Okay, okay, so, as a piece of art, this book deserves 5 stars every day and all the time, but as far as me LIKING this art piece, I found it draining. Perhaps if I hadn't read it during such a stressful time of my life, I would have enjoyed it more.

THE END OF THE POINT is a dense read. It's like if Virginia Woolf walked out of the river, revised/expanded TO THE LIGHTHOUSE, and then proceeded to calmly walk into a New England's ocean. Alternatively, it's like Joseph Conrad and Woolf had a literary baby. The sense of nature and place is fantastic, brilliant, iridescent; the back and forth of time as easy and comforting as slipping in a warm bath; the emotional journey of generations lovingly and sadly penned: it's all here. Plus, I was lucky enough to meet the author in person and fangirl over her diligent research and methods of said research. Like, goddamn, I want to have her budget, as she traveled to literally all the locations mentioned in the book.

The book is partially an ode to her partner's family and family history, which is lovely and a bit mind-boggling at times, as they happen to be the ultimate upper crust WASPs. As I am counting pennies and worrying about student loans, they're casually building entire cabins for their children and traipsing about the most expensive hotels in Europe. Talk about culture shock. Then again, me complaining about this is a bit like going into shark-infested waters to complain about sharks. Dunno what I was expecting.

So yes, this is an amazing read, but have care for when you decide to read it. You've got to dedicate yourself and be willing to lose yourself a little. You've got to want to flit with the beach swallows and catch stardust with your bare fingers. No other way to do it.