I've read a few of Barry's comic collections and really enjoyed them, so I thought I'd give her novel a go. (It's periodically illustrated with artwork, though not enough that I'd call it a graphic novel.) Anyway, Cruddy didn't do it for me, which is a shame. I admired parts of it but didn't particularly enjoy it - and not because it isn't well done, because I think in a lot of ways that it is. The prose is very clever, being simultaneously simplistic and not-at-all, and it the characterisation of the deeply disturbed young protagonist Roberta, who is narrating the story, is convincing.

The problem is everything else, in that it just doesn't suit me as a reader. Roberta is a traumatised teen who is telling the story of a childhood roadtrip with her abusive father, and he is awful. She is not much better, and if this tot is murdering any number of people to survive (and she is) the sheer nastiness of pretty much everyone here put me off entirely. Teen Roberta, who is doing drugs with a circle of equally alienated friends, is a little bit better off, but the present-day parts aren't as interesting as the flashbacks, and the flashbacks are only interesting because they are so horrid, and for me that is an interest that fades very quickly.

There's not a single character here that I like, or that I would willingly spend any (more) time with. I can appreciate Barry's technique, but I was glad when it was over.