Chances Are...

Until about 2/3 of the way through, I believed this was two different books trying to live in one pair of pants. Then Russo brought them together in a poignant and unexpected way, given the way female victims are often portrayed in literature (that is, as objects or flashes in someone else's - a man's - life).

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What were the odds these three would end up assigned to the same freshman-dorm suite at Minerva College on the Connecticut coast? Because yank out one thread from the fabric of human destiny, and everything unravels. Though it could also be said that things have a tendency to unravel regardless.

“How about a cup of coffee?”

“I had one on the ferry. ”

“Doesn't mean you can't have another.”

“With me it does, actually.” In fact, it was distinctly possible the near-constant state of gastric distress Lincoln suffered these days was a symptom of an as-yet-undetected ulcer traceable to the 2008 financial meltdown. On the other hand, it might be nothing more than acid reflux, which came with the territory of getting old. His wife, being a woman, wanted clarity on this issue, whereas Lincoln himself, not being one, was content to dwell in uncertainty a while longer.

Chances Are . . .

Straight Man

Empire Falls

Bridge of Sighs

That Old Cape Magic

Straight Man