Live, laugh, love—a weird, eerie little book, and Cursed Bread was just the right fix. If you relish anything crafted by Ottessa Moshfegh or Sylvia Plath and find yourself oddly fascinated by the psycho-sexual, this book is for you. Cursed Bread encapsulates the essence of “I support women’s rights and women’s wrongs.”

Based on a true story, the narrative unfolds in a quaint French town suffering from a mass poisoning orchestrated by the elusive and illustrious American ambassador and his wife, Violet. Elodie, the protagonist and baker’s wife, finds herself ensnared in a loveless marriage. Seeking an escape, she develops a swift, intense, and disturbing fascination with Violet—an obsession that weaves together elements of both the sexual and macabre.

As the town descends into madness, Elodie's fixation plunges into deeper, darker realms. Cursed Bread delves into the detrimental and desperate effects of desire, echoed by the poignant line, “I've been looked at in pity and in fear, and I've learned that the only way to really be seen is through desire. To be looked at and found whole. Found alive.”

I absolutely love an unreliable narrator, and Cursed Bread delivers on this front. It unveils the innermost thoughts of a depraved woman amidst a hazy sexual tension that permeates the entire narrative. Elodie exists in an “electric numbness,” a dream-like state where the line between truth and the manifestation of her psychosis blurs. This quality lends the book its dark allure reminiscent of both The Bell Jar and My Year of Rest and Relaxation.