Meandering. Fragmented. Loosely connected multiple stories that tie together(do they??)—well, that have meaning to one another, you’d think—but then the characters in the story confirm that they don’t, that no, they aren’t those people, they don’t belong in those stories, no. That’s not them, just some random interesting stories about other people who have nothing to do with this story. Maybe. But they are, in a way. Ugh. So hard to tell. 

 

Some lovely characters that contained probably very interesting histories we don’t really get to discover, unless we believe the stories are theirs—even though they deny it. 

 

The plot was… so purely allegorical (?) and abstract it lost itself in the beauty of imagery and words and symbolism (all open for multiple interpretations without any meaning really, or purpose to the story). The point of the story was… um… to lose yourself in the beauty of stories…? To find love…? Accept your fate…? Not sure. Not that I need to find a plot or point in a story, but there’s usually at least a thread that ties a narrative together. Virginia Woolf had more plot than this. 

 

Best part was the narration voices for the audiobook — put me to sleep in less than 10 minutes.