What a creepy book this was. I'd seen Elephant at the Auckland Film Festival a few years back (before Baby, when I actually had time and money to spend on frivolosities like film festival tickets) and thought it was an original, compelling take on the teenage-murder-rampage-at-school theme. This book was touted as another fresh and compelling portrayal of a teenager gone bad, told from his mother's perspective, and I started reading it when I was pregnant and wondering if my own imminent spawn was going to turn out bad or good (indications are middle-of-the-road thus far, leaning toward "okay"). The writing is immediate and honest, and unnerving. I hated the descriptions of Kevin's refusal to potty train and his mother's hatred of the daily nappy-changing ritual carried out right into primary school. I also hated her a little for not being able to love her child, and for wondering if it was her fault he constructed an elaborate plot for trapping and then gunning down several of his schoolmates. Lionel Shriver (a chick, by the way) has a way of making her readers look inside themselves, but run away from what they find. Revisiting this book after the birth of my daughter, I still don't like it, although I think it deserves praise for its interesting treatment of a disturbing topic. I wouldn't read it again -- it was too creepy -- but I'd recommend it if you're bored and want to be disturbed.