I have a history of choosing fiction for the worlds they build/ideas encountered/puzzles solved and not for experiencing normal life through the eyes of the characters involved. "Literature" as such has always seemed to be less about interesting plots than muddling through a bunch of emotions causing completely illogical turns of plot in a relatively boring world (mine). Maybe I'm just getting romantic in my old age but I found the mucked up relationships between the brothers Bone and Marlene enlightening.
I loved the images Peter drew in my head of Australia, and the descriptions of paint made me want to go down to the art store even though I can barely draw stick figures. Will probably read this again.