The first page of Fresh Water for Flowers is, perhaps, one of the best I’ve read. I love it as a long statement. That page excited me and concerned me. Here, I thought, will be a slow, reflective, emotional novel with depth and parts that I might find too literary for my taste. I was nervous but engaged; ready to spend whatever time was needed being swept along. I’m not sure exactly when this book became a chore: it took me longer than anticipated to reach the 100 page mark and by page 300, I was skimming. My goal was to reach the end. I think I would have DNF’d if it hadn’t been a gift from my Mum who was very keen for my opinion. 
The reviews from others are mixed but the average review (on Goodreads) is a 4.28; clearly some find this to be charming, moving, and emotional. And I think that was the authors intent. I don’t think those people are wrong, I’m just saddened and frustrated that I couldn’t feel the same way. For me, this book was too long, repetitive and convoluted. The introduction of multiple perspectives, paired with the non-chronological timelines meant that I felt lost, unsure where I was and consistently unable to find the emotion as I scrambled to orientate myself. Ultimately I found myself unable to care.