In regards to our nameless narrator, she is so unlikable that at first I believed the book was going to be a coda on the prevalence, or perhaps inevitability, of choosing to excuse, overlook, or even come to appreciate the POV perspective of a story no matter how awful the thoughts or actions of the protagonist turn out to be. But no, the book is an internal journey through grief, not a media reflection on empathy; it encompasses how we spend time, surely, but moreso that the “how” matters less than acknowledging that each moment is unique, worthy of said acknowledgment.

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