This is not a long book. It can be read in one sitting, and that is what you are likely to do if you pick it up, unless it scares the bejesus out of you and you put it down quick. HLR tells a harrowing tale of a psychotic episode, incidents that preceded it, and the aftermath, and so well it is near impossible to put down. Somehow, she wrote all she could remember of the madness, the often traumatic, even brutal, interventions by police and a less than functional care system, and others in the weeks after the events. Those who are not, I suppose my nature, writers might ask why. She is a writer. She is a poet. Writers write to remember, to glean what can be gleaned, and to make what sense can be made of their world and experience, and HLR is a damned good one. I expect we will see more from her, and hopefully, for a long time to come.