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In Outline, a writer named Faye (perhaps not unlike Rachel Cusk herself) travels to Athens for a few days to lead a writing workshop. Along the way, she engages in conversations with several people--her seatmate on the plane, other teachers and students in the workshop, friends she meets up with, friends those friends have brought along, et cetera. Sometimes Faye listens to these people without comment, sometimes she challenges them, sometimes she reveals something about herself. That's all. The novel is a collection of conversations.

In the wrong hands, this could be a disastrous idea for a book, but in the hands of a good writer, what could be more interesting? (In fact, I wouldn't mind seeing other good writers tackle this same idea using their own experiences and travels. This book would be very different if written by, say, Nick Hornby, or Margaret Atwood.) In this particular case, I felt like I became the narrator. It was me on the plane, on the boat, having conversations with these people, and walking the streets of Athens. The oppressive heat of the summer gave the book a languorous feel. I was very happy to get lost in it, and while I related to some characters more than others, I suspect this is the kind of book that will reveal more of itself (and more of you to yourself) if you go back to it after a number of years have gone by.

I can already hear the criticisms of this book: "It's boring." (It isn't.) "It's pretentious." (It's actually the furthest thing from pretentious--it's not trying to be anything other than what it is.) Or my favorite-least-favorite criticism of any book: "No one actually talks like this." I don't know if it's true that no one actually talks like this--I haven't met everyone in the world. But frankly, if I wanted to hear how people actually talk, I'd go hang out at the bus station. Most of the time, I'd rather be reading novels like this one.