After reading Good Morning, Midnight, this feels like almost like a fitting prequel — the same darkness, the same loss, experienced instead by a girl much younger. Rhys writes beautifully of longing with no place to put it, of fear for nothing except everything, of hopelessness without, somehow, it being too entirely bleak. I find especially astute the way she writes about relationships with men, the lifelessness and dependency of them for Anna. 

And i saw that all my life I had known this was going to happen, and that I’d been afraid for a long time, I’d been afraid for a long time. There’s fear, of course, with everybody. But now it has grown, it had grown gigantic; it filled me and it filled the whole world.