This book genuinely reads like television and, as someone trying to pry themselves out of a reading slump, this was exactly what the doctor ordered. The writing was very easy to follow, very easy to see in my mind’s eyes. Coco Melores crafts characters that seamlessly move between being understated to being blown-up caricatures of the archetypes that you would find if you ever caught yourself partying with New York City’s creative elites. 

I actually really enjoyed how Melores used Cleo and Frank’s whirlwind relationship to create a ripple effect on all the people in their lives; I enjoy ensemble casts with lives that brush up against one another, that overlap, for better or for worse.

Still, I couldn’t help but want more of Cleo and Frank. Frank, in particular. His ending is far too neat and convenient for me. We don’t see him go through the thick of his recovery, instead we just hear about it from Eleanor (a character I never felt any real interest for… she’s very “not like other girls” and that was a yawn fest when put up against all the other points of view). He’s a drunk, has been a drunk for decades and then suddenly he’s in AA meetings, only ordering sparkling water and he’s in love… again? Sure thing, man. That makes rating this book a little difficult for me because the ensemble cast is what I had fun with all while feeling like the changing perspectives took away from the titular characters. You can’t give us so much detail about the characters’ mess but not let us see the extensive work they need to put in in order to clean it all up.