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niaforrester's review against another edition
1.0
All I can say is that I am clearly not the audience for this book. Still, I don't know to whom I might recommend it with the expectation that they at least might gain something from the experience. Not bad writing at all, but for me it was largely inaccessible, and lacking in emotional resonance.
harvio's review against another edition
3.0
- "A New York woman - married, Jewish, left-handed - carries on three simultaneous affairs. Distant, aloof, tough-talking, she is concerned more with God than with religion, and blithely breaks seven of the Ten Commandments in her search for innocence and a safe place to land...a woman who seems unable to prove or disprove the Talmudic wisdom that if you don't know where you are going, any road will take you there."
- racy, but unsatifying...really doesn't 'go anywhere'
- racy, but unsatifying...really doesn't 'go anywhere'
gglazer's review against another edition
5.0
I loved this, raced through it. She writes the way I do... but only in my head.
It's the story of a woman with multiple lovers, a husband she's keeping them all from... very stream-of-consciousness.
"I stand up, a little wobbly, and go to the bathroom. I'd like to throw up, but I'm not sick to my stomach. It's that other sickness, the ache, the sharp hunger pang, having mushroomed, screames for me to fill the hollow. With one husband, a handful of paramours, three friends, I ought to be full. I don't know where there's an opening. So I sit on the edge of the tub and hug myself, hug myself tightly, squeeze real hard as if this feeling were a pocket of air I could force out, the way water is forced out of a drowning man's lungs." (158)
It's the story of a woman with multiple lovers, a husband she's keeping them all from... very stream-of-consciousness.
"I stand up, a little wobbly, and go to the bathroom. I'd like to throw up, but I'm not sick to my stomach. It's that other sickness, the ache, the sharp hunger pang, having mushroomed, screames for me to fill the hollow. With one husband, a handful of paramours, three friends, I ought to be full. I don't know where there's an opening. So I sit on the edge of the tub and hug myself, hug myself tightly, squeeze real hard as if this feeling were a pocket of air I could force out, the way water is forced out of a drowning man's lungs." (158)
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