There is no way to compare this one to other books of its ilk--books told from the point of view of people whose masochistic and sadistic tendencies co-mingle to a horrifying whole. It's like watching a train wreck in slow-motion. Perhaps a bad analogy, as the book opens with the main character watching the destruction of the Twin Towers and happening upon a clip of an old friend running from the site. Her old friend's pose in the brief shot reminds our main character of their communal past (I use "communal" literally).
As the story continues, varying between past and present, as our main character heads to the desert near the RV in which she squats, we come to understand more of her past. She was subject to her psychopathic brother's whims and then, fascinated by a manipulative cult leader who desires his followers to kill. Our main character describes her violent actions in mythological terms, speaking of a bacchanalia, an orgy of blood.
The shortness of the novel and the brevity of the author's sentences make both the look of scenery and your knowledge of the workings of the characters extraordinary. Stylistically, the book is a dream, but it rather chaotically describes a nightmare.
The book's plot needs cohesiveness, fewer coyotes in the desert and, strangely, more direct descriptions of violence. I think I have become immune to the suggestion of it, and I hate that about myself.
Worth reading, though, if you have the stomach for the disturbing plot.
