was I - am I? - really like this?

One down.

I just finished reading Split: A Memoir of Divorce, by Suzanne Finnamore. She's a great writer (I LOVED Otherwise Engaged). This book had moments of lyricism so poignant and clear, they were almost painful - and I agreed with them so wholly, it was as if I'd felt exactly what she described, just today. The remainder of the 255 pages, though, were filled with an obtuse conglomeration of irritating name dropping (foodie stuff more than clothes-shoes-&-purses, but enough of that, too) and my new least-favorite literary affectation: referencing main characters by an initial. (The two have a child together; it would be fine to simply state, at the outset, "for our child's privacy, his and his father's names have been obscured" and to refer to them by pseudonyms. That would be much less irritating, in print, than to see other characters called "Bunny" [her mother], "the Betty Lady" [a transvestite RV driver], and "Thing Woman" [her ex-husband's new girlfriend] and the son and ex given only initials.)

I did not love Split. I really, really liked a few parts of it. That's the best I can say.