One of those books that are lyrical and beautiful and I love it at first but then about half way in I feel like I have very little connection to the characters even though there is so much insightful language. I feel this way a lot when reading novels written by poets, it's almost like the lack of excess mundanity is a barrier to getting into the rhythm of the book for me. Sometimes that boring prosey stuff has to be there for something to open up, and for a sort of intimacy to be established. I don't really know what I'm talking about. This was a really good book, there were parts that I really loved, I'm just not able to fully appreciate it as a novel. ( )