I've re-read this book over the years. It was the second of Elliot Perlman's books that I read, and I always appreciated how each character was in their own way so different, even though all the short stories were similar. Each story, except for the novella-length one at the end, was in some way about a failed or failing relationship. Elliot Perlman writes beautiful sentences (sentences are important to me) and beautiful descriptions (descriptions are important to me).
I recently gave the book to a used-bookshop.
I was so fucking tired of everyone and their "stories" except for the novella-length one at the end.
Story after story was of some whiny fucker wailing over a failed relationship, that unprotected heterosexual sex can lead to pregnancy, about how his feelings for her were not mutual, about how when someone is using you to cheat on their spouse, they owe you -nothing- (these men always thought sex forever bonded a woman to them, and uh, NO), and THE UTTER INABILITY OF ANYONE, EVER, TO GET A DIVORCE IN ANY OF THESE GODDAMN STORIES. UGH.
MOVE ON, MEN.
AND THAT IS -ME- SAYING THIS.
I adored these short stories for years because of how well the author wrote to emotions, the complication of emotions people can have towards one another, and decisions they make around them.
Then one day I realized, ew.

This book is still a skillful example of Elliot Perlman's talent as an author. The fact that I hated nearly every story in this book by the time I was twenty-six just says I had more life experience.
The novella at the end sometimes made me cry. It was about family, and how bonds are stretched during certain circumstances, and how everyone reacts differently. The last two sentences will always haunt me: "The phone rang. It was louder than usual."
I would be happy to re-read -this- story and this story alone, but it is part of a collection of stories in a book I otherwise have come to a point that no, it needed to go.
I do not recommend this short story collection to people. In fact, I do not think I ever have. From the first read, I knew it was not for everyone, and in fact, it was probably only for Elliot Perlman fans. I will, however, routinely mention this short story collection as a testament to his skill as a writer. So it does have a place, with me: to prop up his status when I mention his works to other people. I am glad I read the collection, and I am glad it gave me so much over the years. I am still glad, that this year, I did away with it. ( )

Love this writers style, his Australian themes, his insights into the character. THis is the reason I read fiction. This book is a collection of short stories ranging 10-50 pages in length. The title story is a very poignant account of a marriage disintegrating ... my favourite though. ( )

Was expecting to love it as much as Seven Types of Ambiguity. Was wrong. But there were a couple I did like. ( )

I love Elliot Perlman. The thing about an anthology is that it's very difficult to write a cohesive review of the entire text without just talking about each individual story. I was surprised that the last story took up approximately half of the book; of course, it was an excellent story. All of the selections contained that signature Perlman style I've come to know and love, and for that I'm grateful.

Perlman likes to address himself to you and because I don't read much from this perspective, it's off-putting. Many of the stories here address me the reader as if I were someone else, leaving me scant clues as to who and what my relationship is to the narrator. While intriguing, it leaves me too distanced from the story. He is talented though and I find his writing to have depth and resonance; he makes me think about things differently, which may be the positive aspect of his odd framing. My favorite one would have to be the final; A Tale in Two Cities. ( )