I love Sloane Crosley. Her stories mimic my own life. Her books are collections of personal essays so my attention deprived self can get through them. And she also makes me miss New York like I never thought I would.
There are 3 reasons this book resonated so much with me.
The first is that Sloane told stories about being abroad, both alone and with friends. Last year I went to Turkey for a week by myself, and everyone told me I was crazy. My mother thought I was going to be kidnapped and raped. My friends were supportive but incredulous, often saying things like “You’re my hero, I could never do that.” And my roommates mother was convinced that it meant I was a terrorist.
Now, Sloane did not go to Turkey, she went to France, so maybe it is a little different, but I liked hearing about the faux pas she had and that travel is most entertaining when looking back on it.
The second is that Sloane devotes an entire chapter/essay to describing how out of place she feels when in the middle of nowhere Alaska. I, too, am a city girl through and through. Transplant a city girl into the Alaskan wilderness and there is no chance you won’t have a good story.
The third and final reason this book will be a favorite forever, is that the last chapter almost perfectly explained how I felt during my last romantic ending. I know that sounds very mushy and hormone driven, but for some reason it makes me feel better to know someone else has experienced what I did. And had pretty much the same reactions.
Rating: 4.2/5 stars