A woman who is unnecessary

Not much happens in Rabih Alameddine's new novel. There's no engaging plot, no whirlpools of characters getting lost, no story that captivates the reader. Literature itself is what unfolds in this novel. Literature imbued with a whole life, a ghost haunting a woman who has devoted herself to it. A woman with blue hair, but a soul colored by every hue, a sorrow that throbs within her ribs all the books she has devoured, all the characters she has loved, and the sentences that have wounded her. This is a long dialogue between a solitary woman, tucked away in the autumn of her life, and her fragmented past, haunted by war, by music, by her fascination with philosophy and art, and by the whispers of her hopes that intersect with every passing event. She is more than a woman, she is less than a woman, she is every woman, she is a metaphor. Not much happens in Rabih Alameddine's new novel. There is no intricately woven plot, no whirlpools of characters getting lost, no breathtaking events. Literature itself is what unfolds in this novel. Literature in which a whole life is crafted, a ghost haunting a woman who has lived it. A woman with blue hair, but a soul as colorful as any other. A quiet woman, yet her heart beats with every book she has devoured, every character she has loved, and every sentence that has wounded her. It is a long dialogue between a lonely woman, lost in the autumn of her life, her fragmented past haunted by war and music, her passion for philosophy and art, and her reflections that intersect with every passing event. She is more than a woman, she is less than a woman, she is every woman, she is a metaphor.