The prose is delicious, glorious, fabulously rich . . . . and I remember none of it.
I throw that in only because I do remember starting to read this once upon a time in the very late 1990s. I remember it because someone told me, "Oh, that's the book she set on the fictional Georgetown campus, but everyone recognized it right away," but I had got far enough into it at that point that I didn't recognize it because I was, and had always been and still am, far too provincial to recognize things like Georgetown.
So there is a lot of word-dropping, which is like name dropping only it's done with the snooty expectation that if you're really qualified to read this book, you'll know what these words mean, And if you don't and you have to look them up and then you find out that they're just made up words for fiction that's supposed to impress you, you'll blush and feel foolish, which is what she wanted all along.
Which means that just six pages in I'm loving the prose but I'm having weird feelings of alarm and inadequacy, too, which pulls me out of the story and diminishes my enjoyment of it.