Listen, I wouldn't say this was a badly written book or anything. In fact, it's written in this spare precise prose that is clear as water. But... it's weird. Really deeply weird. The story contains an incel and also a strange kind of interpretation of a woman who really really really loves her job. Some of the lines are incredibly disconcerting, like this one: "I stroked my sleeping nephew's cheek with my forefinger. It felt strangely soft, like stroking a blister." It's also a little dark in places. There's nothing natural about this book. It feels like being trapped in a shop in fluorescent lighting. It's certainly a quick read, which is good, because I think reading it over a longer period of time would have felt unpleasant.