I am heartbroken that this book is no longer in print. A few years ago, when I was flat broke, I found myself so engrossed by it that I read it while sitting on the floor of a bookstore because I couldn't afford to buy it, not just once but twice. Now that I can afford it it's unavailable. Estep is strange, original, and gruesomely funny; this (apparently) autobiographical first novel is unlike anything else I've ever read, a mixture of high culture, punk rock, drugs, sex, romance, and idealism. Throughout Estep chronicles her own and others' losses and dreams with spare, deadpan sentences. These events almost seem to speak for themselves, but of course it is a mark of her artfulness that we have the impression that the story tells itself.