The End of Everything begins with Lizzie, a thirteen year old girl in the vague 1980s, excitedly skating along the edge of adulthood, her own burgeoning sexuality and the whole wide world. She and her best friend Evie share every experience and secret together, or so Lizzie thinks until Evie disappears one afternoon and Lizzie’s life is changed forever.

Initially Lizzie can’t be much help to the police, but as Evie’s closest confidant, she begins to recall and recognize clues that may lead her. When the police run out of leads, Evie’s investigation begins in earnest, but the closer she gets to the truth, the more she realizes she has to learn not just about her friend, but of her own motives and desires.

She’s answered that question with The End of Everything, and it’s at once an emphatic ‘not at all’ as well as a whispered ‘sort of.’ Of course, I’d read some of her short stories like Cheer (from Between the Dark and the Daylight) and Our Eyes Never Stopped Opening (from Detroit Noir) that were set more or less today and they helped bring into sharper focus the draw of Megan Abbott. And I think this is the thing – the true exotic appeal of her story-telling, to me, is actually not any historical vibe, but its unique femininity.

Do I read women authors? Yup. But I’ll be the first to admit that many of the ones I’m most eager to pick up are those that tend to out-muscle their male counterparts. They’re harder-boiled than anybody else, and well, that there’s just an honest observation, but Megan Abbott is not hardboiled, (at least her protagonists aren’t – though most of them have a worldly and cynical counterpart that they’re fascinated with.) She’s not wisecracking, aggressive or ironic. She’s all exposed wiring and vulnerable longing, even if the object of desire is sometimes elusive or puzzling to her heroine. And though, The End of Everything takes nearly a thirty year leap forward for her narratives, and her narrator is younger (a thirteen year old girl) than any previous, the voice is familiar and of-a-piece to anybody who’s read the other books (and face it, to have read them is to love them.)

Though the author’s childhood took place at the same time as the book is set, there is precious little reinforced decade-spotting going on. I’d still call it achingly nostalgic, only this time around it’s for youth itself and not pop-music, film, clothing or speech which is recalled as if from a sticky, dream state. The atmosphere is constructed of emotional and sensory flashes that flare brightly and illuminate as much as they distract from the linear story. We’re effectively brought into Lizzie’s headspace and feel the dread and horror, as well as the delicious thrills of her experience right alongside her. It’s disorienting, casting a surreal veil over the whole story, and effectively makes every small moment as heavy with dramatic potential as the more obvious plot beats. 

Another dark and light psychological squirm-fest artfully delivered by one of the surest hands writing today. If you're unfamiliar with Abbott this is a fantastic place to start. (Here's an interview I did with Megan a couple years back)

Jedidiah Ayres writes fiction and keeps the blog Hardboiled Wonderland.