This book is most striking, to me, in two ways:

Its sympathetic, realistic portrayal of being human, brought about in a slow unravelling of truthfulness. It captures the various folds of a story captured by each individual experiencing it so very well.

Secondly, the reoccurring mirroring of the characters, events, and emotions with the surreal Icelandic landscape. The story becomes visceral, harsh, and imbedded into the very lore of the land. It's beautiful to read, and worth taking the time to read again, pausing to let the words sink in.

The novel, however, does start off slowly. Slowly in that only by halfway through did I get a grip on the story, enough to get me to read further. I'm not even sure if this is a bad thing (the pace matches the slow churning of Iceland at the time, its people, and the harsh, barren landscape and slow seasons, the slow reality of the events that take place; I wouldn't have it otherwise), but rather a warning for those who would normally want to close the book and leave it. It's worth the read.

A couple of times I also found the protagonist, Agnes, slip into a state that seemed written out of necessity, rather than what I had imagined her character to be willing to or capable of doing (and doing so abruptly, as though, again, not because the writing had arrived at a changing point, but the story had).

Then again, I almost think this is yet again an unlikely strength of the writing: Agnes is, after all, someone we never really know, someone of multiple truths.