ONE SIP OF BEER.
A LEAP ACROSS WORLDS.
A FIGHT FOR BELONGING.
In her dazzling debut, Annabel Youens delivers a speculative novel in the vein of Margaret Atwood and Ursula K. Le Guin — where fungi, family, and fierce women collide.
"A strong debut with compelling characters that passionately advocates for community, nature, and found family" ~ Kirkus Starred Review ★
“Masterful worldbuilding… tragic and harrowing, yet undeniably hopeful.” — CanReads Review
At 47, tech entrepreneur August's life is unraveling. On a desperate family holiday in England, a sip of ancient beer transports her to an alternate reality where mushrooms pulse with power and women commune with the fungal network beneath their feet.
Taken in by Margaret, a midwife with dangerous secrets, August discovers a world where brewing beer might be her way home—or her reason to stay. When Margaret's community faces persecution, August must choose between two families, two worlds, two versions of herself.
A speculative fiction debut about midlife transformation and the courage to put yourself first.
ONE SIP OF BEER.
A LEAP ACROSS WORLDS.
A FIGHT FOR BELONGING.
In her dazzling debut, Annabel Youens delivers a speculative novel in the vein of Margaret Atwood and Ursula K. Le Guin — where fungi, family, and fierce women collide.
"A strong debut with compelling characters that passionately advocates for community, nature, and found family" ~ Kirkus Starred Review ★
“Masterful worldbuilding… tragic and harrowing, yet undeniably hopeful.” — CanReads Review
At 47, tech entrepreneur August's life is unraveling. On a desperate family holiday in England, a sip of ancient beer transports her to an alternate reality where mushrooms pulse with power and women commune with the fungal network beneath their feet.
Taken in by Margaret, a midwife with dangerous secrets, August discovers a world where brewing beer might be her way home—or her reason to stay. When Margaret's community faces persecution, August must choose between two families, two worlds, two versions of herself.
A speculative fiction debut about midlife transformation and the courage to put yourself first.
Exhausted and hungry, August sat on the floor of the Heathrow Airport by baggage carousel number thirty-four. Do not think about the germs. Do not think about the germs…connect…just connect, damn it, August mumbled as she tried to connect to the Heathrow wifi.
August leant against a wall, with her legs outstretched and, her Apple laptop on her knees. The whole setup was precarious, with speeding feet and out-of-control luggage constantly hurtling past.
It’s okay that 230,000 travellers visit Heathrow every day. You can have a shower when you get to your aunt’s. That’s probably five hours from now. Fuck.
August pulled hand sanitizer from the front pocket of her backpack and squeezed a huge glob onto her palm. She slathered it on her hands and wrists, inside her cardigan’s cuffs. Add to the list: Must order new refill of hand sanitizer from Nezza Naturals.
“Mum, I really, really, really have to go to the bathroom,” squealed her six-year-old daughter, bouncing by her feet. “I’ve gotta go now!”
August watched the wifi connection “establish,” willing it to finally connect. If she didn’t see the contract changes by the end of the day, they’d have to pay their lawyers extra billable hours, more money they didn’t have. All she needed was five minutes of internet!
With a sudden sharp pain in her shin, August looked up at her glaring daughter. “I HAVE TO GO RIGHT NOW,” said Ripley.
August scanned the baggage area for her husband, huffing a deep breath. Of course, Andrew would disappear and leave her to handle everything. What else was new? She looked at her daughter. “Did you kick me?”
“Sorry, Mum. I wanted to get your attention.”
She took another deep breath, “Okay.”
She folded her laptop, standing on achy, long-haul legs. She scanned again, Where the fuck is Andrew? They couldn’t leave their bags. August could see the scene unfold: British military police rushing, machine guns banging against their legs, their family hauled off for questioning and fines in British pounds, which would be a horrible exchange to their Canadian dollars.
“Get your backpack on,” said August firmly.
“I don’t want to.”
“You have to. We can’t leave our luggage unattended… Oh my God, just put it on.”
Ripley pouted as she put on her backpack and grabbed the small wheelie bag.
Fuck, I’m never going to get this done. With one backpack over each shoulder and dragging the carry-on that just fit in the overhead bin, she quickly scurried to the washrooms with her daughter, circumventing piles of unclaimed luggage.
At the rental car booth, things were not smooth. Immigration, baggage, and customs had taken almost an hour, and now the car rental teenager was on the phone with his supervisor, pushing his bright orange bangs out of his eyes. Someone else took her booked rental car. August watched the boy continuously sweep his fringe to the side, mumbling on the phone in a thick northern accent, “But I can’t see that tab.” OMG, just cut your freaking bangs.
Her phone dinged. She saw a message from her bestie, Tabatha, no doubt cosy on her sofa with her cat, Gizmo, sipping a cup of morning coffee.
Tabatha: Did you arrive safely?
August: Yep – we’re here. It’s a nightmare at Heathrow. I’m just trying to get the rental car. Text later.
“Mum, I’m hungry.”
