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An aspiring feminist and underappreciated housewife embarks on an odyssey to find human decency and goodness—and her high school English teacher—in New York Times bestselling author Matthew Quick’s offbeat masterpiece, a quirky ode to love, fate, and hair metal.
Portia Kane is having a meltdown. After escaping her ritzy Florida life and her cheating pornographer husband, she finds herself back in South Jersey, a place that remains largely unchanged from the years of her unhappy youth. Lost and alone, looking to find the goodness in the world she believes still exists, Portia sets off to save herself by saving someone else—a beloved high school English teacher who has retired after a traumatic incident.
Will a sassy nun, an ex-heroin addict, a metal-head little boy, and her hoarder mother help or hurt her chances on this madcap quest to restore a good man’s reputation and find renewed hope in the human race? Love May Fail is a story of the great highs and lows of existence: the heartache and daring choices it takes to become the person you know (deep down) you are meant to be.
419 pages, ebook
First published June 4, 2015

…I worked in neuro health lockdown unit as well, primarily with people who had suffered traumatic brain injuries. We always noticed when we’d get new staff, we’d watch ‘em the first day, and if they laughed on the first day, not at the people we were working with, but at the absurdity of the situation of our day-to-day. If they laughed in a good friendly way, we knew they’d be back the next day. And a lot of times if they didn’t laugh, a lot of times they wouldn’t come back again. They would just quit, after one day.He looks a lot at existential issues in Love May Fail. Mister Vernon has a dog named Albert Camus, with whom he discusses the absurdity of life. Crazy things happen. There is an appreciation for the need of humor even, or maybe particularly, in dark times and circumstances. He has also spent some time at the front of a classroom, and this informs the novel as well.

I say the word wang several times and describe Ken’s tiny penis at great length before I think better of using such vivid sexual imagery while conversing with a nun, but she seems fascinated – riveted.
She squints and smiles when I say the word, maybe in spite of herself and her religious convictions.
Wang.
Hilarious!
Like I’m tickling the old woman with dirty words.
This is the absurd, I say to Albert Camus in my mind as I sip my stronger-than-I-like coffee. My suicide attempt results in being stuck in my own home with a former student who wants me to teach again. This is any retired teacher’s hell. It’s like that Stephen King novel. My own personal version of Misery.
I love you. I am not mad at you for failing to answer these letters. Maybe you didn’t even receive any of them? Maybe the PO box address I have is no longer current, no one is forwarding you mail, and this last letter will never even be read by your eyes, and yet I will send it anyway, because a mother’s hope is undending.
He pushes the button on his phone, and mine starts ringing.
“I wonder who that could be?” I say in an overly dramatic voice that Tommy Loves. It’s so easy to entertain the little guy.
“Hello,” I say into my phone.
“Uncle Chuck?” Tommy says into his.
“Speaking. Who is this?”
“Tommy!”
“Tommy Who?”
“Tommy your nephew.”
“That’s an incredibly weird last name, Mr. Your-Nephew. Is it Greek?”