All Fours
A Novel
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- 12,99 €
Publisher Description
A NEW YORK TIMES TOP TEN BOOK OF THE YEAR
A WASHINGTON POST NOTABLE BOOK OF THE YEAR
ONE OF NPR’S “BOOKS WE LOVE” 2024
ONE OF TIME MAGAZINE’S “100 MUST-READ BOOKS OF 2024”
NAMED A BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR BY:
THE NEW YORKER
VOGUE
OPRAH DAILY
VULTURE
VOX
The New York Times bestselling author returns with an irreverently sexy, tender, hilarious and surprising novel about a woman upending her life
“A frank novel about a midlife awakening, which is funnier and more boldly human than you ever quite expect . . . nothing short of riveting.” —Vogue
“All Fours has spurred a whisper network of women fantasizing about desire and freedom. . . . It’s the talk of every group text."—The New York Times
“All Fours possessed me. I picked it up and neglected my life until the last page, and then I started begging every woman I know to read it as soon as possible.” —The Cut
“A novel that presses into that tender bruise about the anxiety of aging, of what it means to have a female body that is aging, and wanting the freedom to live a fuller life . . . Deeply funny and achingly true.” —LA Times
“July’s novel is hot and weird and captivating and one of the most entertaining, deranged, and moving depictions of lust and romantic mania I’ve ever read.” —New York Magazine
A semi-famous artist announces her plan to drive cross-country, from LA to NY. Thirty minutes after leaving her husband and child at home, she spontaneously exits the freeway, checks into a nondescript motel, and immerses herself in an entirely different journey.
Miranda July’s second novel confirms the brilliance of her unique approach to fiction. With July’s wry voice, perfect comic timing, unabashed curiosity about human intimacy, and palpable delight in pushing boundaries, All Fours tells the story of one woman’s quest for a new kind of freedom. Part absurd entertainment, part tender reinvention of the sexual, romantic, and domestic life of a forty-five-year-old female artist, All Fours transcends expectation while excavating our beliefs about life lived as a woman. Once again, July hijacks the familiar and turns it into something new and thrillingly, profoundly alive.
APPLE BOOKS REVIEW
Miranda July delivers an unusual, passionate story of an artist choosing a unique way to break the stranglehold of conventional marriage and motherhood. As menopause and a prestigious creative collaboration loom, a nameless female artist plans a cross-country road trip from LA to NYC. But almost immediately after she drives off, she has an encounter with a young man at a gas station and a local restaurant, which she uses as a sign to check in at a drab suburban hotel, hire the young man’s wife to redecorate her room, and embark on an unconventional affair, all while pretending to her husband that she’s still on the road. We’ve all felt trapped in our lives by limits dictated by personal circumstances and society, so it’s easy to be intrigued by the quirky (if somewhat destructive) way July’s protagonist attempts to escape.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
In the hilarious, sexy, and wonderfully weird latest from July (The First Bad Man), a 40-something artist tries to reinvent herself while reckoning with middle age. The unnamed narrator's choice to drive instead of fly from Los Angeles to New York City for a two-week writing retreat stems from a desire to "follow beauty," as her libidinous lesbian friend encourages her to do. In this tenderhearted mode, the narrator barely makes it beyond the city limits before checking into a Monrovia, Calif., motel. The initial draw is a boyish 31-year-old named Davey, whom she first encounters at a gas station where he squeegees her windshield. She also becomes strangely attached to her room, and hires Davey's decorator wife, Claire, to sink thousands of dollars into a luxe rehab job. While Claire works, the narrator makes regular calls to her husband, Harris, telling him about various fictitious stops on her abandoned itinerary. After the two weeks are up, the narrator returns home, although the Monrovia motel room turns out to play a central role in her attempt to find fulfilment as she faces menopause and mortality. July lightens those weighty themes with a steady supply of bizarre erotic interludes and offbeat one-liners ("False modesty is one of those things that's hard to go easy on, like squirting whipped cream from a can," the narrator acknowledges, after telling a stranger she's "kind of a public figure"). This is a revelation.