One should never tell anyone anything or give information or pass on stories or make people remember beings who have never existed or trodden the earth or traversed the world, or who, having done so, are now almost safe in uncertain, one-eyed oblivion.That's the first sentence of the book. So you can't say you weren't warned.
I concede that the novel offers some genuinely wonderful disquisitions on—among other things—the end of love, the elusiveness of identity, and (yes) the epistemological, ontological, and ethical implications of death.
But they're buried—desperate for air (like this reader, as the end finally neared)—in avalanches of "or."
(A tip of the hat, nonetheless, to: "One should never . . . make people remember beings who have never existed." The book—you've been warned!—is abundant with similar pleasures.)