“It’s a secondhand world we’re born into. What is novel to us is only so because we’re newborn, and what we cannot see, that has come before- what our parents have seen and been and done- are the hand-me-downs we begin to wear as swaddling clothes, even as we ourselves are naked. The flaw runs through us, implicating us in its imperfection even as it separates us, delivers us onto opposite sides of a chasm. It is both terribly beautiful and terribly sad, but it is, finally, the fault in the universe that gives birth to us all.”

I was really pleasantly surprised by this novel. Books often boast “stellar, haunting first novel”… but this one really was. It was extremely well written. I sometimes say that I can’t relate to the character because the language used, or some other excuse, but the thing is, that’s not the problem. It’s just plain poor writing.

It had the capacity to be less than cohesive, the way it was written, in short little chapters, some of them focused entirely on one memory, one moment. Others continuing into the next chapter, maintaining the rhythm of the story. But it was cohesive, the writing carried the feeling and the moments perfectly.

Really, an amazing first novel.