For me, no other book has captured the tedium and infuriation of spending hours with a very small child like this book has. To be sure, it’s not a pleasant book, but it does capture something fascinating about the human experience.
There’s a funny (not haha, entirely) moment when the power dynamic shifts between the old man and the child. It’s almost worth reading this book just for that moment.
Or, say rather, there’s a curious juxtaposition of the powerlessness of old age and childhood. And a sort of compassion underlying it all.
Blessedly short, I don’t think I could’ve done another hundred pages of this one.