This is a lovely contemplation on life and on grief… and that things in life are not always as they seem to be.
I did find it to be something of a disjointed reading experience. The lack of punctuation on the dialogue and the jumping back and forth between characters is dis-orienting and I found, as the reader, that I was always struggling to keep things straight… to know whose head we were in at any moment in time. As much as I did enjoy it, I did find it was hard work to read this. Once I stopped worrying about trying to keep things straight and just sort of let it flow, it got easier to read and I was able to appreciate the very poetic nature of the work.
I will also say that I had a ‘pet peeve’ straight off the mark… wherein the author references Baptiste Lake, and Bancroft, as being ‘north’ of Toronto. NO! Lake - or cottage - country north of Toronto means Muskoka (where I live), or Georgian Bay, or Killarney and beyond. Nobody from these parts would refer to the Kawarthas, and certainly not Bancroft, as ‘north’ of Toronto.
3.5