It was a university set book. That skewed me against it. Can you ever love a book that you've been compelled to read? Like I say, I found it very beautiful and that's what got me through to the end.

I remember all the characters having this ethereal quality. It was hard to imagine them having bodies. And they were all living the life of the mind like fuck. I remember the beginning- with its pristine images of childhood- and the ending (o Death!) but everything in the middle is a blur. At one point there is a woman pruning roses- right? I've held onto her because she reminded me- distantly- of my grandmother in her English cottage garden.