I was pretty tempted to dismiss Adelle Waldman’s The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P. as one of those annoying, pointless books steeped in its own Brooklynness and thus published because if there’s anything Brooklyn writers like to read and heap with effusive praise, it’s a book about Brooklyn. Barf.

As a citizen of the Internet and an avid-reader, I’ve made a conscious choice to actively avoid the whole Brooklyn-literati thing. It’s entirely too twee and self-congratulatory for my midwest sensibilities. Also, I have yet to be wholly impressed by anything it has produced. Read more.