NetGalley ARC

3.5 stars

Dios and Florida are both serving time in an Arizona prison when they are released early due to COVID. Florida wants to forget prison and return to her privileged life as Florence Baum. Dios wants to force Florida to acknowledge the darkness inside her. As Florida flees to Los Angeles Dios follows her, leaving a trail of blood in her wake.

This was such an interesting book. It is told in four perspectives: Dios, Florida, the detective chasing them and Florida's old cellmate. Florida and Dois's lives prior to prison are mere sketch, what's important is who they are now. Florida desperately runs around Los Angels in a desperate escape from Dios. The confrontation at the end is perfect.

What I really enjoyed about this book is the depiction of early Pandemic period. Los Angeles in April 2020 seen as a wasteland. Highways are empty, tent cities pop up from nowhere. It captures the strangeness of the time.

This was a bit too dark and violent for my taste so I couldn't go through with it. The premise was very intriguing but the execution kinda scary.

The latest novel from critically acclaimed novelist Ivy Pochoda starts promisingly, in a women’s correctional facility in Arizona. One of our narrators, Kace, has voices in her head. She seems to understand unerringly what’s going on in the world around her however: courtesy, she claims, of the plaintive dead that only she can hear. Her new cellmate Florida, formerly Florence, has beef with their neighbor Dios. Dios herself seems obsessed with Florida, constantly taunting the latter about taking responsibility for the will to wanton violence that she’s convinced the two women share.

It’s prisonhouse politics as usual, but the outside world has its own surprises in store for these three of our viewpoint characters. A pandemic is spreading, one that won’t leave even these semi-isolated women alone:

QUOTE
Kace is too far gone and fired up. Her voice is sinking into a new register. “You want to kill us all. Shut the fuck up with your coughing. You goddamn fucking murderer. Murderer.”

A moment of silence falls. Florida can sense everyone holding their breath, a strangulated tension that catches the block in its death grip and is only punctuated when another attack of coughing arrives.

Kace raises both fists to the wall. “There’s murder in your breath. Death inside of you. You keep it in there. You keep it, or I’ll steal your breath for good. Lock it deep inside you. So deep you won’t goddamn need it ever or again.”
END QUOTE

When COVID-19 protocols grant both Florida and Dios early release, Florida finds herself living in isolation in a motel, checking in with her parole officer via a cell phone provided to her by the Department of Corrections. When the intermittent food deliveries organized by the state abruptly end, a hungry Florida goes in search of food but finds temptation instead. A ghost bus will take her back to her hometown of Los Angeles for only twenty-five bucks. Acting on impulse, she buys a ticket. Crossing state lines is a parole violation that will send her right back to jail, but all she wants to do is go home and be reunited with her beloved classic Jaguar. She figures she can grab her car and be back in Arizona before her parole officer even notices she’s missing.

But just as the bus is about to leave, Dios shows up. She boards the bus and harrasses Florida, who is well and truly sick of her even before another rider they both know gets on at their next stop. Unable to stand Dios and the new passenger both, Florida takes off before reaching LA, and must figure out how to get back to the place where the one symbol of freedom and hope left to her awaits, or so she has to believe.

Shortly after the women’s illicit flight from Arizona, Detective Lobos of the LAPD is assigned to a new investigation. A passenger on a ghost bus has been murdered. Lobos is having a hard time getting her head in the game, as she’s trying not to jump at ghosts from her personal life herself. When her investigations put her on the trail of Florida and Dios, these personal issues cause her to sympathize with the rage she sees reflected inside her suspects:

QUOTE
Lobos knows how quickly things can slip. How one minute you are staunch in your independence, your confidence, your certainty that you are operating aware of the danger around you but not compromised by it. And the next you are in that danger or, in Florence Baum’s case, perhaps you <i>are</i> that danger.

When do you become the thing you’ve kept at bay?

When do you become the abused or the abuser?

When do you become someone frightened in your own home, rage-numbed and cowering?

When do you become the person for whom violence is easily within arm’s reach?
END QUOTE

As Kace and her chorus of voices narrate the tale from Arizona, the three other women find themselves gravitating towards a deadly showdown at high noon in a Los Angeles turned into a ghost town by pandemic lockdown restrictions. It’s a modern-day Western that showcases violence by women, saying that it’s okay to be angry without needing a rationalization that diminishes the emotion.

