While the gladiatorial world of high school cheerleaders is a perfect subject for Abbott's unique flavor of urban dread and obsession—she's an avouched Friday Night Lights fangirl—the book as a whole felt stronger than the sum of its parts. Like, certain chapters and interactions just felt to be missing a certain something—urgency or paranoia—while others were flat-out riveting. And, let it be said, as things sped up towards the conclusion, Abbott's deft hand as a superb manufacturer of crescendos was in full swing. At the book signing I attended, Abbott said she rather enjoys knocking out shorter novels. While I anxiously await the next few 270-pagers she has planned, I still hope she had a big, honking opus in the works as well.