The Lone Woman, by Bernardo Atxaga, is a short novel detailing the first few hours of freedom of a “reformed Spanish terrorist” after she is released from jail. I put that in quotes because it’s never made clear what this woman did. She’s not at all likeable; as one of the cops in the story points out, it seems like she’s stuck in some eternal adolescent rebellion, despite being 37 years old.

Reading about an annoying character is not exactly entertaining unless there’s something else going on – an interesting style, intriguing characters, or whatever. Nothing of that sort redeems this book. Frequently I find translated novels are stylistically stiff, and that is the case here. The book is dotted with awkward metaphors. Example (p 72): “He could open or close that smile with the precision of an expert accordionist.” Yeesh.

The book is a bit surreal, which helps. I wouldn’t recommend it, though. It’s the type of book that you might be assigned to read in a Lit class. Bearable to read, but not something I’d eagerly dive into.