The Road Through the Wall carries readers along through the bustle of Pepper Street and all its inhabitants - literally all of them, which lead me to feelings of overwhelm through the first pages. I often lost orientation, mentally jumping from one character to another, wondering who is where and why one should even care, constantly reorienting myself and finding it hard to decide which characters to remember and to follow. Throughout most of the book, Shirley Jackson does not follow a clear plot but rather constructs a mosaic-like portrait of an American street, built from small, incidental moments and finely observed social dynamics. Some may find this approach boring, especially with the image of Jackson as a plot driven horror writer in mind. But, in a way, the "buzziness" of the narrative is part of the appeal, because (when it clicks) it creates the feeling of diving into a living anthill, in which everything is dense and full of tension, without ever being able to fully grasp it. The book’s diegetic flow of information is strikingly idiosyncratic: it often takes unexpected turns, so that one never quite knows why certain things are important and others are not, contributing to the lively, mosaic-like impression. Those who remain patient are repeatedly rewarded with small punchlines, social intrigues, status games, and surprising moments that demonstrate how Jackson uses her characters to construct a sharply focused, almost microscopic portrait of society. Particularly striking, for example, is the character arc of Harriet Merriam, who, under the strict supervision and rules imposed by her mother, becomes increasingly isolated, constantly being look- and fat-shamed, while at the same time she herself starts to enact discrimination, both racist and antisemitic, internalizing and reproducing prejudices, which shows how entangled and complicated systems of discrimination can be, and how much they are shaped by parental influence and social conditioning. She gradually loses all her friendships – a prime example of how Jackson depicts community as something often eroded by expectations, prejudices, pressures to conform, and at the same time as a subtle, sometimes not-so-subtle, mutual exploitative relationship, without ever having to make it explicitly dramatic. These scenes are often narrated laconically, with a hint of sharp humor, sometimes caricatured, sometimes keenly observed, yet always with a sense of the fine tensions that permeate the neighborhood’s everyday life. It is not Jackson’s most immediately accessible book – readers familiar with her later works, such as The Haunting of Hill House, will notice the difference, as those feature more focused characters and a more pointed narrative – but as a first book, it already demonstrates how precise Jackson’s observations of people are, how she illuminates the everyday, and how she reveals social mechanisms with subtle humor and a little bite. For me, it was challenging but equally fascinating, and it is well worth immersing oneself in the small, incidental, often sharply observed scenes that make the book so idiosyncratic and remarkable.