Review: The Virgin Suicides

2019 CHALLENGE: 1 YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT YET?! PER MONTH 02 / 12

5 stars. No surprises here. I love the movie, I loved reading Middlesex, and thematically this checks all the boxes for me. I was struck, however, by a couple of things: first, the uniqueness of the narrative voice. First person plural is rare, successful first person plural is unheard of. To Eugenides’ credit, it really works, and it was refreshing to fall into a sort of collective, shared headspace. I fell in love with the boys who fell in love with the Lisbon sisters; their quiet and honest sense of obsession and horror is totally unselfconscious.

Second, the playful and subtle way Eugenides illustrates how incapable people are at handling grief. In examining so closely the reaction to the girls’ suicides (not a spoiler!), we see people lose all sense of self-awareness. An entire community flounders and stumbles around in fear and curiosity and humor. We see an astounding lack of sensitivity from neighbors, “friends,” acquaintances. There is painfully misplaced judgment and blame. We see clumsy attempts to heal and help. The only people who truly try to understand are the narrators - and they don’t really get there. This felt very real.

Third, I thought this book would examine more deeply what it means to be female. I expected the point would be that the girls’ femaleness would inform their deaths, not necessarily the other way around. That’s not a critique, just an observation. Aside from Cecelia’s perfect explanation to her doctor, this was more about youth and tragedy than female youth and female tragedy. Being desired, desiring others, desiring more … all explored with a superficial eye. But it’s not just about the girls. It’s about the boys.

It’s about the boys’ lust and their coming-of-age in middle class suburbia; their memories and their shared reminiscence of an impactful event that changed their perspective forever. It’s about the loss of innocence and an attempt to grapple with something that simply cannot be explained. It’s about adults not having all the answers. It’s about seeing another person through a fog - or a lens - or a telescope of your own making, of your own perceptions. Or perhaps through a coating of dusk, muck, grass, smog, bugs.

I thought this would annoy me - the prevalence of the male gaze. But the girls do have agency. They’re awkward, strange, nerdy, mistake-making teenage girls and the boys (the men) later recognize this. Perhaps we would be more forgiving of girls if we remembered that. They’re not perfect, mythical, beautiful, ethereal creatures too special for this world. They’re just girls.

This was a satisfying read in the sense that I knew I would love it. But it’s not a happy book. Also …

Otter insulation? Otter insulation? EW.

The Virgin Suicides on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: It

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

5 stars. This book is a triumph. It tells such a gargantuan, important story. Stephen King has a gift, and I'm so impressed. I have so many observations.

First of all - this story is so, so sad. Heartbreaking. I'm used to horror books and movies killing off characters I barely know or care about; usually they are stupid, ignorant, boring, or all of the above. Getting to know the victims so intimately - their backgrounds, their thoughts - made their deaths feel like punches to the gut. Don't get me wrong, this technique made the story a lot scarier, and I admire how twisted Stephen King is. And I like to be scared. But following an innocent child to his death in the rain was really painful!

It's sad in other ways, too. King illustrates what you might call the gradual tragedy of growing up. He's obvious about it, and it's so accurate it's agonizing to read. We all experience the transition from childhood to adulthood, right? It's universal. And it's often described as gaining something - independence, awareness, knowledge, experience. King choose to focus on what we lose - youth, innocence, a sense of immortality, a sense that we can trust the world, the deep connections built with friends in imaginary worlds. He's so crazy good at capturing childhood and adolescence it was a little agonizing to read. I felt a pit in my stomach and epic amounts of nostalgia.

Secondly - the details are excessive. That's neither here nor there, I guess, not good or bad, but excessive is the only word I can use. I love that King writes so conversationally, and fills his prose with references to pop culture and businesses and brands and everyday observations. It's part of what makes him so unique, and what makes his books so ... full to the brim.

The excess feels extra appropriate in some places, especially when he describes the depth of fear, or writes from the perspective of a young child. But it's a little distracting at times. There are diatribes peppered with parenthetical references. There are experimental attempts to document rapid-fire thoughts and observations. That's his style, I totally get it. But it felt a little laborious in this particular book.

Third - I thought this book was going to be about, you know, a clown.

