and pages.) of her inner monologue in a totally real and twisted way but it never feels overly sentimental or frustrating to read or anything. Imogen has this amazing ability to lay bare what’s driving Maria totally bonkers and give pages (and pages. So here we go: The book is funny, it reads super fast, the main character Maria is insanely loveable and hilarious even as she’s self-destructive and is kind of a jerk to her friends and generally just does a lot of stupid dumb shit. There’s lots of reasons the book is fucking great so maybe I’ll say a lot of those things and then get to what’s been bugging me. I have a Word doc with like a page of notes of what I wanted to say about it, and a pitch to a magazine about it that didn’t go anywhere, but mostly when I’ve tried to write about it I’ve ended up doing something else. 3 would’ve been) then I read it again a little more slowly and thoughtfully in January. I got an advance copy early in November from Topside (which only felt slightly cooler than how I imagine getting an early copy of Super Mario Bros. The two days before which I spent most of reading the book in bed, lots of it drinking whiskey and/or crying and/or grinning and giggling like a dumbass. Pretty much the day after I finished reading Imogen Binnie’s Nevada, I decided I had to write about it. (Note: I tried to write this without spoiling stuff and completely failed, so, uh, this has spoilers?)
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