
Lacey‘s novel makes the reader complicit. The superiority you may feel because *you* don‘t need to know the MC‘s gender, age, or race is short-lived. You‘re still demanding something of them simply by entering their orbit. You want them to open up, to talk, to remember, to bond, to escape, to find home, to find friendship, to find freedom. And, by proxy, you want things of the author, too — like narrative momentum. 👇🏻













