In July 1965, wearing new sandals, blind to life's possibilities, I met the boy who would immediately become my husband, while we were standing at Fifty-fourth and Sixth talking to Moondog. It was early evening and the sky was full of light. So begins Jane Shapiro's first novel, a light-filled story about marriage, duplicity, parents, children, sex. Joanne Green marries young. In their wedding pictures, she and William seem to be "falling into each other's faces, telling the story of our supervening, inordinate love." Where they actually fall is into a suburban house, spacious enough for children and crisis if not, fianally, for this husband.
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