A fascinating, strange rumination on being a character in a book. The last chapter more or less redeems the fourth and fifth chapter that feels like three hundred pages of “yeah?” “Umm.” and “Well…” plus copious amounts of sex and slurs thet I haven’t begun to figure out. One character provides a mind screwdriver, but is it enough? Is it aware of being unjustifiable? Is that an excuse to write dreg? Perhaps I didn’t quite enjoy it, but I’ve thought about it a lot.