‘I thought Ani could be fixed. The pieces of her recemented so everything could be how it was. How we were. Until I saw her on her knees in front of Mr Pinter, his fingers clenched around her ponytail.’
The first sentence automatically got me riled up: I hate books about people trying to fix their girlfriends, it’s gross. But the rest of the paragraph shows Christa Desir pulls no punches with her writing, even if it does seem a bit too ‘shock factor’ for an opening.