An eerie, hypnotic literary debut about friendship, desire, and memory set against the sultry backdrop of Florida’s swamplands

It’s been years since Ingrid has heard from her childhood best friend, Mayra, a fearless rebel who fled their hometown of Hialeah, a Cuban neighborhood just west of Miami, for college in the Northeast. But when Mayra calls out of the blue to invite Ingrid to a weekend getaway at a house in the Everglades, she impulsively accepts.

From the moment Ingrid sets out for the house, danger looms: The directions are difficult, she’s out of reach of cell service, and as she drives deeper into the Everglades, the wet maw of the swamp threatens to swallow her whole. But once Ingrid arrives, Mayra is, in many ways, just as she remembers—with her sharp tongue and effortless, seductive beauty, still thumbing her nose at the world.

Before they can fully settle into the familiar intimacy of each other’s company, their reunion is spoiled by the reemergence of past disagreements and the unexpected presence of Mayra’s new boyfriend, Benji. The trio spend their hours eating lavish meals and exploring the labyrinthine house, which holds as much mystery and danger as the swamp itself. Indoors and on the grounds, time itself seems to expand, and Ingrid begins to lose a sense of the outside world, and herself.

Against this disquieting setting, where lizards dart in and out of porches and alligators peek up from dark waters, Gonzalez weaves a surreal, unforgettable story about the dizzying power of early friendship and the lengths we’ll go to earn love and acceptance—even at the risk of losing ourselves entirely.

I received an advance galley of this book courtesy of the publisher via NetGalley and an ALC via the PRH Audio app. All thoughts are my own.

I went into this book expecting something eerie. The cover gave me horror vibes. The synopsis promised danger, mystery, an isolated house in the swamp. Classic creepy setup, right? But that’s not really what I got. And honestly, I’m still not sure how to categorize it.

In my opinion, this isn’t a horror novel, though I realize horror can be subjective. What creeps out or horrifies one person may be nothing to someone else. I found this to be more of a slow-burn character study that dips into weirdness near the end. At its core, it’s a coming-of-age story told through memory and reflection. That’s the part that worked for me. The horror elements? Not so much.

The book follows Ingrid as she reconnects with her childhood best friend, Mayra. The two haven’t spoken in years when Mayra invites Ingrid to spend the weekend at her boyfriend’s house deep in the Everglades. It’s remote, with no cell service and an ominous atmosphere that should have laid the groundwork for a tense psychological thriller. But tension isn’t the driver here. Nostalgia and identity are.

Through flashbacks, we learn who Mayra and Ingrid were growing up in Hialeah, a Cuban neighborhood near Miami. Mayra was wild, rebellious, unfiltered. Ingrid was quieter, more observant, and unsure of where she fit in. These scenes are the heart of the book. Watching these girls grow up felt honest and grounded. The writing captures tiny moments of teen intensity. The kind that shape your view of the world forever.

In the present, the dynamic between the two women has shifted. They haven’t seen each other in years. Ingrid is still trying to figure out where she is headed in life, while Mayra seems almost ashamed of her past. Like she would rather leave who she was behind and forget about it. And then there’s Benji, Mayra’s boyfriend, who invites Ingrid to open up about her childhood, which she has no real problem doing, but it bothers Mayra. She’s not proud of the person she was back then and doesn’t want to talk about it.

The tension in the book comes from those unspoken things. Old wounds, unresolved emotions, and the unsettling feeling that something is off—not just with the house, but with the entire situation, and the introduction of a mysterious journal only adds to the mystery. I thought maybe this would be where the horror would be introduced, and while it added a bit of creepiness, it wasn’t enough. The horror element only really kicks in during the final chapters, and even then, it’s more surreal than scary. It’s a little trippy, a little confusing, and feels somewhat disconnected from the rest of the story.

If I’m honest, I think the book would’ve been stronger without trying to wedge in those final horror beats. The coming-of-age material stands on its own. The emotional weight, the exploration of friendship and identity—that’s where this story shines. The genre-bending stuff felt unnecessary, like it was trying to add a layer the book didn’t need.

One thing I will say: I listened to an ALC of this title while reading and the narration by Frankie Corzo is fantastic. She captures the tone of each character with precision—Mayra’s recklessness, Ingrid’s hesitation, Benji’s curiosity. Her voice added texture to the story and helped carry some of the more ambiguous moments near the end. If you’re an audiobook listener, it’s worth grabbing the audio version.

Overall, I liked this book for what it was: a sharp, intimate story about friendship, identity, and the blurry space between who the characters were and who they’ve become. I wouldn’t call it a horror novel, or even really a thriller. But it is a solid debut that knows how to explore complicated relationships with honesty and a little weirdness on the side. Just don’t go in expecting scares. If you do that, you won’t be overly disappointed.