Well, I gave SGJ a second chance. And I will admit that this time he managed to avoid going on at interminable length about fucking basketball. So that was nice.

On the other hand, it turns out that The Only Good Indian was not an unfortunate exception. It appears that SGJ hates women. And also has absolutely no understanding of them as people, with inner lives and feelings and an independent existence separate from men. (i.e him. Pretty much all the men in this book are him)

Also he has an annoyingly self-conscious macho style of writing that almost feels like a parody of a male horror writer. And the structure of his stories is not great: it‘s kinda like just being told a string of events, with little linking them and no reason to care.So I couldn’t even enjoy the bits between the misogyny. 

The self-congratulatory author notes really were the icing on a very unappetising cake.