Alan Lightman's Mr g contains some bits of prose so luminous that it is worth the rest of the novel to get there -- but barely. Most of this work felt a bit like a layperson's guide to what physicists know so far about the unfolding of the universe. I might not be the average audience here, since I am married to a theoretical physicist.

The interactions between Mr g and Belhor (the Satan-type figure representing the dualism that came into being at the moment of creation) felt a bit cliche to me, although Belhor, himself, was a more interesting character to contemplate than the narrator, who, despite his mathematical genius and omnipotence, often seemed immature and shallow.

Mr g's divine family were sometimes amusing. I loved Aunt Penelope's dress of stars, and Uncle Deva had some of the best lines of dialogue in the book. But I never felt that attached to any one character or invested in any character's unfolding story or point of view. I don't particularly enjoy slogging through a novel untethered, but I made it through in spite of that -- and thanks to Mr g's being barely longer than a novella.

Overall, I think Mr g worth the read for two particularly lovely chapters near the end, when Lightman's writing beautifully conveys the poignancy and impermanence of life in our little universe.