The Need by Helen Phillips


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The Need

The Need by Helen Phillips
English | 2019 | Horror | ePUB | 2.9 Mb

The Need : When Molly, home alone with her two young children, hears footsteps in the living room, she tries to convince herself it’s the sleep deprivation. She’s been hearing things these days. Startling at loud noises. Imagining the worst-case scenario. It’s what mothers do, she knows.

But then the footsteps come again, and she catches a glimpse of movement. Suddenly Molly finds herself face-to-face with an intruder who knows far too much about her and her family. As she attempts to protect those she loves most, Molly must also acknowledge her own frailty. Molly slips down an existential rabbit hole where she must confront the dualities of motherhood: the ecstasy and the dread; the languor and the ferocity; the banality and the transcendence as the book hurtles toward a mind-bending conclusion.

In The Need, Helen Phillips has created a subversive, speculative thriller that comes to life through blazing, arresting prose and gorgeous, haunting imagery. Helen Phillips has been anointed as one of the most exciting fiction writers working today, and The Need is a glorious celebration of the bizarre and beautiful nature of our everyday lives.

“I’m sorry,” she said. It was her fault that the Phillips 66 was being turned upside down from all this attention. It was she who, in her sleep-deprived fugue state as a mother of two, had picked up and examined objects that Roz and Corey (and Molly herself too, before) would have thrown away without a second glance, assuming they were simply bits of trash the wind had tossed into the Pit. Only in her post-Ben apocalyptic exhaustion did she find herself becoming entranced, staring deeply, dazedly, at the objects. Corey and Roz, and Shaina, finally had to take slightly more serious note of Molly’s finds when it came to the potsherd and the Bible.

“It’s okay,” Corey said.

“If only we were still just a disappointing roadside attraction,” she said.

There had always been a conversational generosity between her and Corey, an unspoken willingness to strive for wittiness, to laugh even if the wittiness fell flat. He was a brother to her after all these years working side by side, confronting baffling fossils month after month, joking about their bewilderment.

“Well at least Roz is over the moon about the ticket sales. Have you checked our social media feeds lately?”

Though of course he knew she hadn’t; that was his department, and she had never taken the least interest.

“Where’s Roz anyway?” she said.

“Made an early run to Quincy Herbarium.”

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