I’m not really sure if I’d call this a thriller in the more modern sense so much as literary fiction but you know what? The author’s certainly got a way of making you do the “one more chapter” thing until the end of the book. I can respect that.

I also found the sheer monotonous routine to help with the mood. I did in fact feel claustrophobic and stuck. There’s a certain realism to the idea of horror being eating the same bland beige foods on the same days without change for seven years.