Watson tells a killer tale, really entertaining. But beyond pleasurable reading, the novel had me questioning what I'd want in a similar circumstance. Is it always best to know the truth? After all, ignorance is bliss. When you can't distinguish memory from fantasy, can you start to build a meaningful life? If you can never reciprocate in a relationship, how much allegiance do your loved ones owe you? When is a condition so problematic as to be insurmountable? The novel's greatest strength is that it really challenges the notion of reality. Is it a finite construct or something a little less tangible? Watson digs to the very soul of Christine and it is fascinating, disturbing, and memorable.
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