I was immediately drawn to the premise of this book: a woman—a writer—goes on an arbitrary sojourn to the desert while pregnant with her first child. She goes, with her husband and dog, to live simply, write poetry, and explore life in the vein of Agnes Martin.
I was surprised, encountering this idea, that I'd never read a book quite about the transitional moment before entering motherhood, let alone one with a kind of artist's experiment baked into it.
Novak is a great writer, her voice and vision clear throughout, offering blistering reflections on her eating disorder, anxiety, depression, rage, and about sex, intimacy, marriage.
I found myself moving more slowly through the latter half, possibly a reflection of how Novak felt during the last weeks of her ascetic experiment in the desert. I kept wanting there to be a fast-forward: I wanted the baby to arrive, I craved Novak's reflections on early motherhood. (We do get a glimpse, but only in the epilogue.)
Novak is a poet as well as a novelist and essayist, and I think the odd pacing—even the spaces of boredom—in the text may be part of her poetic intention for the book, her effort to imitate Martin in more ways than one. I felt the heaviness, slowness, dryness, vastness of being in her late second trimester in the desert, trying to engage with Martin but drawing away from her at the same time.