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The Late Bloomer's Revolution
The debut of a sparkling and reassuring memoirist -- an inspiration to late bloomers everywhere "I like to consider myself a late bloomer, meaning someone who will eventually, however late, come into bloom. Although when and if I will bloom remains a mystery. I wish I knew how to speak a foreign language fluently. I wish I knew how to cook a simple roast chicken, or that I had read The Idiot , whose main character sounds like someone I can relate to." In quick succession, Amy Cohen lost her job writing sitcoms, her boyfriend (with whom she'd been talking marriage), and her mom, after a long bout with cancer. Not exactly the stuff humor thrives on, is it? But filtered through Amy's worldview, there's comedy in the most unexpected places. In this unforgettable, engaging memoir, she recounts her (seemingly) never-ending search for love, her evolving relationship with her widowed dad, and her own almost unintentional growth as she stumbles through life. Filled with observations sweet, bittersweet, and laugh-out-loud funny, The Late Bloomer's Revolution will be irresistible to anyone who believes her greatest moment is yet to come.
288 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2007
28 people are currently reading
609 people want to read
About the author
Amy Cohen
14 books50 followersAmy Cohen was a writer/producer on the sitcoms Caroline in the City and Spin City, a dating columnist for the New York Observer, and the dating correspondent for cable TV's New York Central. She lives in New York City.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 272 reviews
March 29, 2020
Warning: don't read this during a deadly pandemic.
When the world appears to be coming to an end, what better book to read than a memoir described as "hilarious and warm"?
Well, that reviewer was clearly on crack. After opening with warm anecdotes about her mother, who seemed like she was going to be a main character in this story and who was so much more likeable than the protagonist, Cohen then reveals that Mom died of brain cancer after a long, painful battle. Wtf? How is this hilarious?
I sobbed.
Perhaps Cohen follows her mother's example and approaches life with unwavering optimism now? Nope, she gets a horrible rash and refuses to leave her apartment for a summer, to the point that her widowed father rebounds quicker. A series of depressing dates with shallow men follow, including one account of a dude who was openly checking out another woman during their first--and last--date.
After this, the memoir devolves further, into the same trope chick lit books are often guilty of. Women are completely worthless unless they have a husband and kids. They are objects of pity. Being with the wrong person is better than the complete horror of dying alone. On and on, through more depressing dates and shallow men, until our heroine is so desperate she decides to marry someone she barely knows. But then his father dies after a long, painful battle, casting a dark shadow over this bliss she found with someone she still manages to insult pretty frequently in her narrative. He wore so many necklaces it sounded like he had a pocket of loose change when he got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. Interesting...
Usually, it's women who are treated to the searing critique offered by Cohen's "rapier-like wit." She finds fault with everyone, as their bangs were trimmed by plastic scissors or their overbite was so pronounced, she worried about them biting their "multiple chins." JFC. It's a wonder she's single. Is it just me who's tired of reading "memoirs" by women who tear every single woman they meet, no matter how briefly, apart? And make it seem like our only worth is our martial and childrearing status?
Cohen kinda sorta redeems herself in the end, as she realizes maybe it is okay to not give up everything she loves for a man she kinda likes.
And this was a NYT bestseller. Kill me?
When the world appears to be coming to an end, what better book to read than a memoir described as "hilarious and warm"?
Well, that reviewer was clearly on crack. After opening with warm anecdotes about her mother, who seemed like she was going to be a main character in this story and who was so much more likeable than the protagonist, Cohen then reveals that Mom died of brain cancer after a long, painful battle. Wtf? How is this hilarious?
I sobbed.
Perhaps Cohen follows her mother's example and approaches life with unwavering optimism now? Nope, she gets a horrible rash and refuses to leave her apartment for a summer, to the point that her widowed father rebounds quicker. A series of depressing dates with shallow men follow, including one account of a dude who was openly checking out another woman during their first--and last--date.
After this, the memoir devolves further, into the same trope chick lit books are often guilty of. Women are completely worthless unless they have a husband and kids. They are objects of pity. Being with the wrong person is better than the complete horror of dying alone. On and on, through more depressing dates and shallow men, until our heroine is so desperate she decides to marry someone she barely knows. But then his father dies after a long, painful battle, casting a dark shadow over this bliss she found with someone she still manages to insult pretty frequently in her narrative. He wore so many necklaces it sounded like he had a pocket of loose change when he got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. Interesting...
Usually, it's women who are treated to the searing critique offered by Cohen's "rapier-like wit." She finds fault with everyone, as their bangs were trimmed by plastic scissors or their overbite was so pronounced, she worried about them biting their "multiple chins." JFC. It's a wonder she's single. Is it just me who's tired of reading "memoirs" by women who tear every single woman they meet, no matter how briefly, apart? And make it seem like our only worth is our martial and childrearing status?
Cohen kinda sorta redeems herself in the end, as she realizes maybe it is okay to not give up everything she loves for a man she kinda likes.
And this was a NYT bestseller. Kill me?
