This book reminds me of an experience that goes something like this: my friend and I meet up a larger group of friends at a bar, and a friend tells us we have to listen to this guy's story, it's fascinating. So we get a beer, and this guy tells us a long story. Afterwards we leave the bar and my friend and I turn to each other and say:

Me: What a terrible rambling story!
My friend: What a fascinating story!

The summary of this book is fascinating, and I probably would have this book be my favorite if Milan Kundera wrote it. Instead it is written as if it's the last chapter of Ulysses - rambling, disconnected, purposefully obtuse. The focus shifts chaotically, almost like the meme of a person with ADHD trying to tell a story and getting sidetracked about the time they went to the circus, or the library they went to.

Honestly, I'm even more disappointed that the prose and structure of this book just overall sucks because the premise held such promise.