Sam, finally sober and stable with a cat and a long-term boyfriend in Brooklyn, returns alone to Hemlock, her family's deteriorating cabin deep in the Wisconsin Northwoods, where her mother disappeared years before and never returned. But a quick, practical trip takes a turn for the worse when the rot and creak of the forest starts to creep in around the edges of Sam's mind. It starts, as it always does, with a beer.

As Sam dips back into the murky waters of dependency, the inexplicable begins to arrive at her door in the forms of a neighbor who leaves no trace, a talking doe who sounds just like Sam's missing mother, and a series of mysterious gifts that might be a welcome or a warning. And as Sam's stay extends--as the town's grip on her tightens and her body takes on a strange new shape--the borders of reality begin to blur, and she senses she is battling something sinister--whether nested in the woods or within herself.

Hemlock is a carnal coming-of-addiction, a dark sparkler about rapture, desire, transformation, and transcendence in many forms. What lives at the heart of fear--animal, monster, or man? How do we contain a threat that may come from within? And how can we reject our own inheritance, the psychic storm that's been coming for generations, and rebuild a new home for ourselves? In the tradition of Han Kang's The Vegetarian, Hemlock is a novel of singular style, with all the edginess of a survival story and a simmering menace that glints from the very periphery of the page.