Sadly, I didn’t enjoy this as much as Lynne Tillman’s other works, although it was still enjoyable. This is a more straight forward work of fiction, compared to the other semi-autobiographical novels/memoirs, but in a more literal sense it’s such a wild ride. No chapters, hardly any punctuation, straight flow of consciousness, unreliable narrator. The characters are more like weird vignettes or caricatures, the setting is never explained - a spa? a mental hospital? It doesn’t really matter. It’s just a sequence of reflections, sort of conveying the idea of a convoluted brain. All in all it’s fascinating, if a bit chaotic. Maybe I would have liked it better if I’d read it faster.