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
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July 22, 2008I actually had to stop reading this book only a few chapters from the end. I just couldn't take anymore. It wasn't that I pitied the author, it's just I couldn't take anymore of the self-deprecating tone. I'm the first to admit that I tend to internalize the attitude of many authors, and this one just put me in a funk I couldn't shake until I finally just said, "Enough." It was so, so different than the book I thought it was going to be.
January 11, 2009
Cute chick + NYC + media job + boyfriend troubles + comedically quirky friends and family + insipid metaphors + lightbulb moment resolution = book deal! Next, it will surely be opening at a multiplex near you.
This read was so formulaic I had to remind myself that The Late Bloomer's Revolution is actually a memoir, not fictitious chick lit. We all know too well the irritating law of chick lit bestsellerdom: a free-spirited, but still safely conventional, damsel must learn to balance career, relationship, and self-esteem in the glamorous paradise of the Big Apple while watching out for charming, narcissistic, Prada-clad snakes! To make sure I did not forget this book's classification come review-writing time, I actually stuck a yellow sticky flag under the very, very lightly printed "A Memoir" that appears teeny-tiny over the author's very, very boldfaced name.
Perhaps it's because I truly love a deeply moving memoir that I find a book like this one to be a fluffball wafting around in a genre that once had at least a couple of anti-glib gatekeepers. However snobby and cranky that might sound, let me add that Amy Cohen's sharply observant, empathic, and witty writing style somewhat refreshes this 'single and scared silly' story, which turns out to be a securely strapped-in ride on the bourgeois emotional roller coaster. (Big Daddy always hovers in the background like a safety net).
The story opens with one of the book's best characters: Amy's wonderfully wise, laugh-out-loud funny and intellectually curious mother. Unfortunately, she and her fantastically original dialogue exit the stage all too soon, struck down by cancer. At the same time as her mother's death, Amy suffers through the loss of Josh, the man she thought she was going to marry, who ends up marrying a cartoon femme with the requisite big boobs. As the story continues, regular gal, imperfectly attired, small bosomed Amy's woes are compounded with the loss of her job as a television writer, several terrible dating experiences, and a crummy, dark, claustrophic apartment.
Amy's journey toward adult independence begins in her mid-thirties. She suddenly finds that it's time for her to learn to confront fears and take charge of her life - alone... as a woman... alone... in the lipstick jungle... alone... without a diamond ring on her finger. Did I mention, alone? So what does our heroine do? She learns how to ride a bike. For Amy, bike riding (a pat metaphor for balance) is a major phobia, having never learned as an urban-bred child. The realization here is that Amy is still able to enjoy life without being married because she conquered one big fear.
Less a journey through profound grief (which would have been a richer story), The Late Bloomer's Revolution anchors itself with a fear of spinsterhood, insidiously fostering this fear. Entertaining and well-written, yes. Will you like plucky Amy? Definitely! Will you forget this novel-memoir as soon as you put it down? Unfortunately, I think so.
Review by Cheryl Reeves
This read was so formulaic I had to remind myself that The Late Bloomer's Revolution is actually a memoir, not fictitious chick lit. We all know too well the irritating law of chick lit bestsellerdom: a free-spirited, but still safely conventional, damsel must learn to balance career, relationship, and self-esteem in the glamorous paradise of the Big Apple while watching out for charming, narcissistic, Prada-clad snakes! To make sure I did not forget this book's classification come review-writing time, I actually stuck a yellow sticky flag under the very, very lightly printed "A Memoir" that appears teeny-tiny over the author's very, very boldfaced name.
Perhaps it's because I truly love a deeply moving memoir that I find a book like this one to be a fluffball wafting around in a genre that once had at least a couple of anti-glib gatekeepers. However snobby and cranky that might sound, let me add that Amy Cohen's sharply observant, empathic, and witty writing style somewhat refreshes this 'single and scared silly' story, which turns out to be a securely strapped-in ride on the bourgeois emotional roller coaster. (Big Daddy always hovers in the background like a safety net).
The story opens with one of the book's best characters: Amy's wonderfully wise, laugh-out-loud funny and intellectually curious mother. Unfortunately, she and her fantastically original dialogue exit the stage all too soon, struck down by cancer. At the same time as her mother's death, Amy suffers through the loss of Josh, the man she thought she was going to marry, who ends up marrying a cartoon femme with the requisite big boobs. As the story continues, regular gal, imperfectly attired, small bosomed Amy's woes are compounded with the loss of her job as a television writer, several terrible dating experiences, and a crummy, dark, claustrophic apartment.
Amy's journey toward adult independence begins in her mid-thirties. She suddenly finds that it's time for her to learn to confront fears and take charge of her life - alone... as a woman... alone... in the lipstick jungle... alone... without a diamond ring on her finger. Did I mention, alone? So what does our heroine do? She learns how to ride a bike. For Amy, bike riding (a pat metaphor for balance) is a major phobia, having never learned as an urban-bred child. The realization here is that Amy is still able to enjoy life without being married because she conquered one big fear.
Less a journey through profound grief (which would have been a richer story), The Late Bloomer's Revolution anchors itself with a fear of spinsterhood, insidiously fostering this fear. Entertaining and well-written, yes. Will you like plucky Amy? Definitely! Will you forget this novel-memoir as soon as you put it down? Unfortunately, I think so.
