idk how she did it but tamsyn muir has, in Nona the Ninth, somehow crafted a novel more disorienting and more confusing than Harrow the Ninth, which was a nonlinear account of a first-person narrative of another person’s post-lobotomy fuge state. she actually did it i have no fucking clue what happened in Nona the Ninth because Nona has no fucking clue what happened in Nona the Ninth. tamsyn muir has successfuly recreated the feeling, in text, of being strangled underwater while listening to early 2010’s pop music on a 10 hr loop. this is totally complimentary to be clear but i don’t know what to do with myself.