I picked this book randomly off of my to-read shelf/pile/corner of the room and began reading. I came across an index card nestled within the pages of the book with some hastily-written notes about the book's characters. As I read more and more of the book, and kept glancing at the index card as I was using it as a bookmark, I realized that those notes were in my very own hand. This is another example of a book that was assigned reading (I'm guessing in a women's studies course) that I glossed over and didn't retain as my own little rebellion against assigned reading. 
 This is a beautifully written, melancholy tale about transience and lonliness. Right up my alley. My college-aged self would likely not have appreciated it.