Clement captures the life and times of Suzanne and Jean-Michel in a way that can only be achieved by someone who was there with them. The prose- both Clement‘s herself and Suzanne‘s own words, often found at the end of a chapter- is deeply arresting and almost impossibly beautiful. It‘s a quick, satisfying read and I highly recommend it.

She did not miss his voice, which, in the end, carried so much abuse, and she did not miss his body, which had a few times been used against her, and she did not miss the history or the rituals they had created together, the mythology all lovers write, but she did miss the comfort of his life drifting besides hers. She missed his nothing. It had felt like something.