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This a completely self-indulgent, pretentious memoir that should have been self-published and shared with the author's friends instead of being unleashed on an unsuspecting public. Here's the entire story: Nancy Balbirer reconnects with her friend Howie after 30+ years and they realize they are soulmates. It takes 200 pages for this small amount of plot to play out because Balbirer has to discuss the situation in overwrought prose with all of her fabulous friends (including of course her gay bestie, and her colorful Latina hairdresser), exchange long rom-com-like emails with the object of her affection (who, we are never allowed to forget, is the creator of the hit Netflix show Grace and Frankie), and in general ruminate about her life as a rich, divorced woman whose friends and neighbors are all completely enamored with her. The amount of privilege in these pages is enough to choke a horse.
There certainly is something to be said about finding romance after pretty much giving up on the idea of true love, but the whole book could have been reduced to a “Vows” column in the New York Times. In fact, it was.
