The delay from finishing this book came from the desire to possess the artifact, since I initially borrowed it from the public library. Now that I've finished it, underlined every phrase that rattled my insides like a penny in a cage, I'm glad I bought it, if I ever want to feel such and such way again.

The plot is not the most interesting part of Light Years; in fact, it's irrelevant. Upon reading this, I now know what they mean when reviewers or critics say when they say 'luminous prose'. Something about reading Light Years is addictive—but it could also be that tasty, tasty typesetting, same as my edition of Written on the Body. Regardless, Salter's turn of phrase, his obscure vocabulary, the diction, they all contribute to this 'luminescence' that at times can be incomprehensible.

Arguably, my favourite part is when Salter writes of sex scenes. They are not obvious when they are in the middle of transpiring. Makes you backtrack, in case you were spacing out, and then you realize the euphemistic sex scene. Things described only in pronouns, no need to be explicit. It's absolute genius.