Review by Cheryl Reeves
March 19, 2008
There's a bit of a story behind me reading this book.
First: I like reading memoirs, at least, so I thought. I started reading memoirs years ago. I started with David Sedaris, and moved onto Sarah Vowell, and then some Augusten Burroughs, Chuck Klosterman, and some David Rackoff... all authors that I greatly admire for their writing skills. This is akin to me taking up watching basketball by watching the all the 1992 Dream Team games. It turns out not all writers have the ability to spin a yarn about their lives that I find completely entertaining like the people I mentioned above. But on I went, reading people's memoirs, thinking if I knew about other people's lives, maybe I'd figure out a bit more about mine.
I picked up "NO TOUCH MONKEY" by Ayun Halliday, which I promptly gave up reading, and I picked up The Late Bloomer's Revolution, which I put down several times, but eventually got through.
Here's what attracted me to the book. The cover, a quote by David Rackoff, and it's about being single, which I was at the time of that I picked this book up.
If misery loves company, then I wanted Ms. Cohen to come over and watch old episodes of COPS with me.
A funny thing happened while I started reading the book. Someone asked me out on a date, and as she and I continued to go out and eat and see movies and hold hands, I lost interest in reading about Amy Cohen's lack of a social life (and so I put it down, and picked up No Touch Monkey). I thought The Late Bloomer's Revolution was whiney. It was sad. It was about being single, which I no longer was, thus I didn't care. Oh sure, a week prior I was all about going to bed at 9 at night, but now I was staying out late, and on occasion, going to bed with someone else, reading that book was for suckers.
Still I read on (on rare occasions). And then, in the cruelest twist of fate- Amy Cohen found the love of her life (in the book) on the very same day my date buddy and I broke up. The universe does have a funny way of balancing itself out. I wished she would go back to talking about crying herself to sleep, and going to see movies by herself. Now she was talking about making dinner for her boyfriend, and planning trips together.
I was miserable... but I found that everything Amy Cohen said was true. Being single sucks, dating sucks. And when you do think you've found someone, you become crazy about what you say, eat, smell like, how you look, how you look naked. You want to tell everyone that you're happy, but you don't want to tell anyone about dating someone in case it doesn't work out- lest you look the fool. I was a sad boy made a bit sadder by the fact that sad Amy Cohen as right about everything... even if the book isn't a funny tromp through heartache city.
In the end- well, I'm not giving away the end, but maybe a lesson is learned, and maybe it's 1:13 in the morning and I'm watching a TIVO'd Dr. Who in my pjs about to go to bed alone.
First: I like reading memoirs, at least, so I thought. I started reading memoirs years ago. I started with David Sedaris, and moved onto Sarah Vowell, and then some Augusten Burroughs, Chuck Klosterman, and some David Rackoff... all authors that I greatly admire for their writing skills. This is akin to me taking up watching basketball by watching the all the 1992 Dream Team games. It turns out not all writers have the ability to spin a yarn about their lives that I find completely entertaining like the people I mentioned above. But on I went, reading people's memoirs, thinking if I knew about other people's lives, maybe I'd figure out a bit more about mine.
I picked up "NO TOUCH MONKEY" by Ayun Halliday, which I promptly gave up reading, and I picked up The Late Bloomer's Revolution, which I put down several times, but eventually got through.
Here's what attracted me to the book. The cover, a quote by David Rackoff, and it's about being single, which I was at the time of that I picked this book up.
If misery loves company, then I wanted Ms. Cohen to come over and watch old episodes of COPS with me.
A funny thing happened while I started reading the book. Someone asked me out on a date, and as she and I continued to go out and eat and see movies and hold hands, I lost interest in reading about Amy Cohen's lack of a social life (and so I put it down, and picked up No Touch Monkey). I thought The Late Bloomer's Revolution was whiney. It was sad. It was about being single, which I no longer was, thus I didn't care. Oh sure, a week prior I was all about going to bed at 9 at night, but now I was staying out late, and on occasion, going to bed with someone else, reading that book was for suckers.
Still I read on (on rare occasions). And then, in the cruelest twist of fate- Amy Cohen found the love of her life (in the book) on the very same day my date buddy and I broke up. The universe does have a funny way of balancing itself out. I wished she would go back to talking about crying herself to sleep, and going to see movies by herself. Now she was talking about making dinner for her boyfriend, and planning trips together.
I was miserable... but I found that everything Amy Cohen said was true. Being single sucks, dating sucks. And when you do think you've found someone, you become crazy about what you say, eat, smell like, how you look, how you look naked. You want to tell everyone that you're happy, but you don't want to tell anyone about dating someone in case it doesn't work out- lest you look the fool. I was a sad boy made a bit sadder by the fact that sad Amy Cohen as right about everything... even if the book isn't a funny tromp through heartache city.
In the end- well, I'm not giving away the end, but maybe a lesson is learned, and maybe it's 1:13 in the morning and I'm watching a TIVO'd Dr. Who in my pjs about to go to bed alone.
