I read Kate Bolick’s book Spinster today. My initial, jerky instinct was to write a one sentence review: “In Spinster, Kate Bolick spends 300 pages on what she claims to not be hung up about.” But that’s rude, although I do think that tension animates the book. Bolick’s desire, it seems to me, is to scratch an itch … Continue reading Kate Bolick’s Spinster