I'm not sure really what to make of this book. It's a detailed portrait of the narrator's friend, Fanny, who ostensibly suffers from some sort of mental illness but whose uniqueness is special and beloved by him.

The narrator tries to figure out his enigma of a friend while reminiscing about their time together before she dies. He clearly admires, loves, and is fascinated by this person who he can't truly get to, and to whom Fanny herself seems distant. There is a gap of understanding that is never filled which almost characterises their friendship.

We never see Fanny's point of view, only the narrator's circuitous attempts to understand her. It is not done in any sort of analytic way but rather through description, observation, and nostalgia--true to form of the narrator. The text flows similarly as a result (there is no dialogue).

While this book made a friend of mine shed a few tears, it did not have this impact on me. Maybe it's because I'm too jaded to believe that such a friendship could exist.

In any case, it's a short read, flows nicely, and contains some good French vocabulary.