Once There Were Wolves

I think the fairest assessment I can give of this book is from the perspective of an acknowledged mismatch between book and reader. I should never have picked up this book. 
The first reason is genre-based, I went looking for climate fiction with a bit of mystery, happy to have feminist themes, and was confronted by a much darker meditation on cycles of violence, arguably presenting toxic relationships, toxic masculinity and mental health issues exacerbated by climate anxiety.
It might just be how the story affected me, but this felt very much like the wolves were simply a narrative foil for the violence of humanity. 
McConaghy can craft a beautiful sentence, provoke discussion by her narrative choices, and point the way to a path of healing with her ending, but I don't want to be haunted by her prose. 
I think I will go looking for non-fiction about rewilding, a safer way of approaching the topic. 

It's not that the victim becoming the murderer isn't possibile, it's just not where I want to see my books go. It isn't that bringing attention to the ways women have experienced intimate partner abuse isn't important, but there are pictures in my head now that I never wanted there.


⚠️Physical, (psychological?) and sexual abuse, multiple SA, animal death