you don’t love me yet, by jonathan lethem

Ok. Normally I’m the big religious zealot for Jonathan Lethem. He writes rich and twisty books with unique characters. He is the reigning champion of excellent titles (Motherless Brooklyn. Amnesia Moon. As She Climbed Across the Table.). He writes some of the most genuine sex scenes I’ve ever encountered. He’s funny. He’s erudite. His protagonists have unconventional and uncompromising moral compasses.

And yet…I do not love You Don’t Love Me Yet. Yet. Or ever, probably, since I’ve finished reading it and had several months to sit with it and nothing new has dawned on me. The title thing and the sex scene thing and the appealing writing are still intact (the opening sentence, “They met at the museum to end it.” is a masterpiece), but I didn’t like a single character. That may have been the point, I don’t know; but I didn’t really enjoy myself. Read something else he wrote. Anything, really. Everything else I’ve ever read by him is amazing.

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