I started this book a year ago while I was travelling. I got 3/4 of the way into it and then got lost in all the detail and intrigue and put it down. I picked it up again a week ago and finished the rest.

To be honest, I wish I hadn't. Or I wish I had stopped before they got to the farm. It reminded me of that scene in Atlas Shrugged, where they get to the magical place and start a new world. It didn't sit right, it felt like a teenage kid's dreamworld.

To top it all off, the ending jilted me. I kept getting closer, thinking "how is he going to end it so quickly? There are barely any pages left", and that's exactly what happened. Maybe I'm supposed to find some peace in Mark having a existential realization while talking to his parents as he stands on a Zodiac, but I wanted more resolution than 'my number is the prime number of yours' and 'maybe we'll have a kid in Rome'.

Don't get me wrong: the detail was beautiful in the book: I could smell the sweat off Leila, feel the drunken sickening stupor of Mark, and feel as hopeful as Leo when he described his theoretical conspiracy not-so-bullshit. But this wasn't a story where I loved the characters and didn't care about the plot. The whole thing was a slow build to some kind of resounding ending: I learned more about them, wanted them to succeed, but in the end, I was just left feeling like the windows were slammed on my fingertips.