This book is a Russian doll of self reflective metaphor. The main character is unraveling your life by describing something that happened in his life while he ponders about his life - each one is a mirror to either sides.
The writing is languid, lengthy and presumptuous at times but manages to alleviate the tone of the novel - that of self critique and questioning. The protagonist is not really someone you’d root for. And yet the book draws you in with the everyday sorrows of time and it’s loss. It’s a strange handshake to all of us having fraction-life crises.
One of the characters in the book calls his achievement of winning the Pulitzer as a stroke of luck. And funnily enough, this book won the Pulitzer too. I wonder what the author has to say about that.
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