August looked at her six-year-old and considered giving up. Perhaps if she had a breakdown right now, they’d cart her off to a quiet room. I’m sure they handle many mental health crises here, right? Add to the list: Book couples counselling session. Her daughter leant against her hip. “I need you to stop doing that, Ripley. I can’t have anyone or anything else touch me right now.”
Ripley pulled back, crossed her arms, and stared. “Andrew…” said August as she turned away from the ginger teen and Ripley. He stood across the hallway on his phone, as removed as a business traveller. Fuck. Of course, she thought.
“Andrew, I need you to handle this,” she snapped, her voice barely audible over the rolling trolley wheels and other whining children.
Andrew looked up from his phone and grimaced. “I was just reading the lawyer’s comments,” he said. “There is no need to snap at me,” he snapped back.
August rolled her eyes and considered taking her own life with her passport, by slicing herself in the neck. “Fine,” said Andrew sharply. “Ripley, let’s go.”
Ripley smiled at her dad, glared at August, and walked across the hallway to take his hand. August, and her baggage, were alone. Tightness caught in her throat as a river of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades, settling into the band of her bra. The heat and weight of the day poured out of her body. Fucking perimenopause.
“Okay, we’ve got you sorted,” said the teenager in a Budget blazer. With a final flick of his ginger bangs he said, “We’ve found you a nice minivan.”
Great. A fucking minivan for the country roads of Kent. Jesus suffering fuck.
In the pouring rain of Budget lot twelve, August rooted around her suitcase, standing under the raised trunk of the minivan. The sweat on her body cooled, turning to chills. “Where the fuck is my rain jacket?” she said out loud.
She rifled more furiously through her vacation clothes. The trunk of the minivan mostly kept her dry, but wet dribbles hit the backs of her calves and rolled down into her New Balance runners. The heat and heaviness rose into her throat again. Her flustered fingers throbbed, and a headache was coming on. Christ, I didn’t drink enough water on the plane. Add to the list: Order a new straw for Ripley’s water bottle.
“Hey, did you send through my comment about the security review in section five point two?” asked Andrew in an annoyed tone from the front passenger seat.
“Mum, where is my plug for my iPad?” asked Ripley as she stared out the window into the parking lot, glassy eyes of a child who had little sleep on the flight from Vancouver.
August picked up her suitcase and flipped it over, dumping all her clothes, shoes, toiletries, underwear, and socks in the trunk. Her legs vibrated. “Where the fuck is my rain jacket?”
“What about the comment?” asked Andrew louder, swivelling around to look at August through the length of the van.
“Muuuuuuuummmmmm” Ripley whined, her chin on the back of the seat, staring with exasperated eyes.
“NO! I don’t know where your iPad charger is and, YES, Andrew! While I was taking our daughter to the bathroom, dragging all our luggage around, and getting a fucking minivan, I did somehow find the time to send through your comments to the lawyer. I did all that, plus packed everyone for this trip and somehow forgot my OWN FUCKING RAIN JACKET!”
August slammed the minivan trunk down with an unsatisfying click, looking up at the rain clouds. The drops fell on her fiery face. “ARGGHHHH,” she screamed.
Standing by her Citroën SpaceTourer minivan, August felt her female ancestors yell in solidarity. I wish Tabatha was here. August imagined Tabatha finding the iPad charger, getting Ripley settled with a snack, and making her laugh. Women helping women with no need to be asked.
As the shaking stopped, she looked into the minivan’s rear window. Ripley’s eyes welled with tears. Andrew simmered with contempt. What a great start to our fucking holiday. This is going to be a wonderful family trip to see my aunt.
Annabel Youens describes herself as someone who "writes for women who are done pretending everything’s fine. Women who’ve ticked the boxes, built the life, held it all together—and now ask questions they can’t ignore anymore." If these sentiments in any way speak to you, then look no further than Thread Traveler, one of my top reads of 2025 so far.
Thread Traveler encapsulates a world of midlife transformation, magical realism, time travel, and personal growth, fused with beer, fungi, and imperfect families. The story follows 47-year-old tech entrepreneur August, who feels her life coming apart around her while on one last desperate family vacation, trying to bring the pieces back together in idyllic England.
While there, one night of letting her hair down changes everything when a curious and desperate August takes a sip of an ancient beer, which transports her to an alternate reality and timeline where the world around her is a forest, mushrooms pulse with power (beautifully reminiscient of the night forest in the first Avatar film), and the community of women connect with the mushrooms through the fungal network in the ground beneath their bare feet.
August is dropped into this incredible, magical world and connects a midwife named Margaret, who leads her to ancient beer brewing, which may be her only way to return to the home she was so desperate to fix, or the only way to establish her place and protect her peace in this new land. But as her journey unfolds, August becomes suspicious that Margaret holds secrets and further questions whether she wants to help with the ancient beer brewing, and if she does continue, what she will want from it in return.
This book is uniquely important in today's politically charged climate, and it will resonate particularly well with women who might feel like they are of two lives, of two worlds - especially those who feel they give constantly to their families while also imagining what they could have been if they'd remained single and/other childfree. This book is full of possibilities and is so beautifully written, it will drop you into this magical, fungal, second-chance world right alongside August, whether you were expecting it to or not.