ISOLATION. 🏚️ HUNGER. 🍴 OBEDIENCE. 🪢 This book follows Margot, a child growing up under the shadow of a mother whose love and violence are inseparable. They live apart from the world, surviving in ways that are grotesque and horrifying, yet for Margot, they’re simply everyday life. Told entirely through her quiet, observant perspective, the story becomes both heartbreaking and suffocating, capturing the rhythm of life under control.
I’m sitting here staring at a wall, trying to process what this book put me through. 😮💨 When I have this strong of an emotional reaction to a book, I usually end up struggling to write a review. One thing I’ve found helps me is reading other people’s reviews. I don’t know if other people enjoy doing this, but I tend to tell people it feels like a kind of silent book club; a way to process my emotions and have a conversation of sorts with others as I navigate my own reactions. This time around, I found digging through reviews even more helpful than usual. There are a lot of polarizing opinions about this book, and I think that after reading it, digging the reviews will help you find where you land.
As for my thoughts… this review will be more personal and subjective than the balance of objectivity I typically aim for, simply because this story hit me hard.
This story feels part fairy tale, part (slight) folk horror, part coming-of-age tragedy. At its core, it’s the story of a narcissistic parent and a very naive child, Margot, who has grown up in an isolated world that is the only thing she’s ever known. What makes it so different from the outside world? Well, they eat people, for starters.
"The wilds weren't quiet here. The wind outside whistled in the roads twisted, cutting through the pastures. Snow turned into mud rivers as cars and tractors and vans trudged through the newly fallen, pristine snow. Nature was beautiful. But we did such a good job of making it ugly."
For Margot, it seems and feels normal, until she begins to gain agency and realize that maybe this world isn’t what she wants for herself. Maybe she’s different. Maybe she has questions that nobody wants her to ask. It’s a slow burn, and it takes its time with every step that leads Margot closer to discovering who she is. The prose is beautiful, tragic, sad, and immersive; I found it both enchanting and suffocating.
"Their skin looked as white as snow beneath the water. When the hot sunlight came through the clouds, they shared a kiss. This was true love; fighting and then crashing into one another again like waves."
I was very moved by the themes Rose wove through the story, especially around hunger, love, and control. I’ve read a couple of books that explore cannibalism, but this is the first where it isn’t systemic or post-apocalyptic. Instead, it’s familial and domestic, told entirely through the eyes of a child. At first, through Margot, it seems almost like a symbol of love, strength, and nourishment. But from the outside, and through her growth, it’s clear it’s a tool for control, obsession, abuse, and violence. This story explores hunger both literally and metaphorically—how yearning, dependence, and desire twist in the most toxic of relationships. This, at its heart, is a story about monsters.
"Mama looked up, catching me at the window. I searched her expression for something familiar, but I didn't recognize the woman standing in our garden. It's impossible to truly know someone who hides so much of themselves and consumes so much of others."
Reading it was heavy for me, because I think anyone who has dealt with a narcissistic family member will find this, unfortunately, very relatable. With the story told from a child’s perspective, I often heard my own voice in Margot’s—the confusion, the hope for acceptance, the desperate wish to make a parent proud even when you know they never will be. It was painful but also strangely healing, because I was able to witness her slowly gain her own agency, to watch her begin to view the world through a lens that wasn’t forced upon her.
"I didn't see my eyes anymore. They were fragments of strays who'd come before. I wondered if this is what being a real human was: accepting you were pieces of other people too. The people you loved and the people you hurt."
I read several reviews where readers stated that they felt the middle of the book was repetitive, but for me, that’s exactly why it worked. Living under the control of a narcissistic parent IS repetitive. It is all-consuming. Every day is spent either trying not to upset them or trying to please them; often both at the same time. That cycle doesn’t let up. Rose did a phenomenal job of capturing that suffocating rhythm, of putting you in the world of a child who is not living their own life, but instead living the life of their parent. What others have seen as tedium, I personally saw as devastating truth.
"I wish you knew how hard it is to be a mama. It's the hardest thing in the whole world. It's a promise you make to be perfect and make no mistakes. And to put yourself second until you die. It mutates into this horrible burden. A weight you have to carry forever."
"'When you were small, you were so easy to love. You'd do anything for me. Every word I spoke was gospel and you looked at me like I was the most beautiful woman in the world. But something has changed, Little One,' Mama whispered careful and quiet. 'And I'm wondering if it's quite possible that I don't love you the same anymore.'"
I can truly understand why this book has been so polarizing. Some say it drags, or that Margot’s narration feels flat. For me, that’s part of its brilliance. The quietness in her voice are exactly what make it believable. Children living in traumatic systems often become silent observers until something finally shifts. That same quiet perspective shapes how the horror is presented. It doesn’t arrive as shock from our narrator, but as something Margot treats as completely normal, even when it’s grotesque. What unsettles is not only the acts themselves, but the calm, unquestioning way she moves through them, as though they’re just another part of daily life.
"Everything happens for a reason. Something too big and too thoughtful for us to conceive. We're just animals, like little rabbits from the woods. Humanity, Margot, it is made up. Or empathy is waning as every second passes because it's not supposed to come so naturally to mortal creatures."
I think part of reading this book is suspending disbelief. It does raise questions: how do they afford their lives, what does her mother actually do, how/why is Margot still going to school, why isn’t there more attention on the people who go missing in the area? In a strictly realistic story those gaps would be distracting, but because this is built like a dark fairy tale, I found myself letting those questions go. At times I even wondered if it might have landed stronger set in an earlier time, leaning more fully into that “monster in the woods” feeling. Still, the blurring of the ordinary and the uncanny made it work for me, even when the mechanics didn’t fully add up.
In the end, this isn’t like any coming-of-age story I’ve ever read. It’s dark and gritty and strange, and it flows in and out of adult-like realizations and very childlike ones, always grounding you in the fact that Margot is still just a child. This story broke my heart, haunted me, disturbed me, and made me cry. I related to Margot more than I ever would have wanted to, but in that, I also found moments of healing.
"The absence of love had spoilt something in their souls and mine. Our love was rotten, but still looking for the burning it craved; for anything to revive the embers that have gone out long ago."
It’s not a book for everyone. It’s uncomfortable and unsettling, and it’s not meant to be easy. It’s also not meant to be purely entertaining. I’d describe it as a blend of some of my favorite genres (folk horror, dark fairy tales, thriller, and literary fiction) all working together in one story. There’s a contemplative quality to it, asking you to sit with its weight rather than rush toward resolution.
This is a book that will resonate most with readers who can sink into a slow burn, who are drawn to dark fairy tales, and who are open to sitting inside the suffocating rhythm of life under the control of another. If you're fine with mood and theme taking precedence over plot momentum, you'll enjoy it. For others, the pacing or the childlike narration may feel too quiet, too repetitive, or simply too heavy.
It isn’t a story that offers easy catharsis, but if you’re willing to sit with its darkness, there’s something haunting and beautiful to be found in it.
"Mama had told me she loved me. Eden had told me she loved me. Papa had told me he loved me. But it had all started to fray and lose its meaning, like a wave curling, crashing, and then becoming nothing at all as it disappeared back out to sea."
🖤