Cleaner
Moves with crazed propulsion, uninterrupted by paragraphs or chapter breaks ... The prose is electrically weird, at once flippant and yearning, affectless and romantic – in other words, messy, too. Yet, in our narrator’s relentless interiority, something close to the truth begins to coagulate. Cleaner reads less like a coming-of-age novel than the delineation of a fugue state. Its real force lies in its refusal to distinguish between the grotesque and the sublime.
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Shannon has imbued the novel with a sardonic humor that serves as a bright spot ... A messy, sad-girl novel that’s too improbable to fully enjoy.
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Dark, strange, and gripping ... A memorably off-kilter portrait of a woman’s search for meaning.
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