من تصميم Miranda July
“A frank novel about a midlife awakening, which is funnier and more boldly human than you ever quite expect….the bravery of All Fours is nothing short of riveting.” —Vogue
“A novel that presses into that tender bruise about the anxiety of aging, of what it means to have a female body that is aging, and wanting the freedom to live a fuller life…Deeply funny and achingly true.” —LA Times
“All Fours possessed me. I picked it up and neglected my life until the last page, and then I started begging every woman I know to read it as soon as possible.” —The Cut
“July’s novel is hot and weird and captivating and one of the most entertaining, deranged, and moving depictions of lust and romantic mania I’ve ever read.” —New York Magazine
A semi-famous artist announces her plan to drive cross-country, from LA to NY. Thirty minutes after leaving her husband and child at home, she spontaneously exits the freeway, checks into a nondescript motel, and immerses herself in an entirely different journey.
Miranda July’s second novel confirms the brilliance of her unique approach to fiction. With July’s wry voice, perfect comic timing, unabashed curiosity about human intimacy, and palpable delight in pushing boundaries, All Fours tells the story of one woman’s quest for a new kind of freedom. Part absurd entertainment, part tender reinvention of the sexual, romantic, and domestic life of a forty-five-year-old female artist, All Fours transcends expectation while excavating our beliefs about life lived as a woman. Once again, July hijacks the familiar and turns it into something new and thrillingly, profoundly alive.
“A frank novel about a midlife awakening, which is funnier and more boldly human than you ever quite expect….the bravery of All Fours is nothing short of riveting.” —Vogue
“A novel that presses into that tender bruise about the anxiety of aging, of what it means to have a female body that is aging, and wanting the freedom to live a fuller life…Deeply funny and achingly true.” —LA Times
“All Fours possessed me. I picked it up and neglected my life until the last page, and then I started begging every woman I know to read it as soon as possible.” —The Cut
“July’s novel is hot and weird and captivating and one of the most entertaining, deranged, and moving depictions of lust and romantic mania I’ve ever read.” —New York Magazine
A semi-famous artist announces her plan to drive cross-country, from LA to NY. Thirty minutes after leaving her husband and child at home, she spontaneously exits the freeway, checks into a nondescript motel, and immerses herself in an entirely different journey.
Miranda July’s second novel confirms the brilliance of her unique approach to fiction. With July’s wry voice, perfect comic timing, unabashed curiosity about human intimacy, and palpable delight in pushing boundaries, All Fours tells the story of one woman’s quest for a new kind of freedom. Part absurd entertainment, part tender reinvention of the sexual, romantic, and domestic life of a forty-five-year-old female artist, All Fours transcends expectation while excavating our beliefs about life lived as a woman. Once again, July hijacks the familiar and turns it into something new and thrillingly, profoundly alive.
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Starred review from February 12, 2024
In the hilarious, sexy, and wonderfully weird latest from July (The First Bad Man), a 40-something artist tries to reinvent herself while reckoning with middle age. The unnamed narrator’s choice to drive instead of fly from Los Angeles to New York City for a two-week writing retreat stems from a desire to “follow beauty,” as her libidinous lesbian friend encourages her to do. In this tenderhearted mode, the narrator barely makes it beyond the city limits before checking into a Monrovia, Calif., motel. The initial draw is a boyish 31-year-old named Davey, whom she first encounters at a gas station where he squeegees her windshield. She also becomes strangely attached to her room, and hires Davey’s decorator wife, Claire, to sink thousands of dollars into a luxe rehab job. While Claire works, the narrator makes regular calls to her husband, Harris, telling him about various fictitious stops on her abandoned itinerary. After the two weeks are up, the narrator returns home, although the Monrovia motel room turns out to play a central role in her attempt to find fulfilment as she faces menopause and mortality. July lightens those weighty themes with a steady supply of bizarre erotic interludes and offbeat one-liners (“False modesty is one of those things that’s hard to go easy on, like squirting whipped cream from a can,” the narrator acknowledges, after telling a stranger she’s “kind of a public figure”). This is a revelation. Agent: Sarah Chalfant, Wylie Agency.
