Interesting concept. Short and sweet. Some great interiority and moving interactions. I like that both characters seem inscrutable to the other and there’s a lot of loss of communication between blank spaces when they don’t articulate something that characters in a novel ordinarily would.

And, so, is this a novel? A memoir? Autofiction? It depends on how much we can trust the narrator, who breaks the fourth wall to discuss the last chapter especially, saying he can’t figure out how to end the story and why he’s writing the chapter, but then that becomes a diegetic statement within a very self aware novel. Constantly using other authors or books as shorthand to create the illusion of connective tissue and express what he thinks or feels. Then attempts to wrap up the main tension without really providing tension.

It’s a neat thought experiment that doesn’t always work, for me. Precisely because it is so overt in its illusions to other works. I’d rather it be an homage or parallel it directly without constantly name dropping, and the reader either picks it up, or they don’t. Using it to not do the normal work of a novel, and sort of eliding that fact by construing it as a possible memoir or Autofiction, just feels quite shallow when interrogated. And that’s without even discussing the 2nd person narration, ostensibly placing himself as the narrator sometimes, or else placing You in for the name of the woman. Again. Interesting but shallow. And somewhat inconsistent.

Well worth a read, I imagine it’s something really fascinating to consume and not drill into, critique wise. But I consumed it via audiobook on a drive, and the time between the sittings made me think about what I’d consumed, and yeah, it’s great at keeping the attention of the reader and sort of building a bond with these somewhat esoteric references. But I’d rather there be substance there, as mentioned.

That said: He is absolutely right about Lost in Translation. That movie is straight trash for many reasons.