such an adorable daughter, and she's mine?!' and I literally laughed out loud. It's such a human moment. She's overwhelmed and delighted and completely unprepared. The house itself feels like a character. Spacious lawn, carved wooden wardrobes, Giovanni the Italian chef who gives silent thumbs-ups, a brother who works too much and a kid who waits up. It's a wealthy home but it's empty in all the wrong ways. The Raymond brothers have money but they don't have time for each other, and that's why Ben is sitting by a glass door staring at a lawn instead of eating dinner. The world feels lived-in because the author doesn't just describe the physical space—she describes the emotional emptiness inside it. Jolene noticing she'd set up an inflatable pool or a trampoline if this were her own home? That tiny detail tells us everything about what this house is missing.

'Yeah. My brother's always busy with work. If I could earn money myself, I could give it to him, and then he wouldn't have to work as much and could play with me.' I literally stopped reading for a second. This kid. This literally this kid. He's been such a brat in previous chapters—refusing to eat, chasing away nannies, being impossible—and now we get this? He's not difficult because he's bad. He's difficult because he's lonely and he sees his brother drowning in work and he wants to help but he's seven. Jolene's realization that 'maybe treating Ben like an adult had accidentally hit the sweet spot' is such a small moment but it changes everything. She stops trying to manage him and starts talking to him like a person. And it WORKS. He voluntarily eats two bowls of dinner. He lets her borrow his books. He gets excited about business ideas. And Emma! She's just quietly observing everything, eating Giovanni's lasagna, deciding that cooperating with Ben is the strategy to keep the free food coming. That's not a child—that's a tiny capitalist. The Raymond household dynamics are actually really well done. Raymond is the absent breadwinner, Giovanni is the warm uncle figure, Jolene is the newcomer figuring it out, and the two kids are navigating this new normal. I love that Ben and Emma are starting to bond through Jolene's influence. What I'm worried about: how long can this peace last? Ben is too smart for his own good. Something's going to test this.