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269 pages, Hardcover
First published June 23, 2020

“What do I look like? I am a girl, a girl who can look many different ways. When I want I can put on a nice professional, demure dress, and brush my hair so it is soft and luxuriant and smooth, and wear my grandmother’s pearl earrings and a tiny gold watch; I can look utterly familiar, utterly unremarkable, except, perhaps, for my stained teeth. I am slender, with a long pale face that blushes easily, and strawberry-blond hair from which I pluck the occasional strand of gray. When I was young I looked much more unusual because I didn’t give a f**k. I thought that’s what you did if you didn’t want to get trapped. Now I had convinced myself that freedom lay on the other side”
“I watched the women with their leather jackets, their delicate boots and gold-chained purses, and thought more about Isabel’s shoes. Her f**k-me heels. God, but how I longed for the days when the terms of the war had been absolute and unforgiving, when feminism hadn’t reclaimed sex and all its accessories: high heels, short skirts, lace. Who cared about femme? It bored me. I couldn’t do it.
Pop culture too. Hadn’t anyone noticed that pop culture was bad? I was tired of people being proud of their guilty pleasures, tired of these guilty pleasures founding nonprofits and ending up in the news. Everyone should go back to being ashamed. Everyone should go back to sneaking their TV on the sly, so that people like me, basic genetic abnormalities unfit to live in the modern age, people like me, whose preferred form of leisure involved reading a paragraph and then staring into space, people like me, who liked the opera and liked even more zoning out at the opera, could again be part of public discourse.”
“To be honest, I was never that great at depression, though I did try.”As if people are depressed by choice, like it’s a fashion statement. I mean, the protagonist at least seems to think that. I personally am confused at how anyone could think that, but I digress.
“He smiled distantly. He was so big and blond; his effusions of hair and skin, his broadness, his maleness, delighted me, so rank and hairy and even slightly repellant, so corporeal. ”
“I was hungover from jealousy and wine, and weirded out by what I had done, but as I drank my coffee and soaked my toast in gold yolk, all the blood vessels in my brain relaxed.”
“All this is to say that by the time I transferred at Union Square—the transfer not an indescribable horror like a genocide but an indescribable horror nonetheless—and another cheery silver can had chugged over the Manhattan Bridge and stalled in the tunnel right before DeKalb, I was very late. Saving some train disaster on Lacie’s part, she had definitely beat me home.”