I do not understand why the New York Times named this one of the ten best books of 2022. It basically has only one character—the female narrator—and no plot. This book is mostly a litany of books and authors that the narrator has read and some nebulous stories that she has written. For reasons I cannot fathom the author sometimes switches from first person to third person, making me wonder if both are the same character but always deducing that they are. We get sidelong glances into her life with few real specifics until near the end when she describes two rather significant horrifying events. There are several scenes with a guy named Dale, whom the narrator does not claim as a boyfriend “but often behaved just as if he were.” His actions made me wonder why on earth she would spend any time with him, boyfriend or not. To top it all off, paragraph breaks are at a minimum, so that I can flip to almost any page, and nonstop words occupy both sides. For me, this book was a chore to read with no reward for my effort.
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