Samantha Hunt’s prose is a pleasure to read, not just because of her aesthetic arrangements and word choice, but also her unexpected path of thought. Hunt finds connections between everything, often in the oddest places. Here, she publishes an unfinished novel her late father began, making editorial comments and using it as a springboard to delve into her own thoughts (mini-essays) on death, the human need for stories, motherhood, alcoholism, queer theorem, and patriarchy. Although I feel that Hunt finished this book feeling as if she knew less than when she started, it is definitely a, “the treasure was the friends you made along the way,” type of read. I’m now very excited to delve into her fiction once I get through some of the other dozens of books now sitting patiently on my shelves.