I really appreciated this book. For me it wasn't perfect. But like the flat landscapes Masud describes and is drawn to, the raw, inescapable honesty of her description of damage, hurt and trauma is stark and arresting. I liked the beauty of her spare prose and her humility in avoiding all the answers or a dramatic transformation. Instead there was quiet healing. There was also ambiguity as Masud honestly confronts memory, what we forget and how physicality retains the scars even when consciousness doesn't. Lots to think over.