Why anyone would want to read a novel narrated by a small child trapped in a room with his weird mother is a mystery to me. And after reading the first hundred pages of this novel, the mystery remains. How utterly tedious. The only reason to read such a novel is to finish it, that is, to discover what’s really going on. So why start a novel with no other goal than to finish it, to start a story with no more hope than to get to its end, and to immerse yourself a weird situation only so as to get out of it. There’s nothing else in this book. Want to know what a poorly-imagined child trapped in a room thinks? No.