Suremada takes the form of a series of encounters or conversations between the narrator, a boy on the cusp of adolescence, and various characters from his village. Except that makes it sound way more coherent than it actually is.
Reading this book feels like you've been dropped, blindfolded, into the late stages of a conversation between a bunch of people you don't know. It's like listening to someone mumbling half-intelligibly to himself after his sixth beer. It's like reading a transcript of someone's attempt to record overheard dialogue, but they can't write fast enough to keep up, so big chunks of sentences are missing and the punctuation is all over the place. It's a mess, is what I'm saying. It's just this dense word salad filled with undifferentiated dialogue with little indication of who is speaking or when one speaker ends and another begins.