Less (Arthur Less, #1)

by Andrew Sean Greer

Finley fingers a book on the bookcase. “I’m not the only one who feels this way. It’s been a topic of discussion.” “But…but…but it’s Odysseus,” Less says. “Returning to Penelope. That’s just how the story goes.” “Don’t forget where you come from, Arthur.” “Camden, Delaware.” Finley touches Less’s arm, and it feels like an electric shock. “You write what you are compelled to. As we all do.” “Am I being gay boycotted?” “I saw you stand there, and I had to take this opportunity to let you know, because no one else has been kind enough.” He smiles and repeats: “Kind enough to say something to you, as I have now.” And Less feels it swelling up within him, the phrase he does not want to say and yet, somehow, by the cruel checkmate logic of conversation, is compelled to say: “Thank you.” Finley removes the book from the bookshelf and exits into the crowd as he opens it to the dedication page. Perhaps it is dedicated to him. A ceramic chandelier of blue cherubs hangs above them all and casts more shadows than light. Less stands below it, experiencing that Wonderland sensation of having been shrunk, by Finley Dwyer, into a tiny version of himself; he could pass through the smallest door now, but into what garden? The Garden of Bad Gays. Who knew there was such a thing? Here, all this time, Less thought he was merely a bad writer. A bad lover, a bad friend,