One of those complete novels where one knows that these difficult, discomforting characters are fictional, yet — written with such substantial depth and pity — feels their lives conjured from a very real place. Some passages really put my stomach in knots and at points left my mouth agape. Though, rather than lament over the tragedy or shock of poverty, Morrison passes through death with the same steely, schooled and untangled grief as any member of the Bottom would. I think this and subtle changes in narrative perspective, watching every person constrained by themselves and the history before them, allow her to push along from year to year and death to death, everything beginning and ending so quickly. With the trajectory of their lives being unmoored by the perpetual longing and anger, it’s difficult not to look outward to all the sorrows and loose ends of reality and refrain from thinking, ‘Well, I guess it’s really like that.’