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There are passages in this book that made me gasp in recognition and solidarity. There are others that broke my heart in sympathy.

But I struggled to read the book. I guess I'm more of a traditionalist in wanting the book to add up to a single cohesive thing, which I didn't feel this one did. It's more like a collection of poetry in which only some of the poems touched me and others left me cold. Stream of consciousness has never been an art form that worked for me. I like a bit more structure to my storytelling, I suppose.

The contrast between the first and second halves was striking and sad. The book definitely evokes emotions, complicated ones that bear scrutiny and reflection. It's a work that will linger with me. It left me thinking about mortality and about the small ways we fail to really see each other for who we are.