And as someone who grew up constantly being told I was angry – I wasn’t, but it was a convenient label for someone who didn’t believe in going along just to get along – I get that. It’s weird that certain parts of society think that women aren’t or shouldn’t be capable of the same breadths and depths of emotion that men are. But I also think it’s weird that this book explores, mostly through Lobos’ investigations, rich white Florida’s possible motivations for murder while the Latina Dios’ more interesting point of view is sidelined, her descent into sociopathy presented as a given instead of a fascinating subject all on its own. At no point did I understand her obsession with Florida, and I had little sympathy for the idea that any of their impulsively violent actions were somehow justified by an inability to process their society-bred rage otherwise.

Ivy Pochoda writes with style, and often with nuance. Sing Her Down is a successor, of sorts, to These Women, her previous literary thriller that examines female agency and social change through the lens of fiction. Her latest novel is a fast, stylish read that will likely please her fans.

I had previously read These Women by Ivy Pochoda and I knew that I wanted to read more by her. I really loved it and when I got the chance to read Sing Her Down, I couldn’t turn it down. This book had that same real, raw writing style that sucked me into the depths of Pochoda’s writing! I love how descriptive and raw her style is and I felt that same darkness in this book as well. The two women in this story—Florida and Dios, were both interesting women, having met in a prison prior to being released and the cat and mouse game begins. The story describes time in prison as well as when both women are released. I really enjoyed the graphic nature of this book, but I can understand that that’s not for everyone. Overall, I thought this was a thought provoking, great book and I continue to be an Ivy Pochoda fan!

Ivy Pochoda is not as prolific as many of her contemporaries in crime fiction, but she is arguably one of the most unique and distinctive voices in the genre. Case in point, her new novel Sing Her Down is a compact (288 pages), tightly wound juggernaut of a narrative briming with new insights and fresh observations about female relationships, gendered wrath, and social inequities.

In Sing Her Down, Ivy Pochoda has crafted two fierce women who will forevermore be considered iconic characters in crime fiction’s evolution. Florence “Florida” Baum and Diana Diosmary Sandoval are simultaneously very similar and utterly unique, a dichotomous union that seems almost impossible to create and even harder to navigate. Their complex dynamic is rooted in their histories—both independent and shared—and once the reader has traveled only a few pages with them, that bond—between the real and the fictional—is forged for life.

The early chapters of Sing Her Down, which are set in an Arizona women’s prison, establish the gritty tenor that will continue throughout the novel. Fans of shows like the vintage Prisoner: Cell Block H and the more recent Orange is the New Black will find themselves in familiar territory here, but Pochoda manages to circumvent the expected even in these early sections, almost forcing her readers to take a new look at these stereotypes and shattering illusions about the types of roles women are “allowed” to play.

Dios knows the truth about Florida (or at least thinks she does) and she seems hellbent on making sure everyone else realizes it as well—including Florida herself. When the Covid pandemic leads the prison system to opt for allowing some prisoners early release to stem the spread of the virus, both Dios and Florida are included, setting into motion an outside confrontation that was destined to happen eventually. The cat-and-mouse chase between these women, further complicated by the detective hot on their trail, fuels the action, keeping the novel’s pages turning at lightning speed.

Ivy Pochoda takes readers on a journey—from prison, first to a seedy motel, and then to the very streets of Los Angeles—in an effort to demonstrate how life in prison and life in general often aren’t that different for these women. Through multiple points of view, Pochoda skillfully portrays the building anger that resides in the souls of these women—and maybe by extrapolation, most women—due to the pressures of societal expectations, attitudes, and governance. While the writing almost sings in a poetic manner, the sizzling underbelly of frustration and fury boils until an explosion is the only possible net result.

Sing Her Down is a violent book. Ivy Pochoda has crafted a noir gem—blackened coal that ultimately becomes a diamond while under extreme pressure. Despite the slimness of the volume, the reading experience is an intense journey that may not be right for all readers. But for those who do venture along with Florida and Dios, the destination proves worthy of the perilous path. There is no telling what Ivy Pochoda will write next, but her many fans—new and old—will be anxiously awaiting its release.

I would like to thank NetGalley and Farrar, Straus and Giroux for providing me with an advance copy of this book in exchange for my honest review. Look for it now in your local and online bookstores and libraries.

