This was fun. A love letter to the act of reading and writing and knowing and discovering. Very cerebral and borderline experimental (I can envision this in a creative writing classroom easily), in ways that were rewarding (mostly) but also (sometimes) difficult (I’m looking at you beginning and ending chapters). This book felt like I was talking to a friend about what I had read and how that connected to what I was going through at the time, so in a way, this book was like a conversation. My only (meta)critique is with the fiction classification on this — surely this is giving memoir? Perhaps in an Annie Ernaux way (which the author is self-conscious of). But that has nothing to do with this book specifically, merely a thought!