I'm glad I got past the promotional blurbs, which to me undersell this book. "Funny" and "moving" and "human"? Maynard would have something to say about that last one (what else could it be? Feline? Avian? Prawn?), and all three are suspect from a critical perspective (moving = "I felt something!" Do reviewers really have no idea how therapied this makes them sound?), not to mention practically equivalent in our debased critical vocabulary (ever since the Holocaust, I suppose, what with the supposed unfunniness and unemotionalness and inhumanity of Nazis and all). "Witty" and "page-turning" don't cut it either, the first a buzzword for the vapid gossip of the Talk of the Town pieces Delson parodies, the other dim praise indeed: good suspense is a wonderful thing, but to praise a book by saying that it actually. Makes. You. Want. To. Read? Well.
With all that said, I did find Maynard and Jennica funny, and moving, and witty, and I turned the pages rather fast, and that is partially because the book permits, and glories in, the kind of suspicion that I indulged myself in above. But what's more important to me is that the book is rich, challenging, and artful. I found myself in the presence of a provocative, curious, passionate, and expansive mind, and THAT is a rare thing. So those of you who are looking to be moved will probably be moved, but those of you who want more out of a book will find that too.