this is a book that is filled with sadness. i think it's intended to also have hope and possibility, but having just finished it, all i want to do is curl up in a ball and sob uncontrollably.even so (in part because of?), i really, really liked this book. the first and last sections in particular. the second section was (to me,) profoundly unsatisfying, but not in the writing at all. just in my expectations of the character and how she was falling short. the writing throughout kept drawing me in. it's just quite depressing. is it the story or the writing or me? i can't say for sure."I tried to focus on the fabrics. For a moment sewing seemed like the saddest of enterprises, a world of hope embodied in the clean rolls of fabric, when all you'd really get would be a new slipcover, a new throw pillow for your same old bed.""There were things I'd seen in him that perhaps no one else had ever seen or noticed - wouldn't those things disappear along with my apprehension of them? Because we were caretakers of each other's habits and expressions, weren't we, witnesses who didn't just see but who gave existence? Our coming apart would erase all those tiny moments and gestures and looks from everywhere but our separate memories, until even there our history would begin to fade."