Love. Love. Love.
Here they come—the loved and loving damned among us. They stagger, these star-crossed and starry-eyed valentinos, through most of the 11 stories in Parker’s fifth book, a tutorial in whole new ways to hate and love your heart.
Are you in this book? You might be the loser who blackmails pills and syringes from your girl’s old high school classmate—a classmate with a sorry secret. You could be the heartbroken chick-gone-bonkers, watching snow settle over a house where love used to live. You might even be the sad sack who pours out your sob story to a cop with a restraining order in front of your old flame’s new love nest.
I expect female readers will rightly swoon over Parker’s sensitive, Jackson-Brownian, lovelorn style, this shimmering through dreamy, artful pages of perfection.
I’m a guy, though. So I’m just flat jealous. Love stinks. Even at its best.