Death in Her Hands

This one is polarising, huh? I'm seeing people who have never read O.M. before just slaughtering it (I get the feeling they were looking for a cozy mystery) and long time fans just losing patience with it. Maybe because I went in expecting not to like it, it tripped me up and I fell in love with the damned thing. I don't think I have read anything else lately that has made me think so much. Not about the book, per se, but by the questions it raises.
At first, it was like listening to a master musician just mess around. Moshfegh is a literary genius. She sinks her teeth into the idea of a note found laying in the woods, “Her name was Magda” and then she just jumps off on it in this direction, then that direction. We have a whole, invented biography of Magda, Magda's lovers, her parents, her landlady, and her son. In the meantime, we have Vesta and her daily movements through life. A life that, at first, seems almost idyllic. A cabin by the lake, an adorable dog, and complete freedom from obligations and family.
Then, the novel becomes about Vesta. And loneliness. And isolation. I found myself really thinking about things...are we meant to live alone? Who is our support network? What is life like when you choose not to have one?

Because Moshfegh shows and doesn't tell her readers (and I do LOVE that about her) we can see something is going on. Maybe. At least, Vesta sees it. Has someone ripped out every seed she planted? Why is every single townsperson so incredibly ice cold toward her? Is it because she is a stranger in a small town or is it bigger than that? Is this how we treat our old? (OK, Greatest Generation). Even the librarian seemed to be put off by Vesta. What is real? What is being filtered by Vesta's “mind space”? Was Walter a Nazi hiding in the US?
I need to stop. I could talk about this all day. And that, right there, is the mark of a 5 star read for me.