It seems possible that a day will come when a new novel by Jo Walton (papersky) arrives in the mail, and I neither open it that night nor finish it before bedtime. And then I don't skip it ahead of all the other books in my reviewing queue either. But yesterday was not that day. And my current reviewing queue is not that reviewing queue.
The book was, obvs., splendid. Absorbing and thoughtful. Very roomy for a short novel, and, oddly enough for an experimental-ish novel, somehow both solid and comforting (even though it sometimes made me cry). There are a lot of books out there which don't have any people like me in them, and don't tell stories that connect to my experience of life; this is the opposite of those.