Inka Parei's The Cold Centre (2011) (translated by Katy Derbyshire, 2014)
The book has no chapters, no quotation marks to indicate the story character's actual speaking, but the reader soon gets the convention and the points where dialogue happens. This is likely very similar to the experience of listening to a German speak in another language not German (say in Italian, which I've had heard delivered at a symposium on Umberto Eco and Italo Calvino, and quickly realizing that the Italian in the German speaker's rendering is not just scholarly monotonal but a studied flatness).
The story is perhaps of this sort, in the full background where something is to be figured out, in the deontology of the narrative, the duty to be undertaken on behalf of someone, for whom feelings are an undertow. By the end of the book I am reminded of Henry James's novella The Beast in the Jungle, in the complicated pouncing that happens and does not happen in this figuring out.
The story is also about place and time. To the reader who has had the experience of working at a 24/7 facility such as a power plant and similar critical infrastructure, the things that happen in the story can be strangely familiar and fully accessible: logbooks, shift work, job hierarchies. To the reader who has had to deal with accidents and snafus, what might come across as the drag in the narrative and the characters involved are truly alive. It is just that over this entire function, change also comes: the critical pieces break down and something bifurcates quickly or slowly into decay.
There is also a menace underneath: it should be up to the reader to decide if that menacing is cause or effect. What might this menace be? The tunnel, time, memory, a plethora of things, in their formalities, in their material and immaterial sundry.