It's not. This book has every scary thing you could ever imagine tucked between its pages. Yes, there's a clown. There's also a werewolf, a mummy, a leper, a crawling eye, Frankenstein, moving photographs, ghosts, giant birds, epic amounts of sewage, and more. And even scarier - psycopathy, bullying, violence, child molestation, domestic abuse, unusual sex, addiction, and more. A lot more. You've been warned.

Despite that list, I didn't think It was scary, at first, actually at all. But then one morning I was going downstairs to get breakfast, in the dark, and I found myself thinking about what it would be like find a head in my fridge and ... yeah, I got a little jumpy. It earns points for that. I'm not even sure, though, that I'd classify it as a horror book. It's a dramatic tragedy with a, well, with a happy ending, I guess...

I wish I could better describe my impressions of this book. I used the phrase "full to the brim" above and I can't help but think that's a good description. It's just full. Full of thoughts and ideas and characters and feelings and monsters and sadness and children and adults and evil places.

It's unusual, for sure. It's trippy and weird, although it's easier to swallow if you don't question it. It's an incredible piece of writing. That's what's so weird/amazing about Stephen King - you start reading and you're like, wtf am I reading? And then you LOVE IT. And then you close the book and you're like, wtf did I just read?

It on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: Sharp Objects

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

5 stars. Here's a summary, for those of you who somehow haven't encountered one yet: Camille Preaker, fresh out of a mental institution, reluctantly returns to her hometown on a work assignment. Wind Gap, Missouri is reeling from the murders of two young girls, and Camille is told to write a story on the deaths for her small Chicago newspaper. Unfortunately, she has a horrible past and a horrible relationship with her family (specifically, her mother). Still grieving the death of her sister from years ago, Camille tries to gather the facts for her story while unintentionally unearthing the darkness from her childhood.

I loved Sharp Objects, but warning: this is not a feel-good book. I know it's cliche to say, but Gillian Flynn is a super gutsy writer and that comes through significantly in this narrative. She features characters that hate themselves and hate everyone around them (and somehow don't feel like antagonists - they feel very human). Camille, in this novel, is incredibly superficial and harshly critical of others - she zeroes in on every potentially unflattering characteristic of those she encounters and highlights them in grossly detailed ways.

This is also a bit of a Gillian Flynn trademark. The gross details. I remember her describing vomited spaghetti in Dark Places - the words she used left quite an impression (warning: there is a lot of vomit in Sharp Objects, too). Then again, seeing vomited spaghetti would likely leave an impression if I had seen it with my own eyes.

So maybe that's one of her strengths - her ability to realistically describe what we pay attention to. When someone at the table gets spinach in their teeth, it's all anyone can think about. Basically, Gillian Flynn has a knack for pointing it out. And describing it in the most disgusting way possible. And somehow making the spinach-wearer seem hateful even though the spinach-wearer isn't technically at fault. I just love her grotesque style.

I also loved the story. I figured out what was going on almost immediately, but that didn't take away from the experience at all. I found myself reading and rushing and reading and rushing because I wanted confirmation so badly.

Look, this book is disturbing. It is dark, especially in its depiction of women as villains and as victims. I may return to expand on how upon reading Sharp Objects,I felt as though a piece clicked into place in the puzzle of what it means to be a woman. But for now, I'll just say that I loved every word. A home run.

Sharp Objects on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: Rosemary's Baby

5 stars. I can’t give this anything less even though it upset me so profoundly. I was moved to tears - frustrated, horrified tears - at least twice. This book made me itch and squirm and scream and I walked away really disturbed. I know, sounds like a horrible reading experience, right? I can’t give it anything less than 5 stars because it elicited such a strong reaction - Ira Levin’s horror is, in that sense, exquisite.

Rosemary’s Baby. Everyone knows what it’s about. In the mid-1960’s, a young woman, Rosemary, and her husband - an actor named Guy - move into a new apartment building called the Bramford. Excited about the prospect of having a child and starting a family, Rosemary settles in to their new place and enjoys her role as homemaker for her husband. They become acquainted with their elderly neighbors - Roman and Minnie - to whom Guy seems to take an unusual interest.

