This collection of stories about love isn’t my favorite of Levithan’s books—I think his particular explorations of emotion and connection work best for me when they’re novel-length. But because I already like his work, I’m glad I read this book, which does have its share of excellent moments. The eighteen stories collected here (most of which are prose but some of which are free verse) center, mostly, around young love (or young lust, or young heartbreak), both straight and queer. Levithan’s narrators tend to be introspective, articulate, and self-aware, which I guess could be annoying, but which I actually really like: they’re thoughtful and observant in a way that feels real to me, or close enough to real.
I like that this book isn’t all about first meetings and first dates, though those do feature in some of these stories. But there are also prom nights and break-ups and friendships and almost-relationships that don’t go anywhere and almost-relationships that might. There are stories that are about family dynamics almost as much as they are about romantic relationships, including a few coming-out stories. There are stories about bravery and hope as much as about love.
My two favorite stories in the book both ended being about boys dating boys and dealing with family dynamics: these stories are about love but also about bravery and growing up and speaking up, figuring things out, and that broader reach is something I think Levithan does well. One of my favorites is “Alumni Interview,” which starts like this: “It is never easy to have a college interview with your closeted boyfriend’s father” (51). You can probably guess how that ones goes. My other favorite is “Princes,” which I love for its New York-ness (the block of Broadway between Prince and Spring where Scholastic is, the Housing Works bookstore/café around the block on Crosby) but also for its dancer protagonist and his narrative voice, for passages like this:
When you’re a boy dancer, your progression through the Nutcracker is like this: First you’re a mouse, then you’re a Spaniard, then you’re a prince. I could feel my body changing that way, from something cute and playful to something strange and foreign, then something approaching beauty. You start off wanting to be a snowflake, to be a character. But then you realize you can be the movement itself. (131)
And this:
Practice was different now. He would touch me, guide me, manipulate me into the right contours, and the shape of his vision. I was used to this, but not in this way. This was not the Nutcracker. This was personal. I was prince now of a kingdom that was still being defined. (137)
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