Toward the end of the book, I began to have the strange experience of actually forgetting who the author was; twice I looked at the jacket to remind myself. This has never happened to me previously and I can’t explain it except to say that at a certain point it was almost like the story was telling itself. This probably has something to do with the artfulness of the writing, which so seamlessly joins with the story that I almost lost awareness of it as writing by an author; it was as if I were instead reading about something we might call “fate,” such a stark drama of good and evil that it
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