Wolfed this down with pleasure, a perverse kind of pleasure. Can money buy you happiness? My Year of Rest and Relaxation could be viewed as Moshfegh's fierce, ironic riposte to that question. 

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Passage after passage of punchy prose flowed in quick succession as I rapidly leafed through the novel. 

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The savagery of the narrator's put downs of Reva are bleakly funny, and one sympathises with Reva's plight to fit in, especially with the elitist snobbishness levelled against her by the narrator. Dr Tuttle in her conspiracy-theorist-psycho apothecary treatments and diatribes were wild and entertaining. The writing that framed the narrator's past was heartbreaking and her present was dizzying yet compulsively readable. 

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The novel had great thematic terrain in its coverage of rage, grief, beauty, capitalism and America, apathy and more. All of which culminate in a story that is anti-heroic in its honing in on the matters of an imperfect and embittered human heart that beats on in a cruel world.