I've never read anything quite like this. In its disparate, distancing forms, it's closest to Biography of X, but the content feels visceral and raw even though it's wrapped up in a depressive, intellectual bow. I identified with a lot of Olga Ravn's (I mean...Anna's) thoughts and feelings about motherhood, about her child, about her relationship. I hope others will feel the same (or maybe I don't...it's a tough read at times).