October 23, 2007
This has got to be one of the most unremarkable memoirs I have ever started. After about 44 (unclever) pages of the author whining about being single, her face rash, and her recently-deceased mother, I gave up. I have better things to do than read a hardcover pity party. No wonder she's single...
July 28, 2008
Cute, but unfortunately, I found the author to be a Carrie Bradshaw-wannabe. I DID think she was funny, however. But she wallowed in her 'singleness' to such a pathetic degree. I have come to believe that the main (but not the only) reason single thirtysomethings are so fearful / desperate is not necessarily because they're lacking a man--rather, they're lacking children! (MOST singles, but not all, ok?) I have one half of the "Single American Western Hemisphere Woman's Dream": my son, thus eliminating any fear of being childless. I just wished the author would revel in her singledom, rather than fear and reject it, like a handicap. She sought a dramatic emotional life (whether she was conscious of it, or not) and that she got. Let's just all try to enjoy ourselves a wee more, shall we?.....I will say this positive bit: The message of her memoir is important, though you don't GET that message until the last 5 pages or so. But then again, sometimes we have to be patient and wait for the good parts, don't we? :):)
July 27, 2007
Don't listen to all those magazine reviews - this memoir is not as funny or uplifting as advertised. In fact, I found it pretty depressing. Read at your own risk.
September 21, 2011
I just figured out the reason I like this website so much- You guys are really tough. It's so good.None of the gooey sycophantic crap for you.None of this "Ohhh I just learned SO MUCH from this book." You are all just so critical. It's perfect.
All the reviews I just read about this book- The Late Bloomer's Revolution- are right. The author - Amy Cohen -is whiny and she only gets more whiny.She is obsessed with finding a husband- which frankly is an insult to female intelligence everywhere.
But here's the thing. I liked it.I did. (Believe me I'm more shocked than anybody.)
She is funny but the story is formulaic- even though the formula gets very lost in this weird chaotic chronology she uses: One page she's got this horrific case of acne and the next page she's out there cruising again with no mention of this acne. That confused me.
But here is where she really surprised me; When her dermatologist tells her she has to go on this diet of just steamed vegetables to get rid of this acne- that's where this loud siren goes off in my head-and the red light starts flashing- CHICK LIT- CHICK LIT- because I read that and I think HERE IT COMES. I SEE IT COMING.
She eats vegetables- she looses 40 pounds. WAMMO- she gets her man. That's Chick Lit to me. An entire plot that depends on the bathroom scale.
Skinny- you get your man Fat - you don't get nothing except fatter.
But she fooled me. She keeps getting dumped and she never mentions her weight at all.
See what I mean? She's smart. She goes on about loneliness at great length- but she does it seriously and she uses very serious references in this section. It isn't whiny at all. It's true.
To me this book was what it was. Some people like mayonnaise- some people like husbands. Just that simple.
You want Simon de Beauvoir- don't read it because it ain't there. It is what it is. JM
All the reviews I just read about this book- The Late Bloomer's Revolution- are right. The author - Amy Cohen -is whiny and she only gets more whiny.She is obsessed with finding a husband- which frankly is an insult to female intelligence everywhere.
But here's the thing. I liked it.I did. (Believe me I'm more shocked than anybody.)
She is funny but the story is formulaic- even though the formula gets very lost in this weird chaotic chronology she uses: One page she's got this horrific case of acne and the next page she's out there cruising again with no mention of this acne. That confused me.
But here is where she really surprised me; When her dermatologist tells her she has to go on this diet of just steamed vegetables to get rid of this acne- that's where this loud siren goes off in my head-and the red light starts flashing- CHICK LIT- CHICK LIT- because I read that and I think HERE IT COMES. I SEE IT COMING.
She eats vegetables- she looses 40 pounds. WAMMO- she gets her man. That's Chick Lit to me. An entire plot that depends on the bathroom scale.
Skinny- you get your man Fat - you don't get nothing except fatter.
But she fooled me. She keeps getting dumped and she never mentions her weight at all.
See what I mean? She's smart. She goes on about loneliness at great length- but she does it seriously and she uses very serious references in this section. It isn't whiny at all. It's true.
To me this book was what it was. Some people like mayonnaise- some people like husbands. Just that simple.
You want Simon de Beauvoir- don't read it because it ain't there. It is what it is. JM
August 11, 2010
Why do I keep reading these types of books? I must be a mashochist. haha The back of the book made me think this was going to be about a woman over 30 searching for meaning in her life or career choice, etc. Instead, it was all about her searching for a boyfriend.
First off, this book is a little bit insulting to anyone who's over 40 and single because the author insinuates that she's a "late bloomer" when she's really only about 35 throughout most of the book. I don't really consider someone 35 years old and single to be a late bloomer.
Second, enough of the "I don't have a boyfriend" whining!
Third, the book jumps all over the place and there doesn't seem to be much of a time frame. She spends way too little time discussing her relationship with the guy she gets engaged to (can't remember his name offhand) and then wraps up the book telling us that she's okay and happy with being single. It's pretty hard to believe she really means that when she's spent the entire book telling us all about how she's searching for her future husband.
