WOLFPACK

What does it mean to be complicit?

Nine young women are being raised in a cult—though that’s a word they never use—the kind with a handsome male leader and strictly proscribed roles based on gender. We may think we know what’s coming, but these girls have carved out a safe, even happy, space at Havenwood. They share their own cabin with a door that locks, and in some ways their home really is a haven; the girls have lived in this bucolic setting since childhood, have the freedom to focus on skills they love (beekeeping, foraging, baking), and believe in their community. Two of them share a monthslong clandestine romance despite strictures against sex; all of them collude to hide this and other transgressions from themselves as much as the larger community. Alternating between a collective first person (“The nine of us were not always as we are now”) and multiple close third-person perspectives, the text allows readers to glimpse the girls as individuals while seeing how they subsume that individuality to maintain their group identity. While the poetry is more prose with line breaks than flowing verse, the brevity effectively keeps the pages turning as the discomfort builds and the answer to the underlying mystery—one of the girls has vanished—slowly becomes clear. The limited physical descriptions included point to a White default.

A disquieting read sure to linger.