From his "Introduction to the Introduction" to the closing painful laugh, this book is as close to a confessional experience from a Jew as I can imagine reading. Barry doesn't shy away from writing explicit, raw (with both exotic, erotic experiences and gentle, emotionally wrecking ones), and possibly reputation damaging essays. Some of his stories caused me to cringe with the sordidness of it, while most made me envious of the experience. The best thing, though, about the book is the lyricism of his writing. Regardless of whether he's describing a woman whose altered breasts have morphed into one giant blob in the middle of her chest, to the exquisite pain of the loss of a lover, a friend, a mother, the writing itself never fails to place you in the moment. So there. It's a hell of a ride, but one you won't forget.
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