Baheya Zeitoun writes with a lyrical ear, like poetry or song. The story itself seems unstructured, as if the author took a few diary entries and transformed them from first into third person. There is no “real time” action or dialog. The prose simply dances along, well-crafted and simple. At first, the lack of specificity struck me as odd, had me thinking, “when is the story going to start?” In reading, I relaxed a bit and enjoyed the deep emotional wanderings of this unknown and unexplained heroine. There is one section break in the work, seeming to separate a vague problem from a vague solution, but it is unnecessary. The whole story, from start to finish, is a character sketch, or at most, an origin story. What gets me is the voice, the word choice, and its air of melancholy. She has a mellow voice, despite a story which is at its heart is quite despairing.