⭐️⭐️

Florence “Florida” Baum and Diosmary Sandoval are in a women’s prison in Arizona after being convicted of separate violent crimes. They are former cellmates, but their relationship has become increasingly volatile. When, due to the pandemic, they are both released early, Florida wants to move beyond her past, and live her life, but Dios becomes obsessed with Florida and wants her to realize her “true” self. At first, Florida tries to run from Dios, but when she realizes she can’t, the stage is set for a showdown between the two women.

I didn’t like this book. There. That’s blunt. It is described as a gritty, feminist Western thriller. Okay, I’m not a fan of Westerns, but it’s set basically in present day (2020) and not the dusty Old West. It’s also called gritty, feminist, and a thriller. Those things are right up my alley, so why didn’t I like this book? The characters are unlikeable, but that’s not a deal breaker for me. Unfortunately, I just never felt invested in the story, and I didn’t care what happened to the characters. While I thought it was very well-written, it was not the book for me.

Ivy Pochoda is such a masterful storyteller and Sing Her Down does not disappoint. Part one begins in a woman's prison with Kace, a inmate who hears the dead speak, who tells us who the players are and how the story will end. The main protagonists are Florence "Florida" Baum and "Dios" Sandoval. Both inmates are give early release and so begins a tale of cat and mouse. Dios, obsessed with Florida, follows her leaving a dead body in her wake. The women end up in Los Angeles during the pandemic and are soon pursued by Lobos, a female detective, in search of a killer. All these characters have a darkness within them. Is it because of their past choices and circumstances or is it just who they are?
This story is dark and brutal so maybe not for everyone but I loved it, I was sucked in immediately and was caught up in it until the end. 4 stars! Grateful to NetGalley for this ARC.

Kace will open this story by telling us how it ends. Sort of. The Arizona prison where Kace is confined releases Dios and Florida to ease inmate density during the pandemic. Florida makes her way to Los Angeles with Dios in pursuit. Kace’s friend tells her there is a mural painted behind a gas station on Olympic and Western. It’s living, her friend says, a paint job that moves. Why not, Kace thinks. She hears voices of the dead, a library of them, so why can’t a mural be alive? The mural shows Dios’s snake eyes fixed on Florida, the wind lifting a stray hair. Florida is striding toward Dios, something in hand, state-issued boots hitting asphalt. “Now, I don’t know what-all happened between here and there,” Kace says. “I only know what I’ve been told.”

This opening demonstrates Pochoda’s talent. It will grab readers by the throat and hold them to the end as they hear from each woman, disturbed in her own way. The story will dig at our preconceptions that women are gifted with a special nature. One that is passive, nurturing, maternal, not prone to violent aggression. That dark impulse is reserved for men, those responsible for ninety percent of murders worldwide. A woman might be a victim lashing out or have a mental illness, but she never, ever kills for the visceral satisfaction of taking a life. Dios disagrees.

“They’ll be telling our story for generations,” Dios will say when the end is near. “Yours, mine, and Florida’s. A tale of violent women. A song for the ages with a surprise ending.”

Much appreciation to Farrar, Straus & Giroux and NetGalley for providing this eARC.

Such a pleasure when a book turns out to deliver so much more than expected. The story of an LA showdown between Florida (Florence) and Dios, who meet as inmates in an Arizona prison, is in fact a meeting between Florida and the Florence side of her. As Florence, a child of privilege, she had always felt the need for speed. Underage, undersupervised, and unlicensed, she would accelerate the highways circling Los Angeles in her classic 1968 XKE, relishing the adrenaline rush when breaking limits, legal and speed. Truth be told, there was always a lot of Florida in Florence. On the side of the law is Lobos, an LA detective who has personal reasons for her methods.

Presented from many points of view, the story unspools like a cautionary fable with enough grit and sauce to keep a reader on edge, with some lovely language descriptions of some pretty horrific scenes. The timing, at the height of the pandemic lockdown, provides an indelible element, and since Ivy Pochoda lives in downtown LA and teaches at Studio 526 Skid Row, she knows whereof she speaks.

"Sing Her Down" by Ivy Pochoda is a beautifully layered novel weaving four distinct voices into a complex narrative. Set during the 2020 pandemic, it follows Florence 'Florida' Baum, a soon-to-be-released inmate who intriguingly plots an escape. The tale is told from varying perspectives, adding depth and managing information flow effectively. The narrative, divided into two parts, paints a stark picture of prison life and a pursuit that Florida endures.

