Fuck, this is good. It's like poetry made from cut out bits of history books and epitaphs pasted together. It does that thing I like, where writers dip below the waves of the conscious mind and come back, clutching shimmering fragments of fuckedupbittersweetafterlife. I was worried I wouldn't like Saunders in a novel. I shouldn't have been worried. 
 I really enjoyed this. I enjoy vaulting past the layers of normalcy that we put on to face every day life, and getting down to the essentials. I enjoyed this night in a graveyard where a whole field of ghosts faced up to their deepest, darkest, hardest fears. How those fears distort you. How it is the living that restores you - the living, not the stalling of time (it only moves in one direction) (forward always) (at least for us four-dimensional beings). 
 There were many beautiful moments in this novel, but the part that best encapsulates the book was probably this quote: 
 "None of it was real; nothing was real. 
 Everything was real; inconceivably real, infinitely dear. 
 These and all things started as nothing, latent within a vast energy-broth, but then we named them and loved them, and in this way, brought them forth. 
 And now must lose them. 
 I send this out to you, dear friends, before I go, in this instantaneous thought-burst, from a place where time slows and then stops and we may live forever in a single instant. 
 Goodbye goodbye good-"