I can appreciate the craft that went into this novel but I'm starting to think Moshfegh's interests just aren't my interests. There is only so much time I can spend with a protagonist as desperately abused and ugly as Eileen. The vulnerability staged by her grotesquely awful father fulfilled its function to get me some kind of connection to the narrator as she continued to reveal herself in interesting ways throughout the book but I never really liked her and the obstacles thrown in front of her (presumably there to help reveal more of her character) felt exaggerated and without depth.

That was my issue with My Year of Rest and Relaxation. Ultimately, these books lack the depth they need to justify the sensational horrors they dwell in. These narratives stay on the surface of their inquiries and dazzle their readers with prose craftsmanship which is, admittedly, dazzling. Is that enough?