Regular price: $21.00
Buy Now with 1 Credit
Buy Now for $21.00
The stories in This Is How You Lose Her, by turns hilarious and devastating, raucous and tender, lay bare the infinite longing and inevitable weaknesses of our all-too-human hearts. They capture the heat of new passion, the recklessness with which we betray what we most treasure, and the torture we go through - "the begging, the crawling over glass, the crying" - to try to mend what we've broken beyond repair. They recall the echoes that intimacy leaves behind, even where we thought we did not care. They teach us the catechism of affections: that the faithlessness of the fathers is visited upon the children; that what we do unto our exes is inevitably done in turn unto us; and that loving thy neighbor as thyself is a commandment more safely honored on platonic than erotic terms. Most of all, these stories remind us that the habit of passion always triumphs over experience, and that "love, when it hits us for real, has a half-life of forever."
Customer ReviewsMost Helpful
By Roy Reiss on 01-01-13
For narration leave the prose for the pros
I loved the story and narration of Oscar Wao and here Diaz's style and figurative language are still touching and beautiful. However, in "This is How You Lose Her" I didn't feel like any of the characters grew or developed from their experiences and it felt frustrating and unsatisfactory in the end.
Then there's the narration. Why not bring back Jonathan Davis from Oscar Wao? Junot Diaz was stilted and stumbled through his own gorgeous writing. He seemed to have approached it like a book reading at a promo event. Listening to that tone and pace for five hours was rough.
If you're a fan of his writing get the book and don't bother with this recording.
10 of 10 people found this review helpful
By Michele Kellett on 12-19-12
Yunior (Diaz's alter ego) is doggiest of dogs: a compulsive womanizer, he nonetheless falls in love with one serious, ambitious woman after another, each of whom eventually leaves him with not a glance back. He suffers greatly -- the last story in the collection features a Job-like catalog of sufferings -- but also energetically, hilariously, floridly. Reading this book reminded me that depression is an intensely active state. Yunior is flailing and drowning in his own misery and chaos, but also in the misery and chaos of his history, that of his fellow Dominicans and of the immigrant experience. And he's also glorying in it, with an acuity of observation and a jazz-like ecstasy of description that is profane, filthy, funny and beautiful. He's a mess, and he's a searching mess. Diaz touches upon many possible sources of Yunior's dysfunction, but is too shrewd and humane to manufacture insight, to tie it up with a bow and present it to Yunior or to the reader. You don't want to do more than touch, lightly, bruises so fresh and deep.
10 of 11 people found this review helpful