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Michael GorraLandsman is a gambler, and here she risks everything in her decision to write in something like the second person. I say "something like" because there's a first-person narrator too: Harold's daughter, Betsy, who comes from New York to sit by the old man's hospital bed…Most readers will spend the book's first chapter trying to locate themselves in relation to its "you"—the "you" that implies a largely absent "I". Although later chapters will bring Betsy's own circumstances more fully to the foreground, Landsman's shifting pronouns are what gives this book its febrile and uncanny life, in which the barriers between self and other appear at moments to dissolve. Betsy's persistent invocation of "you" allows her to comment and question and judge, to conduct a conversation in which her father's physical silence matters not at all, so vocal does he seem in her mind. In that conversation, Landsman makes us see Harold Klein with a clarity she could not have achieved in a more conventional first- or third-person account.
—The New York Times