I want to curse. A lot. F-bombs like air–required for breathing.
This book does that to you. It leaves you days later, days after turning that last page with invectives burned into the darkest corners of memory poised on the edge of your tongue ready to spill at the slightest provocation. Gabriel Tallent’s, My Absolute Darling dismantles your comfort, displaces the order of things and once seen–these things cannot be unseen.
And when you do turn that last page, when you place this book tidily back on it’s shelf and breath a sigh of relief reminding yourself that it is after all just a novel–remember this, art imitates life and though Turtle is a character confined to these pages–her story is not. And that readers–is what leaves you shaken. Because you know. You know.