Where I End is scarily not politically correct. The bedridden mother is called a bed-thing and treated as a soulless burden. The protagonist is called a soul-stench but casually mentions her many rapes as a child by the repulsed but sexually aroused island men. The book’s entire mood is distasteful. But this is visceral horror, it is meant to be disgusting. And the author succeeds more than I expected. This is a novel that lingers. I read it weeks ago and still it rests uneasily in my mind, and in my heart. To say I didn’t like Where I End is a gross understatement. But it did arouse strong emotions in me, which is rare in the wide ocean of books I read each year. So, I give this book 5 stars though I only recommend it if you are willing to live with it forever stuck in your psyche.
Thanks to Erewhon Books and NetGalley for a digital review copy of the book.