Anthea, in particular, anchors much of the emotional core. Their relationship isn’t dramatic or overtly declared, but it grows in quiet increments, like in shared knowledge, small acts of care, and the simple fact of being understood. It’s only much later that the narrator realises what that connection was. That perhaps it was love, or maybe something adjacent to it. The book resists naming it too neatly, which feels right.

At its core, Brawler is concerned with pressure—domestic, emotional, and structural. Across nine stories, Groff returns to familiar terrain: women navigating violence, families shaped by obligation, and the quiet distortions of class and power. The opening story, “The Wind,” is the clearest articulation of what the collection does well. It is tense, immersive, and emotionally exact, establishing a tone that promises something quietly devastating.