I'm thinking weird things about this one. I love the concept of the doors out and the (almost) reportage on the refugee experience. So it enlarged my world to some degree.

However, the staccato bursts of the language give the text a rhythm without music. Each sentence feels like a series of two or three monosyllabic machine gun bursts whether the scene portrayed is romantic, contemplative, or a description of actual machine gun bursts. It's wearying.