For starters, I did not dislike this book, and I think I need to sit with it a little bit to form a full opinion. I knew it was a bit out of left field for my tastes, which tend to lean toward the uncomfortable but not that macabre/gory. In truth, this book didn’t make me as uncomfortable as I thought it would. It is not a pleasant read by any means. There are descriptions of brutality and rot. Death, and abundance of it. 

Overall, there’s this sick cyclical motion about it that’s almost Shakespearean, like a wheel that always turns despite the chipped, tattered spokes. It’s dismal, contemplative, and laced with dramatic irony. To be honest, and I say this will full seriousness, it was nice to read somewhere where I knew nobody has a cellphone. It’s a novel that despite engages in some madness and surrealism, is more grounded in the natural. And this is no shade to other works — it’s just my reading list, and the way the world turns.