This is definitely not a book for reading in bed when your mind is slowly shutting down for the day and you may only get in a few pages before you nod off. It is meant to savor and read in quiet special times when distractions are minimal. When you can dive in to her spectacular and complex prose.
The story is one of expectations for the reader that largely go unmet. I have never read a book searching for an answer that was so categorically not given. Until the very last page I kept searching and when I put the book down I sat silently for a while reconciling my feelings.
In reading Ruscovich’s thought at the end I now understand my own conundrum. There is absolutely no answer to the central question that would satisfy, not just me but universally. And such is life sometimes. Coming to grips with the pointlessness of some acts and never understanding their gruesome implications.
I won’t be recommending this book to everyone but those that I do should take the time to appreciate the complex beauty that comes with a book like this.