But Rosemary detects something strange about the building and her new neighbors. She’s aware of the Bramford’s colorful past - full of death and strange happenings - and when another young resident leaps out the window, her suspicions grow. Meanwhile, Guy continues to spend time with their neighbors while experiencing a sudden career boost. At last, he decides to give Rosemary what she yearns for - a baby.

And things only get worse from there! Needless to say, Rosemary’s pregnancy is difficult and her neighbors’ extreme interest disturbs her. As the months go by and the due date nears, she begins to perceive an insidious and terrifying plot against her and her baby and learns, ultimately, that she can trust no one.

Literally, no one. Rosemary’s body is stolen from her, and she has nowhere to turn, nowhere to go, nobody she can speak to. Every avenue of true support or friendship is completely eliminated. I felt this as a woman so deeply - nobody believed her. It sickens me so much (I won’t turn this into a political discussion, I promise, but just know that I had such a strong reaction) because I see dark and vivid echoes of this today.

And it’s not just that - it’s the fact that she was so manipulated. The slow discovery that any sense of independence is an illusion? My worst nightmare. She is controlled, completely controlled, even her THOUGHTS are controlled. Did y’all see Hereditary? When you realize you walk into someone else’s trap willingly, thinking you’re doing the right thing?

Along those lines, I couldn’t stand Guy. Among all the villains in this story, he is by far the worst. The way he tries to convince her - so smugly - till the very end makes my stomach turn. Guy Woodhouse is an absolute sorry excuse for a human being and I hope his career crashed and burned so hard he ended up alone and forgotten before dying a painful and agonizing death.

Despite knowing ahead of time what to expect, I wanted this to end so differently. I wanted a satisfying, gory conclusion - an epilogue, perhaps, called Rosemary’s Revenge. But this is one of those gut punches of a horror novel, one where the twist of the blade feels inevitable. The perfection is in the rug pull - you’re safe! Until you aren’t. Oh don’t worry, you’re safe again! Nope, you aren’t safe at all and you never were.

So let’s talk about the writing. I was pleasantly surprised by Levin’s concise, dry manner of craft. The level of detail is incredible and makes things feel very real - too real. He is Salt Bae with clues, sprinkling them into the story with an artful flourish. His ability to portray the female mind is admirable, though I doubt any woman would be that gullible about weird-tasting mousse and a husband’s sneaky behavior. Regardless, it’s a masterpiece of psychological horror. Like I said, I was deeply unsettled.

After this and the Ted Bundy documentary, I don’t know how I’ll ever trust men, or neighbors, again. ALL OF THEM WITCHES.

Rosemary’s Baby on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: In Cold Blood

2019 CHALLENGE: 1 YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT YET?! PER MONTH 01 / 12

5 stars. This year, I decided to create and implement two reading challenges. The first: 1 re-read per month. I'm really interested in revisiting old favorites - many of them books I read as a child or a young person - and this is meant to get me out from under the pressure to consume everything new and shiny. My first re-read was The Westing Game - and it was hugely delightful.

The second challenge: 1 you haven't read that yet?! per month. There are some books out there (classics, bestselllers, Want to Read lingerers) that I just haven't forced myself to read, for whatever reason. This challenge is meant to make it happen. I had so much fun developing my lists/plans for both of these, but I'm keeping them under wraps so I can tinker/change my mind. 

My first you haven't read that yet?! is Truman Capote's In Cold Blood. I know - HOW. How have I not read this. But it's true. I finally finished it yesterday and wow - there's so much to unpack. Based on advice from my husband, I went in completely blind and resisted the urge to Google, even when my fingers itched to. I let myself absorb the story as it unfolded.

The story, as it turns out, is the story of a murder - the horrific, tragic murder of a family of four in their farm house in Holcomb, Kansas. In Cold Blood, written as the first "nonfiction novel," explores the crime from every angle. Showcasing an incredible eye for detail, Capote sets the stage with care and paints detailed pictures of each victim and each perpetrator. He examines closely the events leading up to and after the murder, placing the rippling consequences in sociological and psychological contexts. We get to know these people - the victims, the survivors, the witnesses, the investigators. By the end, we feel deeply affected by the murders and intimately familiar with the murderers.

