This is the last, best novel you will ever read. The last you will ever need to read; you could just read it over and over again, filled with the crushing immensity of its hope, despair, and comedy.
You will read other fiction, eventually. And then you will feel guilty.
“Life is sad. Here is someone.”
Anagrams shows futility better than anything else I have ever read, and it shows why that futility is irrelevant. Or might be. I loved this book, maybe not from the first page, but definitely from the second.
If you read the first page, you must read through to the last page, or you will be totally and completely crushed. You’re likely to be crushed anyway, but it’s a good feeling, when you finish: warm, and awkward, and embracing.
Read this now.