I’m Thinking of Ending Things, by Iain Reid. Billed as a “literary thriller” I thought this might be a good read after some more mundane books. But I was wrong. The novel was interesting for awhile, but then it started to get gratuitously creepy, and by the end I felt like I was in a bad version of Shutter Island (a movie which actually I have only seen previews and snippets of, for good reason). So I am sure there i an audience for novels like this, but not me.