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Book Review: Find Me Where It Ends by Cassandra Khaw

 

Find Me Where It Ends, by Cassandra Khaw

Tor Nightfire, October 2026

ISBN: 9781250877895

Availabie: Hardcover, paperback, electronic (pre-order)

Buy: Bookshop.org | Amazon.com

 

 

Find Me Where It Ends is a stripped-down novella, a well-done suicide-oriented tale with ghosts and spectral animals. It fixes all the problems that plagued Khaw’s last novel, The Library At Hellebore: there are no more confusing plots or poor word choices, and it gives a good insight into the psychology of the main character, who is considering such a choice.

 

Antigone is a single woman who just hit forty. She gave up a chunk of her life to help her rather miserable mother, and she also works as a part-time paranormal investigator/ghost banisher. She’s got two overriding problems: she’s been considering suicide for some time, and a ghostly black dog– a harbinger of her own demise– shows up on her doorstep and moves into her house. As the story quickly counts down the weeks, days and hours towards her chosen time of death, Antigone interacts with various people and ghosts who help, and also hurt, her perspective on life. The final hour quickly hits at the end of page 130, and a decision needs to be made, based on whether she has seen enough inside this short time frame to change her mind, or follow through. Does she? That, dear readers, I will of course not tell you. Read and see for yourself.

 

Let’s break it down. First thing with a topic like this, is that the protagonist has to be one that readers will find believable. You don’t have to agree with the character’s reason for desiring to end their life, but the narrative has to be one the readers will buy into. Khaw is a gifted writer, and she handles explaining Antigone’s reasons and how she got to this point with deft prose throughout. Here, it’s because Antigone’s life is one of unrealized dreams, there is nothing happy in her life, and she feels… tired. So very tired. Tired enough that living seems like more work than it’s worth. I suspect some people may relate to such sentiments. Khaw handles it well, without the poor word choice that plagued her last book, which was loaded with words so rarely used that Dickens himself would have been left scratching his head. This time, any reader can handle the vocabulary.

 

It is during Antigone’s interactions with others that the narrative really shines, perhaps even more so then the parts concerning Antigone’s state of mind. And, the parts about her psyche were very well done. Most people want to help her, but the story shows the difficulty of trying to do so, as many of the ideas of “helping'”prove more detrimental than beneficial. It feels true to life: as anyone who has been in the same boat knows, dealing with suicidal people is like working with a very volatile substance. That’s why this story works so well. Despite the ghostly trappings with the black dog and others, this is a beautifully written narrative on a very touchy subject, one that could happen to many people.

 

Bottom line: if you want a touch of well-written, relatable, real-life darkness, this is the way to go. Recommended.

 

 

Reviewed by Murray Samuelson

 

 

Book Review: The Book of X by Sarah Rose Etter

cover for The Book of X by Sarah Rose Etter

The Book of X by Sarah Rose Etter  ( Bookshop.org | Amazon.com )

Two Dollar Radio, 2019

ISBN-13: 978-1937512811

Available: Paperback, Kindle edition, audiobook

Cassie was born with a knot in her torso, a strange genetic mutation that has been carried on through generations of women in her family. The way she lives in and perceives her body, and the way other people react and interact with her because of her body, are also knotted together, in a way she can’t escape. Although her story is shaped by the grotesque, that is something true of most other women, too: the way they live in and perceive their bodies, and what others expect of them because of their bodies, can leave them trapped as well.

The way Cassie describes the realities of her daily life suggests that she is an unreliable narrator– her father makes money from mining from the meat quarry on their land-  but what she describes– doing chores, shopping with her mother, hanging out with a friend, sitting through school– is banal. She has vivid, poetic visions of body parts: rivers of thighs, fields of throats, bodies sliced through at the torso, and her own stomach, flat instead of knotted.  Her mother, who also has a knot, wants Cassie to disguise it with makeup, new clothes, and diet, feeding her rocks instead of ordinary food. Even the boy she likes doesn’t like her body because of the knot. Despite a painful experimental treatment, Cassie is unable to get rid of the knot that causes her physical and emotional pain. The meat that her father mines is bodiless, a place where she feels good about herself. But even that is taken from her when she is sexually assaulted in the meat quarry.

Cassie escapes to the city, where she can be anonymous. Even though people in the city don’t all know about her knot, they still have expectations. At her job she is expected to always be optimistic and cheerful, with a smiling face. When she takes a man back to her apartment and he sees her knot, he leaves. She is not defined by her knot in the same way that she was when everyone knew about it, but she is still trapped, this time by expectations of what a woman is supposed to appear like publicly as well as privately.

More autonomous that she used to be, she once again visits a doctor, but walks away from a supposed “new” treatment that appears identical to the one she has already gone through. Eventually she does find a doctor willing to do a complicated and painful surgery that would allow her torso to be unknotted, but it doesn’t leave her body, or her attitude, unmarked.  She is still unable to endure the trauma of returning to her hometown, where she would have to see the physical pain her mother’s knot is causing her, revisit the scene of her sexual assault, and witness the “normal” existence of getting married and having a family that her best friend has. Even though the knot is no longer there, Cassie can’t see her body or self as being beautiful or worthy of love, and her self-loathing finally destroys her.