What can I possibly say? Capote literally invented a genre here. He birthed a type of writing. It's obviously an incredible technical accomplishment, both in terms of style and approach. The level of journalistic work required must have been insane. Yes, he distorted the truth in places, created scenes where perhaps he shouldn't have, but we know that going in by now. The hype is REAL. It's a must-read.

So yes, it's a gamechanger from a methodological perspective. But it's also a profoundly emotional read. Capote was obviously the OG murderino, but I don't think even he anticipated the many complexities or the distressing twists and turns this case would take.

One thing emerged very clearly for me, a quarter of the way through the book: Capote was obsessed with - infatuated with, maybe - Perry Smith. He never excuses Smith's behavior, nor does he minimize the tragedy of the Clutters' deaths. He confronts the horror head-on, in fact, brutally walking us through Smith's cold, twisted thought process upon killing four innocent people for $40. But he's fascinated with Smith and pays distinct attention to his upbringing, his past, his family, the circumstances that led to his predicament. 

It's an almost loving portrayal, and his death feels almost just as tragic as the original murders. I finished this book after watching the Ted Bundy documentary on Netflix (Ted Bundy is having a moment), and I couldn't help but juxtapose the two killers and the forms of justice they faced. 

Killing Ted Bundy was an ultimate and satisfying consequence, because it completely robbed a manipulative psychopath of his control. That man was never going to stop. He was never going to stop hunting. He was driven almost beyond self-preservation to possess things - situations, authority figures, courtrooms, juries, women. I find myself supportive of the death penalty here as justice for his victims and as prevention of his future crimes.

Killing Perry Smith and his partner feels far less satisfying. It's just not the same. There is a spectrum here and Smith - to me, based on this book - does not land near Bundy. Like Capote, I will not excuse his actions or distract from the complete suffering faced by the Clutter family. But like Capote, I see layers here. I see reasons. I see explanations. I see circumstances beyond Smith’s ability to control.

It's a moral quandary that I won't even attempt to navigate beyond that. I am tired and my brain is squishy from considering all this. But it's beautiful that this book inspires these types of questions. In Cold Blood is truly extraordinary, and I can see why Capote struggled with it. I'm so glad I read it and I'm sorry it took me so long.

In Cold Blood on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: The Song of Achilles

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

5 stars. This book tells the life story of Patroclus, a friend (in this case, lover) of Achilles, legendary fighter and son of a goddess. Patroclus first encounters Achilles as a young boy, and readers witness their friendship develop into something deeper. Eventually, they head to war - the Trojan War - and the story concludes with both heroes fulfilling their destinies.

I hated this book until I reached the last few chapters. Actually, I hated it entirely. Actually, I loved this book. I can't decide. Regardless, I found it to be amazing.

The Song of Achilles wasn't at all what I was expecting. I picked it up because of my interest in Greek mythology, hoping for a fresh and captivating look at the Trojan War. I suppose I actually did get that, in the end, I just didn't expect to see it through a romantic lens.

Yeah. FYI, this is a romance. Fully blown, agonizing infatuation, profound obsession, there-is-no-life-without-you romance. (Also, I would not describe it as erotica, though there are erotic parts.)

At first I found it to be boring, actually, because so much attention was paid to Patroclus and Achilles' relationship. By the end though, I realized that so much attention was paid because it made the ending that much more of a gut punch. Even though we all saw it coming (it is history, after all) ... ouch.

The language is stunning. This is not a sloppy book. I loved the inclusion of the gods and goddesses and all the things the Greeks believed in. And yeah, that painful ending really got me. I couldn't believe how suddenly, over the course of a few paragraphs, I became so emotionally invested in the characters of a book I almost didn't finish.

I feel so weird about this one. I loved it and I hated it. I appreciated the writing and commend the author for her skill. No other book has shocked me into tears like this one has. Which sounds kind of horrible, like why would you ever want to be shocked into tears? But I really, really, really appreciated the story. This is a difficult one for me, but I say read it, for better or for worse.

The Song of Achilles on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: The Westing Game

2019 CHALLENGE: 1 RE-READ PER MONTH 01 / 12

5 stars. This book is pure brain food. I like to think of it as a nice blend of Agatha Christie and Flannery O’Connor. You’ve got the clever, wholesome Christie mystery fun mixed with O’Connor’s bold, scathing characterizations. Makes one very tasty, very satisfying read.

