Blargh. A book about aging infused with the usual: literary reminisces, personal story, family life. Somehow this missed the mark, despite it looking quite appetizing. She’s a good writer, but got on my nerves a bit. Ultimately the only thing I got out of this is a handful of book recommendations (du Beauvoir’s The Coming of Age, Wharton’s Twilight Sleep, Colette’s Break of Day). I think mostly I rejected this because it is far from my own experience, she blathering on about her closeness to her daughter, her missing her father after his death.