I fear for any book that fails to interest one the way that I FEAR MY PAIN INTERESTS YOU does.

Stephanie LaCava’s short sharp novel grabs your interest from the title alone, then keeps it on the incline with the opening scene inside an aeroplane lavatory a mile high above Montana.

Fledgling actress Margot fleeing a fucked up relationship with a director seeks refuge in Garboesque solitude. For the first hundred pages we get detailed back story regarding her punk band parents and her imposing maternal grandmother, Josephine.

Because of her parent’s celebrity, Margot has grown up in the glare of publicity as well as the glare of her grandmother, a grande dame of the arts herself, a major and formidable mover and a shaper.

“It wasn’t that Josephine loved a long night, a good time. It was that we would never end a good time before it was clear that she was the one that made it happen.”

A hundred pages in, which is more than half way through the novel, a pivotal character emerges. That is not say the preceding ninety-nine pages are not interesting – how the hell do you get a hundred without interest maintained. Like learning that a group of twelve or more cows is called a flink.

Three weeks and three days of introspection pass before she meets Graves.

A mishap involving a murder of crows in a cemetery chances an encounter with a mysterious man who she calls Graves, an engagement that morphs from intrigue to interest. Graves is a doctor and extreme film buff who diagnoses Margot’s congenital analgesia.

Like a hoax in aid of a surprise, LaCava’s narrative captivates in curious observation and meditation.

“We want connection.” says Margot. “Not all of us. Some people want control” replies Graves.

There’s a wily sinew of subtext regarding Cancel Culture and it’s two reasons – one in solidarity with the mission, the other when you were a threat to the mission.

I FEAR MY PAIN INTERESTS YOU by Stephanie LaCava is published by Verso.