This was not such a great read, despite the accolades from Anne Lamott and, um, the magazines Cosmopolitan and Elle that are on the back cover. My warning bells went off as soon as page two, where the author states, as her 21-year-old self, that she had recently left a man she had been in love with for "several years." That made me think she'd been with him since she was 13 or something scandalous. But she met him when she was 18. Is it normal to think of three years as "several"? I think "several" is more like seven or eight years, not three. Three is a few.

She also misuses the word "literally" - an argument could be made that saying "the bowls literally covered the table" is colloquial, people misuse the word all the time in conversation so that its meaning is changing, it is "natural language" - but I disagree. It's sloppy writing. There were several other similar instances where I started to get the feeling that Brooks-Dalton was writing this under contract, and her contract stipulated a specific word count. The book feels padded. Like a long, meandering ride on a motorcycle: mostly pleasant, but also a bit boring, and you start to feel stiff and achey after reading for too long.

I picked this book up because I was smitten with her writing from a short essay she wrote in the New York Times. Based on that essay, I'd say she's a good writer, but after reading this ... I'm hoping her fiction is tighter, more succinct. ( )

I picked this up because I know the author. She is quite gifted. I look forward to reading her future publications. ( )