This was what it said it was. I felt like the characters had no physicality to them though—merely the stand-ins for their respective tones of grief. And that led to some interesting visualization for me, but also made it feel like I was pretty removed from the story, despite the ostensible, somewhat artificial feeling, intimacy the text attempts to cultivate via the constant prescriptive rumination the characters telegraph to the reader.

That said, I’ve never been all that into the intersection of outright self-help and fiction. I prefer subjectivity and a well struck theme that makes you think, to the voice in fiction being the author communicating their “advice”. With one exception: Khalil Gabran.