Our main character, namelessly has had a bunch a lovers, but they mean nothing in her contrast. The
protagonist
has found the perfect person who they can never forget, but trying to hold on to her while she''s slipping away. They are never to see each other again. How can love be so fragile to whither like a dried up fig? Is Love illusive like a tuft of sky. Or is it graspable, can it be touched, and eaten on, is it glass or is it metal? Overlooking a loss great and wide so intangible to our
protagonist, and yet we find out where love is tangible, where it leaves it traces on the body, on the tongue, even in the vast multiplying cells. It seems a million authors have
written about love, but Jeanette writes about it in an obessive, and frantically detailed way, using languade awesomely. She did a great job. I give this book four out of five stars.