Iain Reid

Penny, an artist, has lived in the same apartment for decades, surrounded by the artifacts and keepsakes of her long life. She is resigned to the mundane rituals of old age, until things start to slip. Before her longtime partner passed away years earlier, provisions were made, unbeknownst to her, for a room in a unique long-term care residence, where Penny finds herself after one too many “incidents.”

Initially, surrounded by peers, conversing, eating, sleeping, looking out at the beautiful woods that surround the house, all is well. She even begins to paint again. But as the days start to blur together, Penny—with a growing sense of unrest and distrust—starts to lose her grip on the passage of time and on her place in the world. Is she succumbing to the subtly destructive effects of aging, or is she an unknowing participant in something more unsettling?

At once compassionate and uncanny, told in spare, hypnotic prose, Iain Reid’s genre-defying third novel explores questions of conformity, art, productivity, relationships, and what, ultimately, it means to grow old.

We Spread

surtified™

No one has ever commented on my cheek before. It's such a specific part for him to notice and like. My smile, yes. My hair. My eyes. But no one has ever said anything about my cheek. I can tell he means it. I don't know how to respond

No matter what you tell yourself sketching in the park isn't portratiure, he said

It stopped halfway across the living room and stared at me. I looked down at the small creature. it wasn't scared we were just both there at the same time. I didn't scream. I didn't react at all. I didn't care about it. If that mouse continue to live in my apartment, to thrive, to mate, scurrying around, eating my crumbs, shitting in the cupboard or if it died and start to rot in my wall that same night I didn't care either way. it doesn't matter to me. Alive or dead it was there in the wall and it felt the same way about me

THE PANIC I AM FEELING FOR HER RN IS SO BAD

I see that the light from the window has moved from my bed to my dresser. How did this happen? It is already afternoon? This can't be right.

tf bro. what. ITS NOT SHELLEY ITS JACK. SINCE WHEN WAS SHE THERE STOP.

Human touch is important. You've gone so long without it. 

She's right. I have. Years. Even when he was alive, the touch I felt and the touch I gave were mostly cold and brisk.

What's this weird package? he said Eh penny? What do we have here?

BYE WTF IM GONNA CRY THIS IS MAKIN ME SCARED ASF

Why would he tell me that Ruth hates dirty sheets? What does that have to do with me?

We Spread quotes

Join the club