The Westing Game opens with our cast moving into Sunset Towers, a new apartment building adjacent to an old mansion belonging to Sam Westing. When Mr. Westing dies (…is murdered?), he, via his lawyer, brings together sixteen of the Towers inhabitants to play a game worth … (drumroll, please) … his entire inheritance.

He leaves instructions for each “heir,” plus specific clues for everyone. We, as readers, get to watch from a front row seat as a feisty African American judge, an entitled, egotistical housewife, an attention-starved secretary, a sparkly, smart little girl, and more unlikely suspects race to solve the puzzle and win the game.

This would be a really bizarre book if it wasn’t written so cleverly, with so much humor, and with so much heart. It’s clear here that Ellen Raskin loved this book - loved writing it, loved playing with the readers, and loved her characters, deeply.

Like Christie’s books, this is a classic whodunnit and like Christie, Raskin drops the mic with the satisfying snap of a puzzle piece being pressed perfectly into place. Like O’Connor, Raskin paints each character with care and with brutal honestly. It keeps things fresh and immensely enjoyable.

And, yes, this probably would’ve been an even better read at 12. But I found myself really captivated by The Westing Game, and really invested. In fact (yikes), I actually found myself tearing up a bit at the end. Who, me? The ice queen with a heart of stone?! I’m meltinggggg…… I know. I just fell in love with these characters and it made me so happy to … well, you’ll see.

This book is full of nostalgia and goodness. I’m so glad it kicked off my re-read challenge for 2019, because it proved how rewarding this exercise can be. So come on! Read The Westing Game. Bask in the glow of transparent tryhards, charming youngsters, charming oldsters, twists, turns, and the joy of unlikely friends.

The Westing Game on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: Come Closer

5 stars. What a way to start 2019! I am OVER THE MOON. Come Closer is everything I look for in a horror story: clever, gruesome, unsettling and succinct. It’s also very cinematic and I could see the movie playing in my mind’s eye throughout. Please adapt! It’s a winner! A creepy, terrifying winner!

Come Closer is the first person account of a young married woman named Amanda who starts exhibiting symptoms of demonic possession. We, as readers, get a front row seat as the demon, Naamah, completely erodes her career, her relationships and her sense of self. She has new psychic powers, blackouts, mood swings, and she struggles to fight against the inner voice commanding her to hurt others.

It’s completely tragic and wonderful and captivating. I couldn’t put it down. I suppose I kept hoping for a happy ending, or at least a turnaround, but I should’ve known better. Because we are in Amanda’s mind, we believe that she is truly possessed, but as readers, from an external POV, she could just be going insane.

Is it one, or the other, or both? I love the lingering doubts and questions. I also love that Gran incorporated a thread of religious mythology to flesh out the premise - it made things feel that much more … elemental, or maybe even destined. Her writing, too, is refreshing. She’s snappy and smart. There are several moments - moments that are so well-written and subtle - that made me want to pop off the couch and scream.

Overall: Come Closer is a quick, startling read and will delight horror fans. This is going to be difficult to top. Prepare to have nightmares.

Come Closer on: Amazon | Goodreads

Retro Review: Rebecca

When I started this blog, I had been posting reviews on Goodreads for about 6 months. In the interest of having all of my book writing in one place, I will post one of these old reviews every Friday. They weren't written with a blog in mind, so please forgive the lack of summary and off-the-cuff tone.

5 stars. Yikes. Yikes. This book.

It's a masterpiece. A true masterpiece.

I feasted on this novel. Absolutely dined on it. I devoured it in two days and was shocked to come to its end. It's incredible.

The writing is masterful and the storytelling is atmospheric and layered. It touches on so many things: the power of a place and its many unrealized secrets; the stubborn naivete and innocence of youth; the wired, uneasy journey into adulthood; the constant inner battle for a certain sense of self; the pressures of society and the lousy insensitivity of human nature; the tragedy of being a woman.

It's very captivating, and very horrifying, and a true gift.

I will admit that halfway through the book I was disappointed. I felt so uncomfortable and awkward reading about a hypersensitive girl making her way through a tough world. This is either a testament to the powerful writing or my own personality, but I personally felt Rebecca's presence, constantly whispering in my ear, telling me I would never live up to her, would never escape her shadow. Anyone who suffers from insecurities or anxiety will relate to the narrator's extremely accurate voice. It wasn't creepy, it was too real.

