Please, God, Send Me Something To Adore.

She Is Overtaken By A Sensation Of Unbeing. There Is No Other Word For It.

That Summer When She Was Eighteen, It Seemed Anything Could Happen, Anything At All.

People Are More Than You Think They Are. And They're Less, As Well. The Trick Lies In Negotiating Your Way Between The Two.

He Insists On A Version Of You That Is Funnier, Stranger, More Eccentric And Prfound Thatn You Suspect Yourself To Be--capable Of Doing More Good And More Harm In The World Than You've Ever Imagined--it Is All But Impossible Not To Believe, At Least In His Presence And A While After You've Left Him, That He Alone Sees Through Your Essence, Weighs Your True Qualities . . . And Appreciates You More Fully Than Anyone Else Ever Has.

Jenny Offill's Dept. Of Speculation Resembles No Book I've Read Before. If I Tell You That It's Funny, And Moving, And True; That It's As Compact And Mysterious As A Neutron; That It Tells A Profound Story Of Love And Parenthood While Invoking (among Others) Keats, Kafka, Einstein, Russian Cosmonauts, And Advice For The Housewife Of 1896, Will You Please Simply Believe Me, And Read It?