I read this one a while back but didn’t get around to reviewing it. It does deserve a blog post cos it did tug at my heart strings.

If you’ve ever wondered what an octopus might think of the human condition—or if it could teach us something about ourselves—Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt might just surprise you.

This heartwarming debut novel weaves together the stories of people (and one unforgettable sea creature) who are all, in their own way, searching for connection. At the center is Tova Sullivan, a 70-year-old widow living in a quiet coastal town in Washington. Tova has suffered more than her share of loss: her husband passed away recently, and decades earlier, her teenage son Erik vanished under mysterious circumstances. In the face of all this, she does what she knows best—she tidies. Cleaning becomes her form of control, her quiet act of hope, even when the world feels increasingly out of reach.

But the real twist? Tova shares the stage with Marcellus, a curmudgeonly, extremely intelligent Pacific octopus who narrates chapters in the first person. Yes, you read that right. And while it might sound a little odd at first, Marcellus quickly becomes one of the most endearing and insightful voices in the book. He’s witty, wise, and surprisingly human in his observations. His time is running out—literally—and yet his mission becomes one of healing and mending broken threads in the lives around him.

What struck me most while reading was how deeply the theme of loneliness runs through every corner of the story—but not in a heavy, hopeless way. Instead, Van Pelt treats loneliness as a universal experience, one that can be softened by empathy, curiosity, and unexpected friendships.

Each character carries their own quiet sorrow. Ethan Mack, the pipe-smoking, Scottish owner of the local Shop-Way, is gentle and kind, still mourning the loss of his sister Mariah. Cameron, a drifting thirty-year-old with a tendency to run from his problems, arrives in Sowell Bay looking for answers—and maybe a family. His relationship with his Aunt Jeanne is full of tension, made worse by her chaotic, cluttered home (a strong contrast to Tova’s spotless one). Jeanne’s way of coping is the opposite of Tova’s, yet both women are trying to survive the weight of what life has taken from them.

Even the details, like Tova’s obsession with the news, subtly highlight her solitude. She clings to the routine of knowing what’s happening in the world, perhaps as a way to feel less adrift in her own quiet life.

But here’s what I loved: as the story unfolds, these characters begin to step into each other’s lives, slowly and imperfectly. Tova sees people clearly—sometimes painfully so—and we as readers first get to know the cast through her steady, observant eyes. Later, we see them again through Cameron’s perspective, and the contrast is moving. Where Tova sees flaws with grace, Cameron sees his own pain reflected back at him. Through these dual lenses, Van Pelt shows us that understanding others often starts with understanding ourselves.

One detail I keep thinking about is the contrast between two boxes: one that Tova receives from her estranged brother Lars (neatly packed, filled with carefully labeled pieces of the past), and one that Cameron finds from his absent mother (disorganized, cryptic, full of emotional landmines). Both boxes carry the weight of memory and identity, and both are turning points for these characters as they begin to face their truths.

And then there’s that unforgettable line on page 64: “Maybe we all have sea monsters living in our brains.” Don’t we? Little fears, regrets, griefs we tuck away. But what this novel gently reminds us is that those monsters don’t have to win. There’s always the possibility of reaching out, of reconnecting, of finding joy—even if it comes from an eight-armed escape artist with a taste for crustaceans.

In the end, Remarkably Bright Creatures isn’t just a story about loss. It’s a story about healing—slow, unexpected, and often messy. It’s about the surprising ways we can be brought back to life, and how even the loneliest corners of our hearts might be lit up again by someone (or something) remarkably bright.

Highly recommend this one if you:

    •    Love found-family stories

    •    Appreciate quirky, character-driven plots

    •    Want a novel that’s equal parts heartwarming and wise

    •    Aren’t afraid of falling in love with an octopus

You’ll close this book feeling a little more tender toward the world—and perhaps with a new appreciation for the intelligence of creatures who live in the deep