But then the revelation! The other shoe dropped, and as it turns out, it was a perfect fit. And I truly didn't anticipate the twists and turns - which I really appreciate in a world of predictable storytelling.

To those who criticized the book due to the thoughts/actions of the narrator: just because an author writes from a character's perspective does not mean the author agrees with or supports or resembles the character in any way. This should be obvious. The narrator in this story is sensitive, timid, terrified, ignorant, innocent, naive, misguided, and annoying. This is not my interpretation of her, this is how she is portrayed. It's intentional! Her desire to be loved leads her to stay married to a murderer. That is not a "heroine" in any sense of the word.

It really doesn't matter. It just doesn't. I found myself totally immersed in this story, heartbroken for both Rebecca and the narrator. Am I, as a woman, not somehow both of them? Required to be pleasant yet obligated to be direct? Failing to be simultaneously submissive and independent, as is demanded of me? Caught between doing what's expected and doing what feels right? Navigating a world that wants me to be both the Jezebel and the Madonna?

This book is a nightmare. A perfect, Gothic nightmare.

Rebecca on: Amazon | Goodreads

Review: The Cabin at the End of the World

5 stars. WOW. I don’t even know where to begin. I loved Paul Tremblay’s A Head Full of Ghosts but felt really meh about Disappearance at Devil’s Rock, so I had no idea what to expect going into this. And honestly, until the end, I was on the fence. I really don’t take to Tremblay’s attempts to write children, and I fully expected to hate what looked to be a very bleak ending. But then I reached the last page and … felt the whammy of a gut punch so big I nearly burst into tears.

I guess we should back up. The Cabin at the End of the World opens with Eric and Andrew and their 7-year-old adopted daughter Wen on vacation in an isolated cabin with … you guessed it … no cell service. While Wen catches grasshoppers in the front yard, she’s approached by a huge and friendly man named Leonard, who engages her in weird conversation until three others show up - carrying terrifying hybrid weapons and wearing similar outfits in different colors.

Leonard and his companions are a threat, but not the type of threat you’d assume, and this sort of apocalyptic home invasion story runs a very tension-filled course. What follows is a nightmare - a nightmare that never ends and only gets worse. Wen and her fathers are good, good people who experience incredibly awful things. It’s pretty hard to recap, actually, but just know that this is a scary read. A traumatic and interesting and well-written read.

I loved that Tremblay offers us many clues - throws explanations our way, in fact - and yet leaves things ambiguous at the end. We have answers, but we don’t know what to believe. And it’s a tremendous exploration of what happens when we are backed into a corner - when our worst fears for our loved ones and ourselves unfold right in front of our eyes. You will feel like you are there. You will feel in it. You will experience the horror and the loss and the pain.

And yet it’s so captivating. I couldn’t put it down. Even when my eyes were blurry with exhaustion, my head hurt, my knee ached with sympathy pain, even when I was convinced I knew what to expect and had to muscle through it to be sure, I couldn’t put it down. Tremblay still can’t shake the almost hilarious analogies ("Leonard falls off his knees and returns to all fours, a reversal of the evolutionary ascent-of-humans pictograph..." or "Leonard is battered, a diminished and broken King Kong after the swan dive off the Empire State Building. Sabrina is pressed against the wall as though standing on the crumbling ledge of a cliff face.") but his writing here is deeply emotional. He plays it all just right.

And that ending. Fuck, it really worked for me. I thought I had it figured out - thought I knew what was going to happen. Nope, I was thrown for a wonderful loop. A wonderful loop. It felt like Horror with a capital H. Damn. This book coaxed my brain into stunning, dark places. I suppose I’m a little bit in awe. The evil here - you can't really wrap your head around it. It’s monstrous, but it’s not a monster. If that makes sense.

Look, I almost feel like I can’t recommend this. It will fuck you up and leave you wrung out. But it’s a five star book, for sure, and its brilliant premise, vivid prose and deliciously rich themes will stick with me for a long time. I mean … okay, I need a drink.

The Cabin at the End of the World on: Amazon | Goodreads