Elise Moser’s first novel calls to mind the phrase “a can of worms,” in particular its associations with sordidness and tangled knots. The life of Moser’s protagonist, Julia, has lately come to resemble such a sordid tangle. Since her estranged mother’s death, she’s discovered she has a sister, who was given up for adoption before her parents’ marriage, and she also finds herself attracted to her lover’s wife.

While trying to unravel these knotted relationships, Julia begins to realize that the people around her possess inner lives far richer than she previously suspected. As a character, Julia resembles Narcissus intriguingly intertwined with Lewis Carroll’s Alice, moving from looking in a self-obsessed way at the looking glass to looking through it.

The setting for her transformation is Montreal, a city that Julia feels “is colonizing her body.” Montreal is an island, which is something Julia erroneously believes herself to be. And though it is common for contemporary urban novels to make their settings de facto characters, Moser’s Montreal is unusually well-realized, with geographic references that go beyond mere signifiers and instead vividly reflect the city for those of us who don’t know it well.

Moser’s evocative prose extends to her depictions of corporeality and food. Bodies secrete and smell, nerves quake, and fine hairs twitch, while an ugly tomato is cut to reveal “firm meat, almost the colour of human flesh.” Meals are described in remarkable detail, which is fitting given that “[Julia] loves to eat with people who also love to eat, especially if they are unselfconscious about it.”

Of course, any can of worms will likely be packed just a little too full, and this one is no exception. Although the narrative’s effusiveness is in keeping with Julia’s character, the vivid writing occasionally gives way to excessive exposition. Moser has created a story strong enough to stand on its own without so much explanation.