Florida's journey, influenced by her cellmate Dios, navigates the consequences of youthful naivety and actions that tread the line of legality. Dios, an important character with ambiguous motives, exerts a palpable oppressive influence on Florida, lending a tense undertone to their interactions.

Contrasting characters like Kace and Lobos add additional dimensions. The novel shines in gender representation, with females leading the narrative. Pochoda's writing style is an engaging mix of efficiency and poetic flair, and her skillful handling of time and perspective shifts is remarkable.

Particularly striking are the scenes that juxtapose violent actions with physical settings, leading to powerful, aesthetically satisfying contrasts. Despite minor struggles with character motivations, "Sing Her Down" offers a unique literary experience filled with intrigue and emotion.

Thank you to the publisher and NetGalley for an advanced reader copy of this book.

This book is a literary novel about women who don’t usually see time in the protagonist’s spotlight in other works. The character descriptions and nuances to the characters’ humanity were deep and realistic.

My reader wheelhouse tends to lean more toward plot storylines than character development or descriptions through long scenes or monologues. Still, I think this book has characters that might stay with readers for a very long time.

DNF @40%
I think this would have worked better as a short story. The chapters were too long and boring and hard to get through.

I loved this book. It is a tightly wound book that grabs you by the throat and holds you there. From Arizona to California the tale unfolds and will hold you breathless. A story of trauma and the choices we make or don’t make. This is my first book by the author and it won’t be my last. Sing Her Down is a book with thorns grab it and see for yourself. I am writing this after finishing a NetGalley copy.

I am a sucker for almost any book that's described at 'feminist' or being about 'feminist rage', and SING HER DOWN has both. Without giving too much away, SING HER DOWN is an exploration of what women can do -- some good and some violent -- and the people and systems designed or influenced to doubt their "abilities".

Described as a gritty, feminist, Western-style thriller, SING HER DOWN is a book that's bound to make readers think and, maybe, a bit uncomfortable. Set during the pandemic is Arizona and LA, the story revolves primarily around three women: Florida and Dios, both former inmates in an Arizona prison, and Lobos, a detective in Los Angeles.

One of the aspects of this story I appreciated was how much this book made me think and even reflect on my own biases. I struggled the first half of the book because I didn't always understand what was going on. We're thrown into a prison and into the midst of Dios' obsession with showing Florida (and those around her) "who she really is". I found myself wanting to know more about their pasts about how they ended up in prison, not because the character development was lacking but because I wanted to understand what they did, how they got there, etc. It took me too long to realize that it didn't matter. Some women just are the way they are.

This was my first book by Ivy Pochoda and I loved the imagery she created -- describing the sights, sounds and smells of the encampments; the once-bustling and now nearly desolate LA streets at the height of the pandemic; and the brilliant Western-style showdown that is foreshadowed in the first few pages.

The more I sit with this story, the more I like it. I read most of it but also listened to some on audio and the full-cast narration is fantastic! Pochoda is an author I'll definitely read more from in the future.

Thank you to the publishers (MCD) for the arc.

The prologue tells about a mural in LA with 2 women in it that people say is alive and it moves.
The author took us to a women's prison in AZ to begin the story. She introduces the main characters - "Dios" Sandoval who is obsessed with Florence "Florida" Baum, a wealthy woman from LA who was caught up in a terrible situation, and imprisoned, and Kace who hears voices of dead people guiding her thoughts.
The first part of the story described the conditions of the prison and the daily indignities that the women suffered. There was jealousy (bed position, backgrounds, etc) that defined the women and their time there.
The women each had their dreams for after release. Dios just wanted Florida to admit that she is just as angry and violent as she (Dios) is. Florida just wants to get to her home, get into her jaguar, and drive into the sunset.
Kace just wants to change cells.
Both Dios and Florida get early release due to COVID overcrowding, and are put up in motels in Chandler, AZ where they are confined to their rooms (the state is still responsible for them). They have weekly phone checks with their Parole Officers, otherwise, must stay in their rooms. After 2 days, meal delivery is stopped (unexplained) and Florida leaves her room to buy food at a convenient store. A bus containing migrants stops there and she has someone buy her a ticket to LA so she can pick up her car and get back to the motel. Dios gets wind of this and gets on the bus too. On the way, they kill a prison guard and a third character is introduced - Lobos a LAPD cop with a history of domestic abuse whose partner claims that she's a cop out of vengeance not responsibility.
The themes running through this book was female rage and the systemic victimization of females,
I did not find the story believable as the women made their way through downtown LA (basically a compound for the undomiciled-homeless) to the mansion where Florida's mother lived. I thought the story was too abstract with too much violence.
I received an ARC from NetGalley and the publisher and the opinions expressed are my own.

