The novel starts off as a jumble, and the narrator served to confuse me more than inform. But about halfway through, the pieces of the puzzle became clear and the revelation in the ending pages could be heartbreaking, if Didion was less bleak in her writing. But that's a reason I love Didion: her bleakness. Her attention to not the big, emotional scenes and moments, but those nearly blank spaces between the (catastrophic) events. She winds together a solid novel on crime and conspiracy with an inventive structure, but there seemed to be too much left unsaid (written?) - especially in the first few pages.