There wasn't much going on, which is sometimes makes it difficult for me personally to get through a book, but this book doesn't rely on plot.
However, the prose was so beautiful. Something about it just made it feel warm and tender, like falling asleep on the couch as a kid and your mom carrying you to bed and covering you with a blanket. It also does feel somewhat like walking at night during a snowstorm, when everything is kind of hazy and ethereal. That's so specific but I don't know how else to describe it.

I have some really long quotes that I loved:
* I had wanted every moment to count for something; I had become addicted to the tearing of my thoughts, that rent in the fabric of the atmosphere. If nothing seemed to be working toward this effect, I grew impatient, bored. Much later, I realized how insufferable this was: the need to make every moment pointed, to read meaning into everything. Yet every single one of my classmates back then seemed to be the same. Conversation was like a kind of judo, an exercise in constant movement. I felt a small sense of triumph when I was able to talk with them about the right kinds of books and films. And when I was able to say something unique about them, it was like I had won something, a tiny victory. We talked as if we were dancing, and danced until we were delirious. It was all so beautiful, I kept thinking, and perhaps saying out loud too. I could not seem to believe that this world existed, and that I had somehow got entrance to it. (38%)

* I asked my mother what she believed about the soul and she thought for a moment. Then, looking not at me but at the hard, white light before us, she said that she believed that we were all essentially nothing, just series of sensations and desires, none of it lasting. When she was growing up, she said that she had never thought of herself in isolation, but rather as inextricably linked to others. Nowadays, she said, people were hungry to know everything, thinking that they could understand it all, as if enlightenment were just around the corner. But, she said, in fact there was no control, and understanding would not lessen any pain. The best we could do in this life was to pass through it, like smoke through the branches, suffering, until we either reached a state of nothingness, or else suffered elsewhere. She spoke about other tenets, of goodness and giving, the accumulation of kindness like a trove of wealth. She was looking at me then, and I knew that she wanted me to be with her on this, to follow her, but to my shame I found that I could not and worse, that I could not even pretend. Instead I looked at my watch and said that visiting hours were almost over, and that we should probably go. (62%)