Several years and a few blogs ago, I wrote a rambly ranty post about Lunch in Brooklyn, a book I’d been waiting to read since I was 12.

It was excerpted in Sassy over the course of three issues. It was episodic — with little chapterettes, usually just a couple of paragraphs long — and funny titles, like “Hail Mary, Full of Grace, Get This Kid a Newborn Face.” I was the same age as the characters and like the main character, Kate, I was drifting away from my friends and struggling in school (we got actual grades, unlike the kids in the Quaker school Kate attended) and nursed a series of private, tempestuous crushes, like Kate’s on Harry, except because it was a book, it was reciprocal and it was delicious.

Then Sassy died and I went to high school and figured eventually, Lunch in Brooklyn would turn up on the shelves. But it didn’t. I Googled it and its author, Rebecca Moore, periodically, to no effect. Then I wrote about it. The blog post attracted a few comments to the effect of, “Hey, I have been wanting to read that forever, too!” and Marjorie Ingall saying, “People write me asking about Rebecca Moore all the time, and I wish I knew.”

And then Rebecca Googled herself and found me, and the rest of the story is more or less here. I guess if there’s a moral in this, it’s that if someone has made something that meant something to you, for the love of God, say so. Also, that the Internet is awesome.

The second moral, obviously, is that you should buy the book, because you can now. The loopy, episodic rhythm doesn’t quite play out the same in long form — there’s less dramatic tension and more a series of funny, poignant vignettes. The characters fall in and out of step with each other over the course of a year; it’s maybe more like a deeply engrossing and well-written TV show than a movie with one clear dramatic arc.

Read it.

I’ll leave you with an excerpt:

Harry: he is like a chute I could suddenly fall down.Some days I think I might love him. His dark brown hair swings when he walks. Coming down the hall, his eyes go down, left or right. He moves like he’s playing basketball, looking for a space to break out.

“Lately, in Mr. Carmen’s class, I am scared to read Harry my assignments. What if I don’t meet some standard he’s got? Harry and I have always implied to each other that we are both outsiders, only all of a sudden I am feeling like I am the wrong

kind of outcast. With him, it’s like he made a choice to be excluded, but with me, I never know where to be. I could tell him my friends are not really my friends. My friends don’t even know me. But he might say, So why do you hang out with them?”
About these ads