A rollicking, free-associative and almost claustrophobically insiderish novel most honest in its naked craving for validation and a place in an increasingly unstable canon.
Pittard’s special contribution is her ability to braid strands of pathos and comedy ... Tilts another few degrees away from reality’s plumb line ... Is Pittard working through her own private catastrophes in this novel? Of course — but so is every other novelist. She’s just letting us see the splintered timbers of her experience clearly enough to recognize our own.
The story, such as it is, resolves with a tidy ending in which Hana expresses anger about the sorry state of life and upends her routine in several conventional and obvious ways. Assorted bits and pieces of the plot are wrapped up in pretty paper with pretty bows. Others are not ... It’s never quite clear why we should care about the self-absorbed Hana or her inconsequential problems.
Hana...relishes flouting the 'rules' of creative writing here ... Hana can be a frustrating narrator, but the metafictional angle renders her more wily than precious. The dialogue and scenes sparkle, and there are delightful characters ... Pluck any line and it's sure to be memorable ... This gleefully odd book is perfect for Miranda July and Patricia Lockwood fans.
The author’s ear for dialogue and her sense of absurdity carry the novel. While readers may find her meta-commentary about autofiction itself distracting...Pittard asks readers to consider the characters they are and who they love.
A wild romp of a novel that might have been more successful if the writer weren’t still out for revenge ... Pittard’s prose hums with wit and verve, paragraphs and pages ricocheting from one sharp or devastating or shocking observation to the next. Ultimately, though, the novel never quite transcends its backstory or makes meaning of its protagonist’s ennui, though Hana’s relationship with her depressed father is poignant.
