Sharp Objects

by Gillian Flynn

The constant screams—frantic, metallic squeals—drive most of the workers to wear earplugs, and they spend their days in a soundless rage. At night they drink and play music, loud. The local bar, Heelah’s, serves nothing pork related, only chicken tenders, which are, presumably, processed by equally furious factory workers in some other crappy town.

problem started long before that, of course. Problems always start long before you really, really see them.

Every tragedy that happens in the world happens to my mother, and this more than anything about her turns my stomach.

A town so suffocating and small, you tripped over people you hated every day. People who knew things about you. It’s the kind of place that leaves a mark.

She’d always been one of those girls who wanted what anyone else had, even if she didn’t want it.

It was so generic it was barely three-dimensional.

well, being conflicted means you can live a shallow life without copping to being a shallow person.”