Ottessa Moshfegh delivers a strange, introspective journey through the mind of a disaffected, privileged young woman determined to sleep away an entire year of her life. The premise is absurd and bleakly fascinating — and at times, oddly compelling. The first half of the novel felt slow and repetitive. Much of it is spent inside the narrator’s thoughts, which oscillate between detached observations and disturbing nihilism. It took a while for the story to gain momentum, and I often found myself frustrated — not just by the pace, but by the characters themselves. Every single person in this book made me want to grab them by the shoulders and shake some sense into them. That said, there is something magnetic about Moshfegh’s writing. Underneath the protagonist’s apathy is a sharp commentary on beauty, privilege, and the performative nature of healing. The novel explores what it means to disconnect — not just from others, but from oneself — in an age where everything feels artificial. By the end, the narrative picks up and takes a turn that made me reconsider some of my earlier frustration. I'm still not sure how I feel about the book overall, but I do know it left an impression — and maybe that’s the point.
