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I liked it, but I started to feel a little frustrated by it's inability to end. The writing is excellent and Sophie Hughes has done an excellent job translating (as far as I, a monoligual Brit, can tell.)

At its centre seems to be an allogorical story of the impact that Pinochet's rule had on Chile and Chileans. On their language, on their memory, and on their relationships. That a country can, as a whole, suffer from PTSD.

Not much else to add. This is the second of her books I've read, after Clean. I felt a little similar about that. Perhaps she isn't a writer for me to love, just to like. I admire the writing, but I just can't love these books.