Yes - I'm with you there, Marsha.
I was wondering why I felt a strange sense of dissatisfaction with the review. I think (and I'm still not sure) it was because what grips about the story lies outside the novel. The review sort of looks at that, but only glances at it; doesn't deal with it. It just says that it's a well-written, slightly self-conscious, book in the mould of other well-written, slightly self-conscious, JM books. It's slightly redundant.
Instead he takes the standard high culture/Literature stance; reviews the book on it's own, as if any acceptance/acknowledgement of it's uncertain boundaries with the Real, it's dwelling in the Real, is a bit infra-dig and not sophisticated.
Actually, I think the "high culture" response lacks subtlety. This book is now dwelling in the space outside the pages. And it's about the spaces left "blank" within. And you could make a case that that is what the book is "about". And I suspect that, though the book achieves a certain self-consciousness as to its intentions and strategies, it's not going to be clever enough to deal with that relationship in a masterful way.
I think it's fair to say that JM is resolutely "middle-brow" rather than Great Literature; from truly Great Literature you can expect a measure of self-awareness and mastery of content. I suspect that the book is simply not strong enough to contain the forces it has opened up (owing to the subject-matter and the culture it has been published into.).
I just don't think the book will be sufficient to itself to handle all the questions it has raised. As a result, we will carry on thinking about this in a supplementary, "illegitimate" way.
And reviewers such as Lawson will continue to regard this exploration of some of the "newer" questions raised by a book such as this as a kind of un-intellectual, lower class "ambush".
Get with the programme, Lawson.