No one knows the woman at the wedding. Not the caterer, an easy target, succumbing to her advances. Not the pregnant bride or her tangled family, trying to spin a fairytale wedding under a melting hot summer sun. Not even the bride's stepsister, Charlotte, who, in the middle of the night and despite her better judgment, allows this wandering wedding crasher into her car.

Crusted in dried blood and other bodily fluids, the woman exists in layers of sense and story, a nesting doll of pornographic tales in which fantasy and banality collide and blur. In this novel that is at once visceral, vivid, and spare, the uninvited guest gives each of those she meets what they want, whether they like it or not.

Here writhe distinct bodies in distinct ecstasies, echoing and defying inherited American narratives about gender, shame, and pleasure. With an edge of humor and horror, Woods explores if --and how--we consent to our own desires.