Farah’s Reviews > The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry > Status Update

"It is the secret fear that we are unlovable that isolates us," the passage goes, "but it is only because we are isolated that we think we are unlovable. Someday, you do not know when, you will be driving down a road. And someday, you do not know when, he, or indeed she, will be there. You will be loved because for the first time in your life, you will truly not be alone. You will have chosen to not be alone."

"A good marriage is, at least, one part conspiracy."

That spring, while waiting for a Greyhound bus, A.J. says to Amelia, "You couldn't even get to Alice three months of the year."
"It would have been easier for me to commute to Afghanistan," she says. "I like how you bring this up at the bus station, by the way."

"The first time I saw you, I thought you looked like a dandelion."
She pats her hair self-consciously. "My hair's such a pain."
"It's my favorite flower."
"I think it's actually a weed," she says.
"You're rather stunning, you know."
"They used to call me Big Bird in school."
"I'm sorry."

"... It's kind of like if a shrimp cocktail decided to make love to a Bloody Mary."

Some children are left in shoe stores. And some children are left in toy stores. And some children are left in sandwich shops. And your whole life is determined by what store you get left it.

She toddles across the stores, past the books that don't have pictures in them, past the greeting cards. She runs her hand across the magazines, gives the rotating stand with the bookmarks a spin. Good morning, magazines! Good morning, bookmarks! Good morning, books! Good morning, store!

And then, despite the fact that A.J. does not believe in God, he closes his eyes and thanks whomever, the higher power, with all his porcupine heart.

The most annoying thing about it (love) is that once a person gives a shit about one thing, he finds he has to start giving a shit about everything.

A.J. watches Mayan in her pink party dress, and he feels a vaguely familiar, slightly intolerable bubbling inside of him. He wants to laugh out loud or punch a wall. He feels drunk or at least carbonated. Insane. At first, he thinks this is happiness, but then he determines it's love. Fucking love, he thinks. What a bother.