This is the sort of book that 2014 tumblr me would’ve eaten up and licked the remnants of. It’s lyrical, it’s vulnerable, it’s quirky. However, at this stage in my life? The characters are generic, the story is unfulfilling, and little is learned/gained/shown. I don’t mean to discount the painful journey of infidelity in marriage, but it feels like an uninteresting rehashing of a million stories already told. The writing style is erratic and incredibly stream-of-consciousness, which I did enjoy. It feels a little bit like going through someone’s notes app. Also, this is a personal thing, but not every piece of media needs to treat New York like it’s the paragon of humanity and culture. I’m tired. This was on a Cool Girl book list with some other books I like, but if this is the requirement I think I’ll pass.