Usually when an author writes a coming of age story about New York, I feel left out, excluded, purposely kept at a distance by the casual mention of various streets, restaurants, and villages. It's simply a landscape I do not know. Also, a lot of people who write about living in New York are kind of snooty. But not Emily Gould!
I truly loved this collection of essays. Partly because I'm young and confused, and Gould sets up her essays so they're a rocket through her college life and twenties. I don't go to as many parties, and I certainly don't um..."imbibe"...the way she does, but what makes her stories interesting, relatable, and touching is not partying or drinking/smoking, a memoir of which I see walking down the street every weekend called, "I'm A Stupid College Dude."
The way Gould describes her inner confusion, her relationships, and her personal brand of turmoil is honest and jagged and familiar. She manages to identify the little light in ourselves that is completely unique, and thus universal. I sat on a park bench Saturday night reading for hours until I finished her book. And when I did, I was sad. I felt like I had spent a couple hours talking to a friend, and that friend was getting up off the bench and calling it a night.
I wonder what an older reader would think. The writing style is really original and punchy without being some New Agey assault on the English language. I think it's a good read even if your college days are far behind you. Or your just-out-of-college-without-a-job-days. Or your long-term-boyfriend-gone-after-six-years-days. Or "whatever."
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