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“Ah, the sweet flower of guilt, planted by seeds of violence. Prick me, thorn. I reek of its perfume. Leaf me alone, for I stem from the earth. Where, I’m told, forgiveness dwells.”

Halfway through it and although it's certainly good a good book I feel slightly disappointed.
- At sentence level the prose is too conventional (purple prose/distinctive sentences are scarce; here and there metaphors fall in cliches);
- The surrealism works most of the times, therefore the introduction of a dream diary seems gratuitous, otherwise diluting the impact of the surrealist sections;