In this novel, author Ivy Pochoda explores violence in women, and through the lives and actions of her characters, speculates about what made them vicious. Is violence an innate characteristic? Or does it stem from poverty, harassment, molestation, injustice, brutality, and the like.

Warning: There's graphic violence in the novel, which might be disturbing to sensitive readers

*****

The story opens in a women's prison in Arizona, where Florence Baum (Florida), Diana Diosmary Sandoval (Dios), and Kace are housed in the same cell block. Florida is incarcerated for felony accessory to murder; she drove the getaway car from a fire that left two victims burning in the desert. Dios was convicted of aggravated assault; she defended herself against an attacker and broke his eye socket with her cell phone. And Kace killed a woman named Marta, who Kace suspected was going with her man.

Florida and Dios are central to the story, and Kace - an apparent schizophrenic that hears voices in her head - functions something like a Greek Chorus, commenting on the unfolding drama.

Florida, who grew up in a wealthy upper class family in Los Angeles, rails about being incarcerated. She says this is not her place, she can't breathe, can't feel, can't sense properly, isn't like the other inmates, etc. Dios, on the other hand, who's learned something about Florida's past, adamantly disagrees. Dios knows that Florida smuggled diamonds into Europe, secured bad loans for grifters, and was more than an 'accessory after the fact' in the desert murders.

For her part, Dios grew up poor in Queens, New York, where she and her friends stole from bodegas and the Rite Aid. However, Dios' innate smarts earned her a scholarship to a fancy New England college, where she was an outlier among the rich kids. Later, when Dios returned to her old Queens neighborhood, she didn't fit in there either. Dios' old homies acted like her 'rich New England stink' made them gag.

One evening Dios happened across a young tipsy girl in the park and 'something knocked loose inside her.' Dios battered the girl's face, kicked her in the ribs, and stomped on her skull. After this, Dios became increasingly vicious, with the justification that "once the violence cracks open inside you, you become YOU and there's no turning back.'

Dios thinks Florida is inherently violent just like Dios herself. Moreover, Dios believes Florida's 'poor innocent me' diatribe is just an act, perhaps a subconscious one. Thus Dios is determined to bring out the devil in Florida.

Because of the Covid pandemic the prison has to release some inmates, and Florida and Dios are sprung with conditions. They must quarantine themselves in an Arizona motel for two weeks, then move into a state-run group home.....and they have to stay in touch with a parole officer.

Florida wants to return to Los Angeles to retrieve her beloved Jaguar, which she started driving as an underage teen. To Florida, the car means freedom, and blissfully cruising California highways. Florida does not have permission to leave Arizona, but unanticipated events result in Florida illicitly boarding a bus for California.

Shortly afterwards, to Florida's dismay, Dios boards the same bus. Dios means to goad her former prison-mate until Florida reveals her true murderous self. This becomes a sort of cat and mouse game, with Florida trying to get away and Dios sticking to her like a stinging nettle.

When a crime occurs on the bus carrying Florida and Dios to California, Los Angeles Police Detective Lobos gets the case. Lobos quickly zeroes in on Florida and Dios as the suspects, and she means to track them down.

Flashbacks to the past help round out the characters. We learn that Florida grew up in a classy house with a pool and six-car-garage. But Florida's mother was indifferent and neglectful, and a certain older man couldn't keep his hands off young Florida. Besides that Florida and her best friend Ronna were wild teens who got involved with the wrong people, drank, used drugs, smoked, and so on.

Detective Lobos also has a secret history. For reasons she herself can't understand, Lobos stayed with an abusive husband, and only managed to leave after he tried to strangle her. This shames Lobos, and she sometimes gets the urge to beat up or kill wandering homeless men.

The climax of the story occurs in Los Angeles, which is a character in and of itself. The Covid pandemic has ravaged the city, where most stores are boarded up, trash blows through the streets, and homeless encampments occupy almost every nook and cranny (outside the ritzy areas).

Pochoda doesn't resolve the issue of why women become violent, leaving it to the readers to form their own opinions.

