So, if space time folded us into an event or place, why not a diner with a nice breakfast menu? Just as anyone working a long-hour cubicle or factory job that requires repetition and, therefore, the ability to find stories and humor and purpose despite lack of diversity and minimal setting change, so this novel finds depth despite somewhat limited dimension. As fun and innovative as this book is, it is also fiction that examines what we don’t have time to think about.

Here, we have the Village Inn, which I imagine two parts Waffle House, one part White Castle. And our characters are seemingly indefinitely at this diner, so there’s the problem how to adapt and what to do? The narrator and her two friends begin their theosophical journey with philosophy and the breakfast menu. They define and analyze food and its worth in relation to other food. Then, they make table sculptures. Then, they play games, grow bored, wonder at the whys and hows. Their own stories are revealed in pieces, which add dimension that the reader so craves. We are what we’ve done, where we’ve been, what we think as much as where we are. We are also imagination. Time no longer matters and stories spiral outward and in, and the whole thing is damn interesting.