Spanish literature rarely disappoints, but I had expected a bit more of this one.

It is one big monologue by 19-year old Lea who meets a stranger in her tiny village and tells him her life story. Growing up at the end of the world, her close friends, caring for her disabled sister. She is fed up and really wants to leave the town, but it's not an easy decision.

Because the entire book a monologue, the narrative voice and the narrator's voice extremely important and while Lea is smart and funny, the narrator's tone was very whiny, almost crying (whereas one of Lea's problems is precisely that she cannot cry).

I probably would have given a four star if I had read a physical copy, because especially the relationship with her sister is very well done and quite emotional.

3,5

To be honest, I was having a hard time collecting my thoughts on this book. Writing a review usually helps me get things sorted out in my head. I feel emotionally raw after concluding it. It's utterly phenomenal, yet nothing exceptional at the same time. Yes both of these can be true. And I'm thinking it's definitely ranking in one of my top books for the year so far.

The entire book is a monologue told by Little Lea, a 19 yr old girl living in a town in Spain that consists of 200 people at "the end of the world" as they call it. She is sitting on a bench at the edge of the forest with a stranger who is looking for his dog. And thus Lea's monologue proceeds as a confessional of all that has occurred over the last year as the world was ending.

Lea has her mom (Big Lea), her dad, and her disabled older sister Nora. She has Javier, who was born on the same day as Nora and who she is sort-of in love with, but she can't get him to love her back somehow. There's Marco, who was born the same year as Little Lea, and who is in love with her - and there's Catalina, Lea's best friend who cries all the time and is in love with Marco at one point. Sounds like a love cluster-f*ck. But this subplot is somewhat minor compared to everything else that encompasses the events in this novel. The entire cast of supporting characters are memorable, endearing, and comical at times. Lea's real dilemma is in - should she stay or should she go? What is keeping her from just walking out of this tiny town and making something better of her life?

Oh the answers will surprise you. This book slowly unfurls from a tiny green bud into the most gorgeous and intricate looking flower. It has a slower start, but it is definitely one of those books that just gets better and better as you continue. Don't give up. Just keep swimming. The end is worth it.

The book definitely skirts around the edges of magical realism, it's kind of lying there in wait, simmering beneath the surface. Very reminiscent of Gabriel Garcia Marquez' work. He was in my head all the while during this read. Structurally, the book is somewhat Proustian as it contains many long paragraphs and lengthy sentences. They do not deter from the flow or feel daunting to read, as Proust certainly can. Referencing to Proust was more a minor observation, so please do not let it deter you from this book.

The gems and nuggets of wisdom kept me reading and reading. The similarities with this book and my own experiences working with disabled children when I was younger, and my own disabled sister - well it was difficult for me at points because many things hit very close to home. I enjoy books that make me feel - albeit sometimes the feeling part is too intense, but I think that is important too. If we aren't to feel, then what are we? Cold fish?

How do we decide what's best for someone when we can't make that decision for ourselves? I think this is one of the major questions Lea struggles with in this book. Her decision is not a light one.

"And then he tells me I don’t cry enough. I felt like asking, “What do you know?” And I did. And I added that tears are always for other people to see. And Catalina goes around sharing what’s inside her through her tears and I don’t understand that. Sorrow can’t be cried. You keep sorrow inside and it heals. Pain and sorrow don’t need to be cried over; if they stay there inside, they disappear, the way a river disappears when there’s no water, and then all that’s left is a deep dirt track that reminds you that sorrow was once there. And Marco repeated that my problem was that I didn’t cry enough. And I replied, “No, no, that isn’t true. My pain and sorrow heal differently.” "

What a powerful read that uses the title as a form of juxtaposition and subversion. “That’s All I Know” is a phrase constantly uttered by our main character, Lea, as she tells a stranger about her life and, more specifically, the last year as her hamlet in the middle of nowhere thinks it is the last year before the end of the world. We learn that Lea knows more than she lets on. “That’s all I know” functions as a self-soothing technique as she relates all of the hardships she has gone through. This novel holds a high level of truth and honesty that feels rare

Thank you NetGalley and the publisher for this ARC of the book in exchange for my fair and honest review.

This is a highly conceptual novella told as a running monologue from a 19 year old girl. I kept thinking that this story would benefit from being read aloud, or by the author in audiobook format to really land.

The writing is beautiful and the structure is very unique.

For being so conceptual, it was hard to focus on the direction of the story - which maybe was the point of the author! But unfortunately, that didn’t land for me.

This book is a somewhat stream-of-consciousness story of a girl ruminating about her life and the things that have been going on while the end of the world approaches. You get to know her, her family, and the people she knows. She tells you how the forest kills people and the fact that the town doesn't trust outsiders and of course, you learn through her about about the end of the world.