Ottessa Moshfegh’s Eileen is a book that I deliberately postponed finishing during several weeks, because I so liked the character waiting for me when I came home: her litany of complaints, dry humor and self-deprecation, and the weird suspense that fills every day of her life. The protagonist is both a dark soul in a dark world and a natural product of that time: adapted to a mediocre version of an evil environment, she explodes at a very slow pace. At face value, nothing is spectacular in Eileen’s life: her hidden desires, her public inelegance, the obscurity of her intimate life. But it all grows at a steady pace to show, inadvertently in the end, an ominous side of the American soul.
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