I was intrigued to read this quasi-autobiographic novel of the New York lesbian scene during the rise of AIDS as the author moved through the Detroit suburbs a decade or two before me. The contoured deliver of low punctuation and dialogue in paragraphs reminded me of the crisp insider revelations of Hubert Selby Jr..
The observer/subject is marked with capitalized pronouns and ferociously work through one-night stands and decaying relationships to ultimately find peace in motorcycle road trips. This message sort of recalls to me the "tend your own garden" moral of Candide.
Oh my fucking god. This book gave me everything I love—queerness, sex, love, drugs, and internal monologues. The backdrop of the queer East Village before gentrification was so hot and I felt like I was running around with her. The only other book I've read that's so beautifully captured lesbian culture pre-2000s is Stone Butch Blues (which I still have to finish, yikes!). The way the voice switches between real life narration, and what seem to be journal entries is so fluid and smooth. Reading her writing is like reading a juicy diary (very juicy). Truly a page turner and highly recommend to the next queer.