If I were to give a name to the kind of horror in Rena Mason's book, it'd be something like 'emotional horror' or 'anxiety horror.' It's definitely a slow-burn, and very atmospheric. Indeed, sometimes you can cut the atmopshere with a knife: there are some embarrassing moments, as the protagonist of the story, the upper middle class housewife, Stacy, goes through her upper middle class problems, with her upper middle class friends, with her upper middle class husband, showing occasional patience, lots of cynicism, and … well, apparent episodes of insanity. She has nightmares out of nowhere, where she dismembers and burns the bodies of loved ones in a post-apocalyptic Las Vegas. Her reality is disintegrating. She has nosebleeds, headaches, hallucinations. And then she finds Dr. Light, a psychiatrist. The story picks up, and the picture Mason is painting turns out to be quite bizarre. Bit by bit, Stacy's ordinary daily life becomes like a reality tv show, and her nightmares, instead, give glimpses into the truth. Her 'soccer mom' personna, the suburban housewife identity, opens up like an onion, into several layers of echo-like moments of self-exploration: at that moment, the book goes into sci-fi territory. And, after it goes back to horror, it's no longer easy to comment further without spoilers. At times, because of the change of genres, I was tempted to put the book aside and come back later. However, the writing is brilliant, pure joy; reading this book gives pleasure. The ending did not make much sense at all, but, this is part of its charm. It's unusual, and it gave me unusual vibes, feelings and viewpoints that would have been inaccessible to me otherwise. It's a performance, a journey out of the ordinary into uncanny, alien dreamscapes right next to it (though there's nothing surreal, either plotwise or in the writing.) This is enough to recommend the book.
I received an advance review copy for free, and I am leaving this review voluntarily.