O'Rourke here limns the few months before her mother's death and the year or so following it in searing, heartbroken prose. This is a grief acutely, almost claustrophobically, observed. There were a few times I grew impatient with her inability to process her grief but then I remembered trying, just the other day, to tell someone about my uncle, dead lo these 20-odd years, and being ambushed by a fresh wave of mourning. The prose is crystalline and jagged and sometimes transcendent. It's a sad and beautiful book that's at times almost too intimate. Well worth reading, but not one I think I will ever read again.