Marie Chaix, author of The Laurels of Lake Constance, and fêted author in France, hits a thirteen-year writer’s block that she works through by writing this non-chronological reflective memoir thing about her past and present. Told in diary fragments and short impressionistic chapters, she is overly precious and grandmotherly when writing about her family, but cutting and clear-eyed when looking back at her literary career, and solving her present block problem. Translated by her husband Harry Mathews, referred to as Harry throughout, who had to translate her peculiar takes on her past relationships and partners, and the occasional affectionate digs at this personality. A charming but inessential and overly personal book, probably for fans of Chaix and her work only—a good palate-whetter for anyone else.