I can think of a lot of things I would rather do than read this book. Though the author's style did not seem to be muddled in translation, and the silly references to the sublimity of traditional gardening will likely snag a few readers' interest, there is precious little substance to this novel. The female characters, in particular, lack depth. The reader will find him- or herself without a clue as to what propels Mizue through the strange events in her life, other than the author's own fascination with watching this character crumble. With so much interesting fiction being written in Japan, and so little of it translated into English, it is a shame that a work like this one occupied the resources of someone who is obviously a talented translator. Readers interested in becoming further acquainted with contemporary Japanese fiction would be well-advised to check out _Toddler Hunting_ (a brilliant collection of short stories by Kono Taeko) instead.