The moments of respite this book had felt too saccarine and too preachy. In between the horrors there were these pockets of love, of found family. But they dragged on and on and on, all while rather hamfistedly walking us step by step through a catholic deconstruction. It had a similar issue to Kiersten White's horror novels, in trying to criticize a less practiced Christian faith in the U.S., Leede walks you through it all with baby steps and carefully explains the point she is making. There was no space for me to make my own conclusions, not when they are so clearly told to me.

Maybe I'm too close to the subject matter, maybe my own catholic deconstruction and my own catholic school upbringing, gave me more of an understanding of the process than most would get. Alas, this is the baggage I carry into every book I read.