I'm not quite sure whether my lack of connection with this book was due to the writing style (mostly poetry with a side of prose), the translation (I read it in German) or just with the topic itself. I found it hard to feel any sort of emotion towards the story, and yet I was well aware of the fact that reading this in a moment of great grief might just shatter me. In that regard, my timing may have been the deciding factor, because I couldn't quite bring myself to fully let myself fall and immerse myself into Max Porter's writing.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed this poetic detour from the storytelling I'm usually used to and I'm keen to give a differnt work of his a shot - this time without a translation to possibly sour the experience.