In my view, violent behavior is probably due to a confluence of circumstances - perhaps resulting from an inborn tendency exacerbated by a troubled life. (But I'm a scientist, not a psychologist or criminologist.)

In any case this novel is a compelling page turner. Highly recommended.

I had access to both digital and audio versions of the novel, which enhanced my reading experience. Thanks to Netgalley, Ivy Pochoda, and Macmillan Audio and Farrar, Straus and Giroux for copies of the book.

Oh, what highs! But then, oh, what lows.

This book has a split personality. The first half is full of splendid storytelling told either from the POV of a woman named Kace or in first-person prescient (which is a little-used narrative POV but one of my favorites). This first half, which takes place in the present day but reads like it takes place in the Old West, starts inside a women’s prison in Arizona with the stories of Florida and Dios, two of the prison’s inmates. It’s the time of COVID, and as much as no one likes the idea of being locked up, being locked up during a pandemic is putting them all even more on edge than usual. The prose is spellbinding, the plot relevant, and the social commentary compelling. I found myself sinking into the book, caught up in this cat and mouse game Dios is playing with Florida, trying to get Florida to admit she’s just the same as Dios and just as angry and violent as her, too. Dios wants to bring Florida down to her level, and she’s not beyond breaking a whole lot of laws in the process. Dios has an obsession, and Florida is it. Florida has an obsession too: getting to Los Angeles and back to her mother’s home to pick up her car and personal belongings before then driving back to Arizona before her first check-in with her parole officer.

I could’ve read that book–this book–just the way it is for the entire novel. Just Dios and Florida playing cat and mouse, catch and release, all over hill and dale as Florida tries to get to her car and Dios keeps dragging her down, down, down and then see how it ends.

But then there had to be part two. And that’s where this book lost me completely.

Up until this point there had been three POV’s: Florida, Kace, and Dios. In part two, all of a sudden, Dios’ POV disappears almost entirely and in its place is the POV of Lobos, a female cop that’s been assigned the case of Florida and Dios since they violated parole and a violent crime was committed during the act. But who committed the act? Was it both of them? One of them? Why was this guy killed anyway?

Like Florida, Dios, and Kace, Lobos has her own damage. Lobos even has a sexist partner that made me grind my teeth. It was established from the beginning that this book was largely about how the system victimizes females no matter their age, race, mental health, socioeconomic background, or line of work and then doesn’t think we have either the right or ability to get angry or violent and to do something about it. Taking it even further, if we dare try and do something about it, we’re somehow less than human to society. Bringing a cop who has a lot of her own issues surrounding anger towards men due to being abused by her husband into the story halfway through and practically letting her take over half of the narrative was not only jarring for the whole plot, but it was upsetting in general because we lost the strong narrative voice of Dios so this cop could amble around Los Angeles investigating the duo and jumping at shadows thinking her husband is around every corner.

Had Pochoda chosen to keep the story contained to Florida, Dios, and Kace, I believe this would’ve been a truly great novel. Her choice to split it down the middle like she did made it mediocre.

I was provided a copy of this title by NetGalley and the author. All thoughts, opinions, views, and ideas expressed herein are mine and mine alone. Owing to personal policy, all reviews rated three stars or under are not posted to social media or bookseller websites. Thank you.

Ivy pochoda is an interesting voice in the literary thriller (not sure if her novels would constitute a thriller, but they do center around violence..) her prose is eerie-simple yet complex and unique. This is an intense tale about the relationship between women, the prison system, violence, redemption. Told through a kaleidoscope of perspectives, but mainly centering on the story’s of cellmates, Florida and dios, as they gain freedom and peruse one another after being released in an effort to find out why Florida committed the crimes of which she was accused. Like these women, this story will haunt the reader and display more depth than one reading will initially realize.

Thanks to the publisher for providing the arc via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

This was not the book I was promised, it was fine but disappointed it was not in a Western setting or have Killing Eve vibes, it just wasn't for me. Bummed but might try it on audio now that I know what it actually is.

From the audio review:

I received a free audio ARC of this book from the publisher through NetGalley.

The narration was brilliant. The story, well this is different. I enjoyed the atmosphere and the mysterious quality of it. The southwest American setting added to the ambience of it. The characters, flawed but interesting.

The story overall, I don't know. I'm not sure I get it. Still, not a bad listening experience...