Utterly unique. I can’t say I’m in love with the way Saunders wrote this, with the quotations, faux quotations, play-style character lines. However, by the grace of god, it worked. I think that’s a feat.

Depth of emotion, an interesting premise. The buddhist state between life and death, lingering. The historical moment is perfect for this, the civil war raging, bodies of young men beginning to pile uncontrollably, and Lincoln must confront what every father is in the wake of the war, the death of a son. 

Such an interesting examination of death and loss. The voices of the dead are not inert in this book, and that rings true, I think.

Raw, emotional, unrestrained. A book that I feel I can’t claim to have grasped everything it seems to offer.