The narrator moves through obsessions familiar to readers of Cusk’s previous novels: frustration over the inauthenticity of contemporary life, the instability of identity, and a sort of neurasthenic aestheticism that makes simple activities like going to a museum distressing if the other visitors respond to the art in a too-boisterous manner ... A narrative hall of mirrors that only a fool would confuse with a thinly veiled roman à clef about a celebrity.
A short and electrifying novel ... A deeply enjoyable addition to Cusk’s canon concerning brilliant and divided women who are not-quite-willing participants in the worlds they have had a hand in creating ... Cusk is most successful at imagining the thoughts and private experiences of M as they occur within the layered structures she maintains to keep the world at bay.
Cusk’s prose is polished, poised, exquisite, and covertly enigmatic until the final, stunning scene throws everything into question, leaving us abruptly aware of our myriad unsubstantiated assumptions. Whip-smart, mesmerizing, and provocative.
There’s no question about Cusk’s brilliant way with words, but this novel lacks the connection to a wide range of human experience that distinguishes her best work. Accomplished but airless.
