None of This Is True: A Novel

life shows you the way when you forget to make one. So, you know, let’s wait and see.” She shrugs and heads back into the kitchen, scoops up the dog, and takes him to her room, where she waits until she hears the sound of Nathan slamming the front door behind him a few minutes later.

life shows you the way when you forget to make one. So, you know, let’s wait and see.” She shrugs and heads back into the kitchen, scoops up the dog, and takes him to her room, where she waits until she hears the sound of Nathan slamming the front door behind him a few minutes later.

And I feel like maybe I have no idea. That I’ve got to forty-five years of age and I really don’t know. And people talk about it all the time like it’s, you know, something real, something you can touch—like when we talk about love, we’re all talking about the same thing. But we’re not, are we? It isn’t a real thing. It isn’t anything. And sometime

mottled glass mirror

She draws in her breath: a husband who groomed her as a fourteen-year-old child; a narcissistic mother; two problematic children; and brushes with social services. But the compelling things feel precious somehow, half-formed and delicate, not yet ready for the judgment of her husband.

mottled glass mirror

She draws in her breath: a husband who groomed her as a fourteen-year-old child; a narcissistic mother; two problematic children; and brushes with social services. But the compelling things feel precious somehow, half-formed and delicate, not yet ready for the judgment of her husband.

And there it is, the point which it all boils down to eventually. The point where there are no words, no theories, no explanations for behaviors that baffle and infuriate and hurt. Just that. Men.

She looks like a half-finished painting, she observes, waiting for the artist to come back and add the detail.

still has the original curved bow windows at the front and a huge sash window at