First off, this book is a little bit insulting to anyone who's over 40 and single because the author insinuates that she's a "late bloomer" when she's really only about 35 throughout most of the book. I don't really consider someone 35 years old and single to be a late bloomer.
Second, enough of the "I don't have a boyfriend" whining!
Third, the book jumps all over the place and there doesn't seem to be much of a time frame. She spends way too little time discussing her relationship with the guy she gets engaged to (can't remember his name offhand) and then wraps up the book telling us that she's okay and happy with being single. It's pretty hard to believe she really means that when she's spent the entire book telling us all about how she's searching for her future husband.
September 18, 2011
The title and back-cover copy of this book are very misleading. This book should have been called "How a woman who was unlucky in love obsessed about finding a man for a SUPER LONG TIME, and then finally landed one." If I wanted that, I would've watched an episode of Sex and the City.
July 21, 2008
I felt soooo satisfied when I finished this book. Cohen's memoir will certainly resonate with any American woman who is romantically and professionally underwhelmed--and who still has an alarming number of things left unchecked on her mental 'things to do before you die' list. It's surprisingly poignant and more than capable of making you accidentally snort spring water through your nose while you're reading. (Guilty.) A former sitcom writer turned spinning instructor, Cohen finds herself in the position of being a shy TV dating expert with an oily t-zone the some of the most so bad they're bad dates you've ever heard of. High notes: her humbling efforts to learn how to ride a bike in her late 30s, input from her good friends Eva and Ray, and *anything* uttered by her late mother and very much alive father. (Dad, simply by virtue of being ambulatory and in relatively good health, turns into Brad Pitt for widowed women of a certain age in NYC.) Any cynics looking for proof that love can last a few decades should check out Cohen's parents. For all I know, Cohen could be picking out wedding china as I type, but by the end of the book, she seemed to have an excellent handle on the fact that being single and hovering at or near forty doesn't make you a suicidal leper. Loved it.
April 15, 2008
I never quite understood why the author was so down on herself or her life, but we all have our own problems, so I chalked it up to that. (To me, most of her life sounds great. But if you're the one living it, it probably doesn't feel so great.) The story is kind of all over the map, jumping story to story, focusing on different things in her life, and bouncing around in time. Not a linear narrative. But, her voice is amusing and light. I wish she'd let more of her "real" personality come through. She alludes to how cynical and bitchy she can be, but that doesn't come through as much. She has a great sense of humor, though, and I think she'd be a fantastic fiction writer, given the right story. She's got a good writing voice for "women's fiction" (also called chick lit, but I hate the stigma that comes with that...or with women's fiction either).
February 12, 2008
The title intrigued me, as I always felt I was a late bloomer. Amy Cohen has had some rough times, that's for sure. She was dumped by the guy she was sure she was going to marry. She lost her job as a tv writer. Her Mom died of cancer. And then she came down with a stress-induced form of acne that was so horrifying that she didn't leave her home for months.
And as bad as all that sounds, this woman has not let these things beat her. She can still look at the bright side and know that things will get better. Her struggles with dating are very funny, and most of us can empathize and recognize ourselves in her stories. Recommended for anyone who felt that life left them behind.
And as bad as all that sounds, this woman has not let these things beat her. She can still look at the bright side and know that things will get better. Her struggles with dating are very funny, and most of us can empathize and recognize ourselves in her stories. Recommended for anyone who felt that life left them behind.
January 23, 2009
I was originally going to just write, "meh" and be done with it but now part of me wonders if I was unfair to it, like, the entire time. While I was reading it, it seemed like a boring, poorly written, indifferently edited hybrid of chick lit and memoir, but having gotten finally to the end, I have to say that it didn't end up where I thought it would (well, it sort of ended up where I thought it would before I started reading it, but, yeah, with the bad chick lit and all, I had revised my projected ending).
Does a good ending make up for the rest of the book? Maybe - but I'm not willing to go back and reread it, so I'm still giving it one star.
Does a good ending make up for the rest of the book? Maybe - but I'm not willing to go back and reread it, so I'm still giving it one star.
March 6, 2009
Based on the blurb on the back of the book, I thought it was going to be more about the author's search for her life's path. Unfortunately it primarily about dating and her search for love. I felt I'd been tricked into reading another chick-lit book (although this is a memoir, not fiction). The author is very funny, but I felt like I've read portions of her story in other books. And although I admire her for not tying everything up in a bow at the end, the story was hardly reassuring--again as the book's blurb indicated.
Note to self: do not judge a book by its back cover.
Note to self: do not judge a book by its back cover.
August 5, 2013
I loved this truthful, engagingly-written memoir, even if it didn't end quite the way I wanted (I was both anticipating and dreading the ending, because wouldn't this book end the way these books always end?). It's very like Bridget Jones's Diary--not so zany or funny or well-crafted, being a memoir, but good all the same. At least every few pages, and sometimes every page, the author wrote something I've heard coming out of my own mouth or that I've typed myself or at least THOUGHT.
July 8, 2007
Having always felt somewhat on the "short bus" myself in life, I could really relate to this book. Cohen chronicles -- in snappy-yet-evocative prose -- finding love, losing love, breaking out in a tenacious, months-long rash and losing her beloved mother. Not so much a revolution as some intense navel-gazing, Cohen has nevertheless written an engaging and poignant memoir.
