Some of the sentences are achingly beautiful; "Dina wore a white lace corset for our marriage, the waist of it drawn tight enough to grind pepper".
4 interrelated stories, like the four panels of a sequence of paintings. Each one a unique voice, but always referring back to art and love. One of them narrates her story in the second person, communing with her dead twin, which is hauntingly affective.
Any one of the four narrators on their own had enough lyrical language and metaphor to just lie back and bask in. The whole thing IS very much like looking at paintings in a gallery. An Impressionist still life, looking at the objects from different angles, with different plays of light on it. But the one fault of the book comes from this. You can lose yourself in the detail of colour or brushstroke, but then you eventually leave the gallery and the memory loses sharpness. I came away from this book not really changing the way I saw anything in the world. While I was in the gallery of the book, admiring the tones I really enjoyed myself. When I left I wondered what I was going to eat.
But if language is your thing and enough to keep you interested in a book, this one could well be for you.