recommendations for books with toxic mother son relationship?

Looking for recommendations where mother and son, from either sides perspective, where they have a toxic relationship. Where the mother has a really dark interior world, or something, and pulls the son into this. Or is just cold and unviable in a way that leads to a similar result, things of that nature

Preferably mother and son, but I would appreciate anything that aligns with the examples above and belowfor mother and daughter also

Some examples of what I mean and am looking for here:

Staring off with Company, by Samuel Beckett.

A small boy you come out of Connolly’s Stores holding your mother by the hand. You turn right and advance in silence southward along the highway. After some hundred paces you head inland and broach the long steep homeward. You make ground in silence hand in hand through the warm still summer air. It is late afternoon and after some hundred paces the sun appears above the crest of the rise. Looking up at the blue sky and then at your mother’s face you break the silence asking her if it is not in reality much more distant than it appears. The sky that is. The blue sky. Receiving no answer you mentally reframe your question and some hundred paces later look up at her face again and ask her if it does not appear much less distant than in reality it is. For some reason you could never fathom this question must have angered her exceedingly. For she shook off your little hand and made you a cutting retort you have never forgotten.

Another example ive found is within The sound and the fury, by Faulkner, in the relationship between Caroline and Jason. Where there is this resentment of the other children that is both an inhibitor and somehow the basis of their relationship. It is one of the factors of why Jason is vindictive and ignorant. Caroline refreshes it while not really taking responsibility for anything. There a mutual wallowing that both forces Jason to 'grow up' but into something circular and stagnant similar to to Caroline.

“I leave everything to you,” she says. ‘“But sometimes I become afraid that in doing this I am depriving you all of what is rightfully yours. Perhaps I shall be punished for it. If you want me to, I will smother my pride and accept them.”

“What would be the good in beginning now, when

you’ve been destroying them for fifteen years?” I says. “If you keep on doing it, you have lost nothing, but if you’d begin to take them now, you'll have lost fifty thou sand dollars. We’ve got along so far, haven’t we?’

Another example is My Mother, by Georges Bataille, excluding the literal incest, of course. But like in the others, there is a deep hostility and tension between the two characters. Continually the mother provokes her son Pierre in a way that, aside and before from the aforementioned incest, sheds any sense regular sense of comfort and safety. You see Pierres outlook towards to things and people darken. The mother is aware of this actively bringing him into her world view of a world without any real satisfaction of warmth

'I'm not sick,’ I told her. ‘No, I knew you weren’t,’ she said. I tried to outstare her, but in her eyes I encountered an anger and a hostility which terrified me. 'I am getting up now. I'll have lunch in the dining room, if that’s all right.’ She contemplated me. Her perfect dignity, her composure were a very poor response to all that I was feeling. But, linked to that smouldering threat of outburst which exalted her, there burned in her an intolerable scorn for me.

This continues throughout the book

‘Understand me,’ she continued. “You are not to forget what I said. But I wouldn’t have had the strength to say it, had your childishness—and what I was drinking —and perhaps grief not upset my bearings.’ She paused, waiting, I thought, for some reply from me; but I lowered my head. She resumed. I would like to talk to you now. I am not sure of helping you, but better that you be brought down still further than abandoned to the solitude in which I fear you are enclosing yourself. I know you are atrociously unhappy. You are weak, you too. Your father was weak the way you are. After the other day you know how far my weakness goes. You perhaps now know that desire reduces us to pulp. But you do not yet know what I know.’

And one of the most intense parts..

I would like to drag you with me as I die. A brief instant of the madness I shall give you is better, is it not, than freezing in a universe of stupidity? I want to die, I have burned my boats. Your corruption was my handiwork: I gave you what was purest and most intense in me, the desire to love that which tears the clothes off my body, and that alone. This time, they are all my clothes.’

So this kinda thing is what I'm looking for. Thanks for any recommendations.