I kind of loved this book but I must confess, I don't actually know what it was about. Yes of course there is the surface story that is simple enough. But I don't think that's what this book is trying to say. I must think about this more and perhaps read this again.

It reminded me of To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf which is another book that is more than it first appears. I suppose I should read that one again too.

More later if I figure out what I want to say. Right now, I'm thinking it's about the nature of reality, how we create our own reality, our lives, and live in them but as we create it we destroy it anew by our own expectations and limitations of understanding. We destroy by striving and yearning towards and miss living in the here and now. Is there an absolute reality that plays out when we are not experiencing? It's about how artists create but cannot be forced to create. If an artists creates but his vision is not understood the way they meant it, does it really matter if the art brings an understanding to the viewer/reader/listener? Is this meta?

This is a short book. Read it.