S. by J.J. Abrams and Doug Dorst

 Dorst's (the writer) and Abrams' (the idea man) novel is intended to be both a story and a physical object, and fittingly, it would fail utterly as an e-book. It consists of a fake novel titled The Ship of Theseus, allegedly published in 1949 and written by the mysterious (fictional) writer V.M. Straka, about whom little is known.  Footnotes by the translator provide textural information, secret codes, and hints at the relationship between author and translator. In the margins of the volume are the "manuscript" annotations of two readers, a college senior and a grad student, who communicate through these notes about the novel and their theories of the author's identity; over the course of three passes through the book they develop a personal relationship. Finally, the pages also contain various ephemeral items -- postcards, newspaper articles, even a napkin -- that shed light on the authorship question and the two readers.

It's exactly the kind of experimental book I live for, and for the most part I enjoyed it greatly. The fictional novel itself can be read as a stand-alone novel, and it's a weird one at that -- a man with no memory of his past becomes involved in a wide-ranging plot to undermine a criminal, fascistic captain of industry. It's an affecting story and Dorst nailed the style of the time, but it's also the kind of story whose themes give me low-grade anxiety, amplified by the fact that it reminded me so much of something else I've read but can't remember. 

The annotations provide a second story, as the two readers endearingly analyze the text, argue about the authorship question, discuss literature in general, and slowly fall in love. Their notes also hint at the nefarious actions of sinister, uh, literature professors who have a stake in the authorship question, and that aspect of the plot fell flat towards the end, as it did not amount to much. But even as I grew (mildly) frustrated with the would-be conspiracy, I could not help but admire how Dorst achieved it: two handwritings and six ink colors to illustrate three stages of their relationship overlapping each other throughout the book, but nonetheless progressing the story linearly.

As I wrote above, it's an ode to paper books, but it is also a paean to writing and reading, and the way both give meaning to one's life. It requires a bit more work than the typical novel, but it is absolutely worth it.