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251 pages, Kindle Edition
First published August 6, 2013
'Oh, wow,' Molly wrote back. 'A real-world man. You don’t hear much about that anymore.'And the author writes well. Listen to the beginning of one of the stories:
'No,' Clarissa agreed. 'You don’t.'
They stopped typing for a moment, each one thinking about what the implications of real world men might be.
'Flesh and bone could have some pluses,' Molly said, 'like none of that awful confusion in e-mails, not getting the tone right.'
'True, and no chance he would just vanish one day from your inbox. Like if he met someone else and just poof!'
It was the time of year when the helicopter seeds twirled down onto the sidewalks like girls showing off at a dance, when the bee balm bushes wore their best purple frocks and the whole world seemed, to Chloe, tricked out for love. Contrary to popular sentiment, Shakespeare and all that, she thought autumn, not spring, was love season. Everything was overripe, lustily clad, luscious beyond luscious, ready to go.I was ready for love after that paragraph. Still, this is not a squishy and sentimental book, but a thoughtful and funny look at contemporary love.
She felt as if she was inhabiting her body in a new way, more consciously, and she felt an awareness of every step, the way her hands did things like tuck back a stray hair. The automaticness of her seemed to be laid bare, and it was as if she was seeing that for the first time. (190)