I have more complicated feelings about this than I expected to, as taken as I was with “[b:The Cafeteria in the Evening and a Pool in the Rain|46138677|The Cafeteria in the Evening and a Pool in the Rain|Yōko Ogawa|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1650388340l/46138677.SX50.jpg|1888205],” a short story of Ogawa’s published about a decade after this novel was.

The prose often felt flat to me, and I wonder whether it's because -- at the risk of sharing too much and in an odd venue -- I've spent the pandemic feeling an increasing sense of derealization. I think this novel was doing something that I didn't appreciate until too close to the end, a feeling reinforced by reading “How ‘The Memory Police’ Makes You See,” a great review by Jia Tolentino. I’m also still learning to read deeply, and may still struggle with the stylistic choice to give a narrator a diegetic voice that doesn’t resonate with me immediately.

I think it’s still a great testament to a book’s force that you know you’ll continue thinking about it and want to revisit it, even if you can’t speak glowingly of it right away.