A very experimental and daring piece, but disappointing in the end when, literally, deux ex macchina saves the main characters. It's difficult to read for many reasons, but most especially because of some very self-indulgent ramblings. But then again, there are a lot of writers who over-indulged in fits of poetic rambling in the Western cannon, and it's called great literature. She won a Booker award and it's highly acclaimed. But, frankly, I think it'd best be read in lit class.

If child abuse is a huge trigger issue, avoid this book. One thing I found intriguing is that she goes to pains to make the child unlikeable and "unmanageable," but still sympathetic when you see the world from his eyes. And then she makes the abuser very likable so that you're almost on his side, hoping it'll all work out. But then there's a very vivid scene where you're "present" for the abuse. After that, the end struck me as ridiculous on many, many levels. It should be noted that some critics have suggested it be read as an allegory, with each person representing one of the populations of post-colonial New Zealand. That would make the child abuse and odd relationships more ... digestible, but doesn't really work for me, possibly because I know so little about New Zealand's native people and just have to draw on what I know of post-colonial, native cultures in general - a very poor framework for reading about a specific people, I know.