One of The New Yorker's "e;Books We Loved in 2017,"e; a BOMB's Looking Back on 2017: Literature Selection, and one of Vulture's 10 Best Thriller Books of 2017. Girlfriend. Prostitute. Addict. Terrorist? Who is K?The daring new novel from Katherine Faw, the brilliant author of Young God, is a scintillating story of money, sex, and power told in Faw's viciously sharp prose. A high-end, girlfriend-experience prostitute has just returned to her native New York City after more than a decade abroad-in Dubai, with a man she recalls only as the Sheikh-but it's unclear why exactly she's come back. Did things go bad for her? Does she have scores to settle? Regardless, she has quickly made herself at home. She's set up a rotation of clients-all of them in finance-each of whom has different delusions of how he is important to her. And she's also met a man whom she doesn't charge-a damaged former Army Ranger, back from Afghanistan. Her days are strangely orderly: A repetition of dinners, personal grooming, museum exhibitions, sex, Duane Reades (she likes the sushi), cosmology, sex, gallery shows, nightclubs, heroin, sex, and art films (which she finds soothing). She finds the pattern confirming, but does she really believe it's sustainable? Or do the barely discernible rifts in her routine suggest that something else is percolating under the surface? Could she have fallen for one of her bankers? Or do those supposed rifts suggest a pattern within the pattern, a larger scheme she's not showing us, a truth that won't be revealed until we can see everything?

One of The New Yorker's "e;Books We Loved in 2017,"e; a BOMB's Looking Back on 2017: Literature Selection, and one of Vulture's 10 Best Thriller Books of 2017. Girlfriend. Prostitute. Addict. Terrorist? Who is K?The daring new novel from Katherine Faw, the brilliant author of Young God, is a scintillating story of money, sex, and power told in Faw's viciously sharp prose. A high-end, girlfriend-experience prostitute has just returned to her native New York City after more than a decade abroad-in Dubai, with a man she recalls only as the Sheikh-but it's unclear why exactly she's come back. Did things go bad for her? Does she have scores to settle? Regardless, she has quickly made herself at home. She's set up a rotation of clients-all of them in finance-each of whom has different delusions of how he is important to her. And she's also met a man whom she doesn't charge-a damaged former Army Ranger, back from Afghanistan. Her days are strangely orderly: A repetition of dinners, personal grooming, museum exhibitions, sex, Duane Reades (she likes the sushi), cosmology, sex, gallery shows, nightclubs, heroin, sex, and art films (which she finds soothing). She finds the pattern confirming, but does she really believe it's sustainable? Or do the barely discernible rifts in her routine suggest that something else is percolating under the surface? Could she have fallen for one of her bankers? Or do those supposed rifts suggest a pattern within the pattern, a larger scheme she's not showing us, a truth that won't be revealed until we can see everything?