I was skulking around the McSweeney's site and saw this book. It's the first I've read by Yannick Murphy. The story is set in 1970's New York and told, Tractatus-style (minus the numbering) by a young teenage girl. Fragmented like memories or perception, the parts do cohere into a whole and the story arcs beautifully and gently. When I finish a book I've loved, I find it hard to physically put it down. I usually hold it in my hands for a few moments, touching the cover, not yet ready to put it on the shelf and move on.