My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Mary Robison’s prose is as dense, sparse, and evocative as ever. You might call the snippets of text disjointed, or gripe about a lack of obvious plotline, but there’s still a narrative to be followed.
The main character is certainly the sort who might reveal a lot of the facts of her life to you, but still keep you at arm’s length. Indeed, Robison’s prose seems to purposely keep me at a distance. I know a lot of people who would complain about that too, but it was a curious experience for me. It’s almost as if I had a front-row seat in the theater of the main character’s life, but with a splatter-shield in front of me.
And believe me, with everything she goes through, that’s a good thing.