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295 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 14, 2025
What sort of man would meet me at this delicious ebb and flow of union and solitude? For what sort of man would I risk this seduction of my own seclusion.It's not often that the books I choose to read make me laugh. Not only do I have little faith in most formalized institutions of humor, I tend to seek out the marginal not lined up for the status quo inclusion, and a twice divorced professor of feminism of Indian extraction plumbing the depths of her origins to resuscitate an act of female agency from ye olde 12 c. BCE into the 21st c. has so much weight to it that one would be forgiven for not thinking there'd be much room for levity, let alone my specific breed. And when I began this book, it seemed everything stood to attention to delivery just that: generously unspooling itself over PNW techieland with its passport library programs and gentrified diversity. It's the environment I was raised in and the one that fueled my escape from my abusive upbringing, so despite my critical reflection, it was a comfortable setting for witnessing the narrator's negotiations with education, social media, self love, and disability, and before I knew it, I was so deeply endeared that I thought more than once that, should it be called for, I would be willing fake the enthusiasm just enough for me to believe it for that much longer.
It has always struck me that people who lead their lives in response to the prospective shame offered readily by their communities under the pall of What will the people say? have always known exactly what people would say. The question for our lives should be What say do people have? But I digress.