if you're looking for a comprehensive retelling of what it's like to deliver water in Flint, or any kind of political detailing of Flint's history as it relates to the poverty, government neglect, systemic racism, etc., this is probably not the book for you; i say this because that's why i initially picked it up.
i will say, although my overall reaction to the narrative was lukewarm, the style definitely grew on me as i read, and hardin really started leaning into more prose towards the end of the book, which i appreciated. some of it felt self aware, in a vaguely self pitying white-liberal-guilt-apologetic-yet-humbly-self-congratulatory kind of way. while i understand what hardin was attempting with the counternarrative of his mother's illness/death and his resulting reflection/grief, i'm not sure it's a comparable or even appropriate narrative to pair with his work in Flint. definitely some cringeworthy statements - i'm thinking especially of the early moment where the narrator asserts that Flint "saved him".