August 27, 2013
I'm currently re-reading this book. Love, love, love it. I wrote the author an email after my first read and she WROTE BACK! She's the coolest. Thank you Amy for making late bloomers like me feel less alone!
July 31, 2018
Whine, whine, whine' Don't know why I stuck with this one, although he last few pages were better than all the previous ones. Hard to believe anyone in this day and age would be so dependent on having a boyfriend and eventually a husband. Very tiresome.
November 8, 2007
This book has so much truth. There were points that I laughed out loud because I understood and had experienced the same things. Very good read!
December 14, 2012
I thought this was going to be a lot different. More life stuff, less dating stuff. It really started off as a downer. I did enjoy the scenes of Amy with her Dad.
January 26, 2018
Apparently all a white lady has to do to score a book deal for a memoir is be single at 40 and have one dead parent.
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April 24, 2020“bursting with heart, charm, and comic brilliance” my ass! this book was depressing as hell
April 27, 2020
It was ok, if a tad bit more depressing than I had imagined when I picked it up.
October 16, 2008
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Those who know me (or who know my writing), may be surprised by my choice for my first book review attempt. It's not that I don't like chick-lit or that I have to be eponymous. I never expected, similar to the Jewish-female author Amy Cohen, to be addressing my own life as a single woman at the age of "late twenties."
I've been the type of girl whose always had a boyfriend. In 8th grade, I shared my first kiss with a boy near the creak by my parents house. (He later came out which means I now carry the badge of "I turned someone gay." Which, by my translation, means I-helped-him-realize-slash-accept-who-he-is). For my first two years of high school, I dated a Frenchman pretty steadily (minus a brief stint with a half-Fin, half-Moroccan who I ended up dating during my junior year). For my last year of high school, it was a math crush who liked computers and clubbing.
My freshman and sophomore years of college were majorly influenced by an economics major who had a penchant for English Language and Literature.¹ He graduated after my first year but his dismal existence after graduation (read: job in marketing and living with parents in a midwestern state) and my own dismal existence during my sophomore year (read: living in a sorority house) kept us longing for weekends together. This certain guy had kept kosher since he was Bar Mitzvah'd and had maintained his virginity throughout his own college years. (Operative word: had. both times.)
And, I hardly skipped a beat when I met my next ex, who ended up being the first guy with whom I shared an apartment. (Bad idea.) He moved to a city with no job and no friends for our love. At the same time, I attended school, worked a few jobs, and volunteered at a few more. (Bad idea number 2).
Then there was a Republican hipster whose locker was next to mine in school and whose black-framed glasses were the coolest accessory in the halls. He is an exemplary force of calmness and kindness. He defines friendship for me. This guy is something special; he's a "catch." He taught me how to argue with the best of them. Which, by my translation, means he taught me how to have an enlightening discussion with someone who holds different beliefs, values, political ideals than my own.
Finally, there was someone who I met on JDate and who turned out to be my cousin. (Long but funny story. We aren't really cousins. His mom's sister's ex-husband is my mom's sister's current husband. His first cousins are my first step-cousins. See? no blood relation.) He loves baseball and is probably completely elated right now at the Phillies win over the Dodgers (*swoon*: Hamels). He always told me to go after what I want, be myself, and then he'd be happy.
So, now, here I am. Single. With no end in sight. And Amy Cohen's book resonated with me. I am still at the age where she said she was career-focused, which is why she was not married. That may be true. In fact, I know it's true. But what's even more true, I think was Amy Cohen's mother's advice at the beginning of the book, "'People who want to be married are married...So if you really wanted to be married, you would be!' She clapped her hands in a single loud strike. 'That's the answer. When you really want it, it will happen."
Back to here I am. I don't want to be married right now. It's hard enough for me to figure out what I want to wear in the morning. I'm still trying to decide how I can one day become a famous writer (first step: actually write!) and get an article published in the New Yorker (it's not just Augusten Burroughs's mom who has those pipe dreams!). Until then, my family and close friends can get phone calls with the theme "O'woe is me" because I feel like my life's a waste without getting closer to that published page.
Amy Cohen's memoir is a dedication to her mother, her role model, who died too early. Amy becomes closer to her father because of this untimely loss for both of them (Amy made me smile quite a few times as she describes her defiant teenage years when her father almost-ignores his artsy daughter's existence. Which, by my translation, means the fact that he rolled his eyes at her shows that he did in fact see her for who she was and who she was trying to be.)
I read this book over a weekend in August. I think I finished it on a Sunday night at 4 o'clock in the morning when I couldn't get to sleep. (Though maybe I couldn't get to sleep because I was finishing the book. I can never tell.) It's a quick read and a feel-good-book that does not have an expected ending (cf. _The Year of Yes_, another one of my reads this year.)
After seeing a certain motivational speaker last Friday, I've been told to look for Life's Little Coincidences (is that a coincidence in its own right?). This week's New Yorker features an article about late bloomers by Malcolm Gladwell.
