Alice is the most disturbing book I've ever read, at least in terms of the discomfort I felt reading the descriptions of the characters' actions (although Pynchon's description of rhinoplasty surgery in V. is the only thing I've ever read that made me physically ill). I'm not a prude, but I don't particularly enjoy graphic sexual writing, particularly descriptions of rape. Sometimes reading something disturbing is worthwhile in that it can expand your worldview. In this case, however, my worldview didn't change, so I was left feeling pretty cold.

Alice clearly owes a lot to Lolita (and not just for the surface similarities), but Nabokov was an immensely better writer than Homes (which practically goes without saying, given his stature). If you haven't read Lolita, don't bother with The End of Alice.