Phantoms by Ros Gough Review

Did I do something wrong?

Is the painful maddening question anyone going through a miscarriage asks them self. It is also the question Ros Gough tackles in her debut novel Phantoms. Shedding light on the often unspoken and deeply painful subject of miscarriage with remarkable empathy and nuance, that only comes from personal experience. The story revolves around Paige and Celeste, two very different women whose lives intersect through more than the shared experience of losing unborn children. Paige, who has a stable career and a supportive husband, grapples with the loss while also dealing with the pressures of a career forced upon her by her mother. Celeste, who had an affair and carries the weight of breaking up a marriage, faces her losses with far less support, navigating guilt and detachment from her partner, Stephan.

The fact that Gough places the grief of miscarriage and stillbirth at the forefront—not as a mere plot device, but as the heart of the story, makes this a necessary if somewhat painful read.  Paige and Celeste’s experiences are not glossed over or brushed of as identical; instead, readers are invited to sit with these women in their grief, confusion, and rage. To learn to understand how every loss is unique and painful in their own way. There’s a particularly powerful moment when Paige lashes out at how often books and tv shows use the loss of a child as dramatic fuel, only to quickly move on, when it either become incognisant or uncomfortable. Gough ensures that Phantoms is the opposite—a book where people’s pain is seen, heard, and understood.

The novel doesn’t shy away from portraying how deeply miscarriage affects not only the mothers, but also their partners. Paige’s husband, Luke, supports her through his own quiet pain, even though she acknowledges that she sometimes doesn’t give him the space to grieve in his own way. Together, they muddle through, determined to find some way forward. Stephan, on the other hand, is distant and unsupportive, even going so far as to blame Celeste for the loss of their second child, Rebecca. His refusal to name their stillborn daughter contrasts starkly with Luke’s more compassionate approach, highlighting the different ways people handle grief—and how these differences can either bring couples together or tear them apart, as well as those who understand that they are a family with or with out children. Luke is devastated in the lose of a child and chance at seeing what kind of father he wants to be. Stephen has a new girlfriend shortly after the break down of his second marriage, leading me as a reader to question if it was the child he is grieving for or the legacy he imagined himself having.

One of the most cathartic messages of Phantoms is that there is no need to find a silver lining in every tragedy. In a world that often pushes toxic positivity, Gough’s novel is a breath of fresh air, offering permission to not be okay. Her message is one of moving forward, not necessarily moving on, understanding that pain isn’t something to “get over.” For Paige, hope for the future eventually takes root, while Celeste finds a way to heal by connecting with Paige’s father and later, bonding with her stepdaughter in a non-maternal, but equally meaningful, relationship.

The novel also emphasizes the societal shame women often feel after miscarriage, a theme that Gough handles with raw honesty. Celeste’s mother implies that her first child (Heart) loss is her own fault, suggesting that the affair or her lifestyle was to blame. Paige’s mother, in contrast, tries to reframe the miscarriage as a blessing, as if it relieves Paige of the burden of having children, she wasn’t sure she wanted. Projecting her own regrets of having children on to Paige the same way she projected her believe in a stable carer on to her daughter. These dismissive attitudes only intensify the emotional isolation that both women experiences, making the reader acutely aware of the lack of understanding and empathy they receive from those who should care for them most.

For readers who haven’t experienced miscarriage, Phantoms offers a rare window into the emotional turmoil that surrounds such a loss. We live in a world that often avoids talking about miscarriage, leaving many unsure of how to offer support. Gough’s novel is an eye-opener, providing a deeply moving account of what it’s like to navigate this type of grief and making it clear that sometimes, the best thing we can do is simply acknowledge the pain.

However, readers should be aware that the novel includes detailed scenes of miscarriage and stillbirth, before picking this book up. Its value is within it messaging and the experiences shared from Gough. Whi has openly shared her own loss and support of others who have lost as well. A clear message to the readers who need it and to though who need to understand even if your child didn’t take a breath, you are still a mother, and your pain is as valid as anyone else’s.

So, to answer the above question.

No, you haven’t done anything wrong.