The concept and the stories of the book itself were beautiful, but the translation (or maybe the original writing is the same?) did nothing for me, and I had to plod through the heavy, tedious prose. I loved the grandmother, and I can see why the book is so loved. The grandmother reminded me of my own, and the childhood vignettes were all the more wonderfully sad because they kept taking me back to my own childhood. And I am sure this is its strength.