The first time I notice something is wrong, is a Wednesday in February. A snow white fog seeps into the garden, into the walls, like a freight train, like a butterfly. Like another house inside the house.
These are the opening words of Out, an intense novel about a woman just balancing her conformable everyday life, but who feels something large and inevitable push it’s way foreward. At work, at home, inside of her.
Out reminds us of how necessary it is to take risks, how dangerous it can be to look at oneself in the mirror, how love can take on surprising shapes and how a seemingly simple existence is an abyss that can be complex, dark and comical.