They said I've done something wrong?
.
.
.
And they've just left me down here to starve.
Haven't had a drop in days more so.
.
.
Salem, Massachusetts, 1851: McGlue is in the hold, still too drunk to be sure of his name or situation or orientation – he may have killed a man.
That man may have been his best friend.
Now, McGlue wants one thing and one thing only: a drink.
Because for McGlue, insufferable, terrifying memories accompany sobriety.
A-sail on the high seas of literary tradition, Ottessa Moshfegh gives us an unforgettable blackguard on a knife-sharp voyage through the fogs of recollection.
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