Anita’s wry and reflective voice takes us around London and its surroundings plus an odd almost non-trip to Bulgaria, via a complicated chronological maze and many indistinct characters. Her memories, triggered by her brother’s wedding, of a tragedy as well as her existence in the shadows of her family, create a fragmented, almost plot-less, and sometimes confusing read but one that is also lyrical, subtle, and strangely charming.
There was something outrageous about potted biography. As if life proceeded in a line. Anita saw time more as loops and circles with the centre of the circles somewhat elusive. They were stones thrown into a pool, the ripples intersected. ... At least from the outside, many people seemed to go by the forward-step model, crossing off the To Do list. It struck her as strangely old-fashioned, like belonging to the Flat Earth Society.