Therefore, I take the title of a Late Bloomer and wear it with pride. And, written above? That's no collection of exes. That's my ever-changing fan club. Mom, Dad, when I ask you for money to pay off my student loans, I'm simply focusing on my career.
My head is not in the clouds. I'm part of a revolution.
Remember, you heard it here first (yes, that is a link to another site. Come now, we all know that you only have so much time in one day.)
¹ Because these were "my college years," I did enjoy some extra-curricular activities including meeting a dreamy boy in Cancun over spring break as I sat on the floor of a dirty club and stared into space. Safe, no?
Those who know me (or who know my writing), may be surprised by my choice for my first book review attempt. It's not that I don't like chick-lit or that I have to be eponymous. I never expected, similar to the Jewish-female author Amy Cohen, to be addressing my own life as a single woman at the age of "late twenties."
I've been the type of girl whose always had a boyfriend. In 8th grade, I shared my first kiss with a boy near the creak by my parents house. (He later came out which means I now carry the badge of "I turned someone gay." Which, by my translation, means I-helped-him-realize-slash-accept-who-he-is). For my first two years of high school, I dated a Frenchman pretty steadily (minus a brief stint with a half-Fin, half-Moroccan who I ended up dating during my junior year). For my last year of high school, it was a math crush who liked computers and clubbing.
My freshman and sophomore years of college were majorly influenced by an economics major who had a penchant for English Language and Literature.¹ He graduated after my first year but his dismal existence after graduation (read: job in marketing and living with parents in a midwestern state) and my own dismal existence during my sophomore year (read: living in a sorority house) kept us longing for weekends together. This certain guy had kept kosher since he was Bar Mitzvah'd and had maintained his virginity throughout his own college years. (Operative word: had. both times.)
And, I hardly skipped a beat when I met my next ex, who ended up being the first guy with whom I shared an apartment. (Bad idea.) He moved to a city with no job and no friends for our love. At the same time, I attended school, worked a few jobs, and volunteered at a few more. (Bad idea number 2).
Then there was a Republican hipster whose locker was next to mine in school and whose black-framed glasses were the coolest accessory in the halls. He is an exemplary force of calmness and kindness. He defines friendship for me. This guy is something special; he's a "catch." He taught me how to argue with the best of them. Which, by my translation, means he taught me how to have an enlightening discussion with someone who holds different beliefs, values, political ideals than my own.
Finally, there was someone who I met on JDate and who turned out to be my cousin. (Long but funny story. We aren't really cousins. His mom's sister's ex-husband is my mom's sister's current husband. His first cousins are my first step-cousins. See? no blood relation.) He loves baseball and is probably completely elated right now at the Phillies win over the Dodgers (*swoon*: Hamels). He always told me to go after what I want, be myself, and then he'd be happy.
So, now, here I am. Single. With no end in sight. And Amy Cohen's book resonated with me. I am still at the age where she said she was career-focused, which is why she was not married. That may be true. In fact, I know it's true. But what's even more true, I think was Amy Cohen's mother's advice at the beginning of the book, "'People who want to be married are married...So if you really wanted to be married, you would be!' She clapped her hands in a single loud strike. 'That's the answer. When you really want it, it will happen."
Back to here I am. I don't want to be married right now. It's hard enough for me to figure out what I want to wear in the morning. I'm still trying to decide how I can one day become a famous writer (first step: actually write!) and get an article published in the New Yorker (it's not just Augusten Burroughs's mom who has those pipe dreams!). Until then, my family and close friends can get phone calls with the theme "O'woe is me" because I feel like my life's a waste without getting closer to that published page.
Amy Cohen's memoir is a dedication to her mother, her role model, who died too early. Amy becomes closer to her father because of this untimely loss for both of them (Amy made me smile quite a few times as she describes her defiant teenage years when her father almost-ignores his artsy daughter's existence. Which, by my translation, means the fact that he rolled his eyes at her shows that he did in fact see her for who she was and who she was trying to be.)
I read this book over a weekend in August. I think I finished it on a Sunday night at 4 o'clock in the morning when I couldn't get to sleep. (Though maybe I couldn't get to sleep because I was finishing the book. I can never tell.) It's a quick read and a feel-good-book that does not have an expected ending (cf. _The Year of Yes_, another one of my reads this year.)
After seeing a certain motivational speaker last Friday, I've been told to look for Life's Little Coincidences (is that a coincidence in its own right?). This week's New Yorker features an article about late bloomers by Malcolm Gladwell.
That word ["patron"] has a condescending edge to it today, because we think it far more appropriate for artists (and everyone else for that matter) to be supported by the marketplace. But the marketplace works only for people like Jonathan Safran Foer, whose art emerges, fully realized, at the beginning of their career, or Picasso, whose talent was so blindingly obvious that an art dealer offered him a hundred-and-fifty-franc-a-month stipend the minute he got to Paris, at age twenty. If you are the type of creative mind that starts without a plan, and has to experiment and learn by doing, you need someone to see you through the long and difficult time it takes for your art to reach its true level...
This is the final lesson of the late bloomer: his or her success is highly contingent on the efforts of others.
