When Frances Shore moves to Saudi Arabia, she settles in a nondescript sublet, s
ure that common sense and an open mind will serve her well with her Muslim neigh
bors. But in the dim, airless flat, Frances spends lonely days writing in her di
ary, hearing the sounds of sobs through the pipes from the floor above, and seei
ng the flitting shadows of men on the stairwell. It's all in her imagination, sh
e's told by her neighbors; the upstairs flat is empty, no one uses the roof. But
Frances knows otherwise, and day by day, her sense of foreboding grows even as
her sense of herself begins to disintegrate.
