Fiction Friends

I picked up Thirst Trap by Greene O’Hare at Shakespeare and Company, one of those unexpected finds considering I’d been looking for this book months ago, then forgot about it completely. When I saw it there, in that cramped corner of the shop, it felt a bit like a nudge from the universe: here, this one’s yours.

It couldn’t have come at a better time. I was on a Euro trip with three of my closest friends, all of us in our thirties, all navigating that strange in-between feeling. Thirst Trap is about women like that too: women in their thirties, balancing friendships, careers, and desire; trying to make sense of the lives they’ve built and the ones they still want.

What I loved most is how quiet the book is. It’s not plot-driven, it’s more of a slow, observant kind of literary fiction that sits with its characters and lets them breathe. It doesn’t demand attention, but earns it, through sharp little insights that land softly but stay with you.

Maybe it was the timing, or the cities passing by through train windows, but the book would sometimes feel like a mirror. There was something deeply comforting about reading it while surrounded by friends, and realizing how those friendships, like the ones in the story, are both anchors and reminders of who we’ve become.
Thirst Trap is subtle, but it lingers. It’s about the kind of growing up that doesn’t look dramatic from the outside but feels seismic when it’s happening to you.

And maybe that’s why it felt like such a gem not because it was currently hard to find, but because it showed up at exactly the right time.

⭐️⭐️⭐️ 3/5

A mood-driven experience that isn’t necessarily gripping, more of an atmospheric, contemporary literary fiction piece than the kind of plot-driven read I usually gravitate toward.

I had no idea I was walking into a vampire story, let alone one that weaves in themes of art, hunger, and identity instead of the usual tropes considering I bought it for the cover.

The writing itself is undeniably beautiful and often introspective. Claire Coda captures hunger, desire, and art in ways that feel fresh, sometimes even regal in tone. Still, thank God it was only 230 pages, because any longer and the pacing might have felt like a real slump.

I thought the protagonist’s complex attraction to Gideon was romantic at first, but it eventually revealed itself to be a predator-to-predator connection, which added a surprising layer that I appreciated. Certain passages about love and longing stood out, and while they might resonate differently depending on the reader’s own experiences, they were among the most affecting moments of the book.

Perhaps if I had read it at another time, I would have enjoyed it more. But I do think a truly great book should be able to stand regardless of the mood you bring into it.

Overall, Woman Eating is a thoughtful, well-written debut with a striking aesthetic. The ending felt fulfilling enough, and I’ll always give credit for a beautiful cover, but in the end it wasn’t something I’d recommend strongly. For me, it sits at about 3 out of 5.

The fastest way to get out of a slump is through short chapters. An enthralling mystery novel set in different timelines laced beautifully for a compelling story.