In the same vein as Rachel Cusk’s outline, Kitamura’s narrator’s primary role in this novel is to be an astute observer of language in the creation of power dynamics, especially to those related to gender. The narrator’s profession as a court interpreter at The Hague places her in a perfect position to do this, both at the trial of a war criminal, and in her personal life, as a lonely visitor on a one-year contract, trying make connections and see if she belongs. Her observations about each conversation and exchange are measured and nuanced, and their detailed precision about flirtation, fixation, and performance is a pleasure to read. However, the scenes are also detailed to the point of stretching the reader’s attention away from the present action until slack. The ending, as a result, feels disconnected from the deep self-awareness the main character had cultivated through each interaction. What little tension developed in each scene was abandoned by time or indecision or just flat out left unresolved—it seemed such scenes were included for their essayistic insights about different forms of intimacy, but considering the untethered, cliche ending, did little to change the character. I don’t mind an essayistic novel that serves its theme above all else, so I enjoyed the slow, absorbing journey, but was left unsatisfied by its disregard for narrative structure.