One thing I definitely appreciated about this story was the writing. It’s incredibly lush and descriptive (even when that makes it especially repulsive). Those descriptions at times felt a bit repetitive—how many times do we need to be reminded that there’s shelf fungi on the back of that one chair—but for the most part, I really enjoyed how tangible and visceral everything felt.

There’s this wetness permeating the story, both in its depictions of sex and death/decomposition. (Bodily fluids/smells seem to be a recurring thematic element.)

I think where I struggled was that despite all that, I just never really felt connected to the story or the characters. I kept waiting to become invested but it never happened. This is likely more an issue of personal preference rather than any flaw in the story itself. 

I think I expected more of a supernatural element—more body horror, and I would’ve liked the book more if it had gone in that direction. But again, that’s just my preference.