Banana Yoshimoto reminded me of a friend of mine from the far away past. Sounded like a good reason to read a book from her. But this was a mistake. This book is empty. It's a flow of superficial sensations that never leave a trace, it's a waste of time. It is as numb as a frigid vagina. Certainly it is better written than for instance a Saskia Noort volume, still, it is not worth anyone's time. How could Feltrinelli publish it? ( )

La storia di amicizia fra due donne....