Lydia Millet’s novel considers the possibility of the supernatural intruding into harsh reality. Partially a story of what love and magic means to one woman and partially a satire about how humanity responds to the beautiful, the book is deceptively light.

I  really enjoyed this book about a honeymoon going horribly and dramatically wrong and all of its implications about the way that humans are ruining the environment, and how they’re more likely to crush something amazing than appreciate it. But right at the end, there’s a two-page depressing rant about the hopelessness of the future, which is out of tone with the rest of the book and really brought it down a little bit. If you like books with a drop of magical realism and a snarky narrator, read this book and skip the last three or so pages.