This one… what an odd read. Definitely amongst the saddest books I’ve read, but near the end, I started thinking about Der Fremde Freund (in English), which resonated so much more deeply with me. Everyman’s main character is at first almost relatable, but by the end of the book, there’s a feeling that all of the sadness is entirely physical in nature - that he’s caring so much about his body without any real plans of what to do with it, and without a shred of caring for other people. Roth plays with this in the last scene - in which the gravedigger is a far more relatable character, and someone who has a really different feeling on the passing of life.