Of course I’m immediately starting all over again after Perhaps The Stars. Every time, tingling chills down my spine on page 254:
I am the window through which you watch the coming storm. He is the lightning.
I can ditto Jo Walton, who says, “I love this book with the passionate love of an exploding supernova, but every book isn’t for everyone.” I’m reducing to babbling to even talk about it, so her (slightly) more coherent primer is a good one.