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It's funny to read a two-diary he-said she-said novel so soon after reading John Fowles' "The Collector." In that one, the idea of the unreliable narrator is stronger; here we seem to have reliable narrators, until the stunning denouement proves at least one of them to be intentionally misleading - for a purpose that would be a spoiler. And it's a fairly astonishing purpose. This is a story about the tragic results of poor marital communication and divergent needs, though at heart the needs of both spouses are the same. The gamesmanship is played subtly, there's an Asian delicacy to this subterfuge...The book is erotic, sort of, but not prurient (whatever that means anymore). The sadness and the clinical elements in it kept me from becoming aroused by it, per se. The story is told in the simplest language. There are no complex words or sentences. And yet there's a great patience and talent for description in the expression of actions and feelings. I'm tempted to give this short, fast-to-read novel five stars, but must think on it for now. I thank a great friend for recommending this to me. She has an uncannily good taste, it seems to me.