Reviewed by Madison Ross
It is known how unsettling silence can be in any relationship, but in A Silent Treatment, Jeannie Vanasco shows how deeply disruptive it becomes when it is used deliberately. Her memoir turns away from apparent confrontation and toward something more subtle and, in many ways, more destabilizing: the emotional weight of being shut out by someone you love. What is portrayed is a careful, intimate examination of silence, used not as a form of absence, but power.
The book focuses on Vanasco’s relationship with her mother, after her mother moves into a small apartment attached to the author’s home. What might seem like a practical or even loving arrangement, complications are quickly brought to light. In response to perceived insensitivity or disagreements, Vanasco’s mother repeatedly resorts to extended periods of silence, which can sometimes last weeks or months. These silences are not dramatic in the traditional sense, but they carry real emotional consequences, leaving Vanasco wondering in uncertainty, trying to decipher what went wrong and how. The deeper question—when or how it can be repaired.
Vanasco’s writing style reflects the subject matter—restrained, observant. She does not overplay a specific silent treatment or frame it as a single defining incident. Rather, she traces its patterns over time, showing how repetition gives it force. The narrative moves fluidly between present-day interactions, childhood memories, and moments of reflection and research—mirroring the circular thinking that silence often produces. The effect is immersive and draws the reader into the quiet tension that defines her relationship with her mother.
Importantly, A Silent Treatment resists easy judgements. The memoir allows space for affection and the ability to exist alongside anger and emotional distance, despite her mother’s actions. Vanasco captures the complexity of familial love, especially in ways it can both sustain and hurt.
Much of the book unfolds internally, following Vanasco’s attempts to understand the meaning of her mother’s silence. The reader witnesses the mental work involved—replaying conversations, analyzing tone, and wondering what response is expected. These moments are among the memoir’s strongest, offering a clear picture of how silence can prompt self-doubt and emotional surveillance. Rather than dramatizing conflict, Vanasco shows how it quietly reshapes daily life.
The memoir also widens its scope through reflections on psychology, literature, and sociology—cultural expectations around motherhood and responsibility. However, it feels interwoven, rather than academic. It helps situate Vanasco’s experience with broader patterns of emotional labor and control. Silence, as the book suggests, is not merely personal. Rather, it is shaped by family roles, generational habits, and unspoken rules. Silence, Vanasco implies, rarely announcing an ending; it simply recedes and returns, leaving lasting impressions. This memoir encapsulates that message. Vanasco reflects that silence “does not simply end the conversation–it reorganizes the relationship around it”.
In the end, A Silent Treatment is a quiet, limiting, but compelling exploration of what it means to live with unresolved communication. It asks readers to consider how silence functions within intimate relationships and how its effects linger long after words fail to appear. Thoughtful, restrained, and deeply attentive, Vanasco’s memoir offers a powerful reminder that what goes unsaid can shape a life, just as much as what is spoken.