The complex thoughts of a simple-minded woman as she attempts to form connections with her dysfunctional family members, other people who only seek to connect with her for their own desires, and the world around her, struggling between wanting to grow through uncomfortableness and suffering through familiarity. A stream of consciousness crafted with meticulous care and intelligent thought, but held back by just how boring and tiring it is to actually read.

Additionally, I really wish there was more of the finding freedom through creation aspect of the book that I had heard about, instead of the failing to find freedom through forming the aforementioned connections.

Lispector is clearly a very talented writer, but this was the wrong book of hers to start with. Still, I want to try her other, shorter books.