... a novel made of glass, possessing characteristics of both prose and poetry. It exists in that shifting, enviable in-between. This is a debut novel—'debut' is and isn’t accurate—written by an author in possession of a singular ear for the ways one can stretch and shape the English language and decades of experience as a poet, critic, and teacher ... Although I admit to being predisposed to admiration, I write with a renewed sense of awe—for this author’s mind, music, and embodied, compassionate characterization. The novel is also intricately plotted, but I hesitate to summarize it and spoil the pleasure of its mystical unspooling ... Spaar offers a stark, sorrowful look at illness ... My fear for this character was so intense I had to pause and remind myself: This is fiction. She is not real and in no real danger. Yet Spaar’s novel is so gripping—especially in the scenes concerning this character—I read forward with a visceral, maternal worry, wondering how Marlise would make it out of her illness, or whether, like glass dropped on concrete, she’d shatter.