i have so many thoughts about this book. i went through a breakup this year so have been drawn to books about heartache, but i found myself thinking much more about the person i thought i loved when i was 18. this feels like the book i would’ve written then. meaning: it’s ridiculous and often infuriating, but also relatable and demands my compassion as much as my 18-year-old self does. i’m very interested by the idea of women exposing their worst, most shameful, grotesque selves in writing— i think that’s what abraham’s doing but it’s hard to tell if she’s in on it. when she explains that this person is her first love, it all makes sense and falls into perspective. she writes about her feelings and the way she continues to express them to this person in a way that makes me as a reader feel uncomfortable and disturbed— obviously pushing boundaries and occupying a solipsistic, righteous victimhood. but, she’s letting us see it. she’s publishing it. and i think about all the times i have longed to be that unabashed in my righteousness, in my demand to be loved and to be met in the middle. it’s unclear if she actually believes she is in the right in all of these circumstances or if she is incapable of summoning the perspective to see how her actions may be harmful and selfish, but that blurring of boundaries is something i find artistically interesting.