By Emily Witt.
I enjoyed this book, though it stopped short of what I had hoped. It didn’t feel quite personal enough. Though I was not looking for a memoir, I was looking for something that would resonate experientially and Witt sometimes felt too detached to pull me into her experience of casual sex in her thirties, the sight of marriage and children recessing away into the distance. Maybe when I say this it comes off as depressing: when she says it it comes off as depressing, though I don’t think it need be. (What do I know?) I wanted her to be more happy but generally I wanted her to be more close. Intimate.
Still, I enjoyed the retrospective on Free Love and her experiments with porn and internet sex and live shows. I think we need more books like this.