Therefore, I take the title of a Late Bloomer and wear it with pride. And, written above? That's no collection of exes. That's my ever-changing fan club. Mom, Dad, when I ask you for money to pay off my student loans, I'm simply focusing on my career.
My head is not in the clouds. I'm part of a revolution.
Remember, you heard it here first (yes, that is a link to another site. Come now, we all know that you only have so much time in one day.)
¹ Because these were "my college years," I did enjoy some extra-curricular activities including meeting a dreamy boy in Cancun over spring break as I sat on the floor of a dirty club and stared into space. Safe, no?
Read
November 8, 2021I really wanted to love this, but I just liked it.
I definitely liked Amy Bloom--and I'm not the only one. The book is blurbed to the hilt. The reviews are respectfully enthusiastic.
Because it's a true story I hate to say this, but it's really just a wee bit too predictable. Dating is hard. Skin conditions are rough. People with kids can be annoying when you don't have kids. It's hard, but worthwhile, to try new things like riding a bike.
Here's the thing, parts of the book are wonderful. The author's description of her parents and her relationship with them was strong and moving and funny. The parts about the men in her life (or not in her life) were less vivid and less interesting.
Anyhow, here's a quote that's perfect:
"Listening to these women talk about their children made me consider even more the fact that I did not have my own. Now, I was quickly approaching the age, where, when I did decide to have children, I might need the kind of fertility drugs that could cause you to bear so many children at once that it seemed appropriate to give birth in a cardboard box under the bed and then lick them clean."
I definitely liked Amy Bloom--and I'm not the only one. The book is blurbed to the hilt. The reviews are respectfully enthusiastic.
Because it's a true story I hate to say this, but it's really just a wee bit too predictable. Dating is hard. Skin conditions are rough. People with kids can be annoying when you don't have kids. It's hard, but worthwhile, to try new things like riding a bike.
Here's the thing, parts of the book are wonderful. The author's description of her parents and her relationship with them was strong and moving and funny. The parts about the men in her life (or not in her life) were less vivid and less interesting.
Anyhow, here's a quote that's perfect:
"Listening to these women talk about their children made me consider even more the fact that I did not have my own. Now, I was quickly approaching the age, where, when I did decide to have children, I might need the kind of fertility drugs that could cause you to bear so many children at once that it seemed appropriate to give birth in a cardboard box under the bed and then lick them clean."
May 21, 2020
Una maravilla. Lo encontré en una sección de ofertas (es decir dónde ponen lo que no se vende) de un Wall-Mart. No me arrepentí ni un momento de esta compra. Y agradecí encontrarla, cómo la perla en el mar de ostras que era. Es una autobiografía, pero no de esas aburridas que nos cuentan sus logros y más sutilmente sus fracasos. Es una verdadera novela con tintes de comedia-dramática.
Amy es una mujer de 30, que lidia no sólo con el miedo a envejecer (cosa común entre las mujeres) sino a la soltería en plena "flor de la edad". El miedo a no casarse, a no tener la "familia soñada" y a tener que convivir con su persona en la soledad de su departamento. Cita tras cita, encuentro tras encuentro, las cosas parecen escalar bien a veces y otras no escalar para nada.
Pero, es un libro que, para el final nos deja con una sensación agradable de tranquilidad por su enseñanza. No todas las dudas son resueltas (cómo la vida misma) pero lo que aprende Amy en su paso de los 30 a los 40, es fielmente pasado a nosotros. Y eso, es lo que hace de este libro una joya.
Amy es una mujer de 30, que lidia no sólo con el miedo a envejecer (cosa común entre las mujeres) sino a la soltería en plena "flor de la edad". El miedo a no casarse, a no tener la "familia soñada" y a tener que convivir con su persona en la soledad de su departamento. Cita tras cita, encuentro tras encuentro, las cosas parecen escalar bien a veces y otras no escalar para nada.
Pero, es un libro que, para el final nos deja con una sensación agradable de tranquilidad por su enseñanza. No todas las dudas son resueltas (cómo la vida misma) pero lo que aprende Amy en su paso de los 30 a los 40, es fielmente pasado a nosotros. Y eso, es lo que hace de este libro una joya.
April 16, 2020
I started reading this library ebook because it was supposed to be about a woman television writer...& it was, but she barely mentions it. The book began where you'd think it would've ended, after she was no longer a television writer. I stuck with it & read it, in the hopes some anecdotes might pop up but no. Ir had some interesting stories, but pretty self-pitying most of the way. The author's next book needs to be about her tv writing career :)
December 29, 2022
I consider myself as a somewhat late bloomer in the field of meeting the right guy, getting married and having a child. So this book was an in-depth look into that experience leading up to that happening. Sadly, her almost wedding did not happen (although maybe it has by now but I couldn’t find any info online - it kept taking me to Amy Coney Barrett info - 😱). I rounded this up to 4 stars - lots of humor to be had even through the break ups!
July 2, 2019
I added this to my to-read shelf YEARS ago, and reading it now, I see what my younger self was looking for. I lot of my questions have been answered since then, and I've found many things that I was looking for, but I really enjoyed reading about Amy's journey and being reminded that things don't always happen on your timeline, and that's okay.
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