Had Etter taken a different path in telling Cassie’s story it would be bleak but not enthralling or horrific. But the surreal elements of Cassie’s environment (like the knot and the meat quarry), while very real to her, make the reader doubt the reality of the situation, coming back to the words more than once to be certain you understand. The Book of X, while giving us Cassie’s point of view of her own story, also embodies the difficult relationships and sometimes unreal feelings and perceptions that many women experience– and that is what makes it so disturbing and unforgettable. It’s no surprise that this book won the Shirley Jackson Award. Recommended.

Reader’s advisory note: Readers who enjoy the work of Carmen Maria Machado may also appreciate The Book of X. 

 

Book Review: Imaginary Friend by Stephen Chbosky

Imaginary Friend by Stephen Chbosky

Grand Central Publishing, 2019

ISBN-13: 978-1538731338

Available: Hardcover, Kindle edition, audiobook

 

Acclaimed author Joe Hill promoted Imaginary Friend by saying the first fifty pages would blow you away, and I 100% agree with that. The first chapter, which takes place fifty years before the rest of the story, is absolutely hallucinatory. Jumping to the present day, the central character is Christopher, a seven-and-a-half year old boy whose mentally ill father committed suicide four years ago, and is now on the road with his mother, Kate, who is fleeing a relationship with an abusive alcoholic. Chbosky does a great job of depicting the loving, if anxious, relationship between Kate and Christopher, and I think he shows a very realistic depiction of the effects grief, and the loss of a father, can have on the dynamic between a mother and son.

Christopher struggles in school. He is mercilessly bullied by the son of the richest family in town, which also owns the retirement home where his mother works, and dyslexia prevents him from succeeding academically. One day, his mother is late picking him up from school, and by the time she arrives he has mysteriously disappeared. When he is found after six days, he can’t remember anything about that time, but everything in their lives starts looking up, from his success on a math test to Kate’s winning the lottery. But Christopher is also starting to get terrible headaches, and he is hearing the voice of someone he calls “the nice man” who wants him to build a treehouse in the woods behind the house his mother bought with her lottery winnings. Is there something supernatural going on, or is Christopher manifesting his father’s mental illness?

The story starts to run off the rails for me here. According to Chbosky, Christopher is a second grader, seven years old. But he and his peers (both friends and bullies) aren’t acting or being treated like second graders. I 100% guarantee that an overprotective single mother is not going to allow her son who was recently missing for six days to go on a sleepover without making sure that the other child’s parents were right there in the house. But that is exactly what happens. Christopher and three of his friends trick their parents into thinking that each of them is going to a sleepover at another friend’s house so they can go camping in the woods in Pennsylvania in November and tirelessly build a treehouse from complicated blueprints, stealing wood from a construction site, with rare breaks for food.

There’s an echo of It or maybe The Body here in the depiction of the four outcast boys on a mission, but the kids in those stories are living through the 1950s, when kids had a lot more freedom to roam, and in both cases, the kids in those stories were older. Some of the actions of the kids in this book would have been more believable had they been older. Chbosky, best known for his YA novel The Perks of Being a Wallflower, might have done better to age his characters up to middle school. I’m  also pretty irritated that Chbosky refers to one of Christopher’s friends, who is in a special education classroom, by the nickname “Special Ed” , given to him by the school bully, throughout the book.

The story is also weighed down by a lot of unneccessary repetition. In the first chapter, every time David Olson is mentioned, it’s as “Little David Olson”, even though it’s quickly obvious that David is a young boy. It’s sometimes difficult to tell who is talking, or if they are talking or thinking, because the use of italics, spacing, font size, punctuation, and capitalization is irregular. I’m not sure if that’s intentional,or not, because it definitely adds to the sense of disorientation that Chbosky establishes from the beginning, but it also interrupts the flow of the story. Between the repetition in language and plot and the unusual formatting, the story started to exhaust me. There is also a heavy religious element that begins to take over the story and really dragged it out (there is an unexpected plot twist that jumpstarts things, but this book could still have been 300 pages shorter and been the better for it).

Where Chbosky shines is in character and relationship development, especially between family members. Kate and Christopher are at the center of the book and I am wowed by the way Chbosky portrayed their relationship. We also get a window into the lives of characters in the books who aren’t sympathetic at all, giving us a look at their generational or family trauma. I think Chbosky went a little overboard in getting into the minds of the characters of his very large cast at times. When he’s good, he’s very, very good, but when he goes over the top (and he does sometimes) he really misses the mark.

Chbosky also does an excellent job with creating truly disturbing creatures– I will never feel the same way about deer again– and it is painful, unsettling, grotesque, and terrifying to witness some of what he describes people doing to each other and themselves, over and over. This is a true horror novel that walks the reader through hell.

Imaginary Friend has received accolades from some prestigious review sources. In his acknowledgements, he cites Stephen King as his inspiration, and I can certainly see the influence. Ultimately, though, while there’s some really good stuff here, the book is flawed enough, and long enough, that many readers unfortunately won’t make it through to the end. Recommended for public libraries.

Contains: Violence, gore, body horror, child abuse, sexual situations, domestic violence, suicide, references to child sexual abuse, bullying