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320 pages, Hardcover
First published October 27, 2020
It's like we're in some fucked-up rom-com, I said. It's like we're both fucked up rom-com villains.These are two flawed men shaped by many things but most especially their families. The story is told entirely in reported speech. There are no quotation marks to showcase dialogs. The vignettes are brief and don't give you any chance to percolate before you're bombarded with the next memory, fight, moment, feeling.
You’re taking up space in another human’s brain, she said. You’re a foreign entity. A parasite. That’s a lot by itself.On living...
Wait until you’re our age, she said. See who’s still around.
what if it doesn’t work out? I asked. What if you don’t know? Nobody ever knows if it’ll work, said Ximena. That’s why you do this shit. To find out.On loving... Loving your person over many years
we take our memories wherever we go, and what’s left are the ones that stick around, and that’s how we make a life.
loving a person means letting them change when they need to. And letting them go when they need to. And that doesn’t make them any less of a home. Just maybe not one for you. Or only for a season or two. But that doesn’t diminish the love. It just changes forms.The writing is lyrical and beautiful. Few words are chosen but they pack a punch. This is the kind of book that stays with you. That makes you turn it over again and again asking yourself if you missed something. It also assumes its reader is really smart. Unfortunately for it, my attention deficiency isn't designed to inhale a book continuously until an unspoken interlude. I had to constantly reread chapters because I had missed something or had overlooked something (I had). The book is also a bit interactive, a fictional memoir that also has photographic evidence of where our characters are.
But this is life too, said the guy, smiling.
Yeah. It’s different. But it’s still happening.
“It's like we're in some fucked-up rom-com, I said. It's like we're both fucked-up rom-com villains.”
I still hadn’t learned that there is a finite number of people who will ever be interested in you.
The block’s quiet, for once, and the mosquitoes are out, and the woman swats her elbows from time to time, wiping her mouth with the crook of her arm.