
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
There’s poetry here. Not explicit, but implicit. Beauty in the way the words weave into each other, in the way the ideas weave into each other, with thoughts and streams of people and places and pasts and revelations. We’re all fleeting, that’s the point. How fleeting? Why? Amidst the questions, there is a melancholy beauty that the words breathe into the process of reading it.
I felt this book more than I read it, I understood the heart of it more than the mind. It is bold, but it is more than bold, different to bold. It is sad. Sad in ways that only certain books manage to be, in an all-encompassing, existential-yet-personal way. The story screams, and I couldn’t help but sit there and read and hear and wish I knew.
It’s amazing. I loved it.
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