The Lover's Dictionary book. Read reviews from the world's largest community for readers. basis, ruthenpress.info has to be a moment at the beginning when . download The Lover's Dictionary: A Novel on ruthenpress.info ✓ FREE SHIPPING on qualified orders. Author interviews, book reviews, editors' picks, and more. The Lover's Dictionary is a novel by the American author David Levithan. It is his first The idea for the book was inspired by a Valentine's Day tradition in which the author writes a story for a group of family members and friends.
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The Lover's Dictionary by David Levithan, , available at Book Depository with free delivery worldwide. In a world where brevity is celebrated on Twitter and gimmicky books dominate the best-seller list, David Levithan's “The Lover's Dictionary”. This cute novel by YA author Levithan consists of a series of words and their definitions, each evoking a phase or theme about a fledgling.
Trying to write about love is ultimately like trying to have a dictionary represent life.
No matter how many words there are, there will never be enough. We think of them as hiding in the hills — rebels, ransackers, rogue revolutionaries.
But really, aren't they just guilty of infidelity? I was so nervous to meet Kathryn.
You'd made it clear she was the only friend whose opinion you really cared about, so I spent more time getting dressed for her than I ever had for you. We met at that sushi place on Seventh Avenue and I awkwardly shook her hand, then told her I'd heard so much about her, which came off like me trying to legitimize your friendship, when I was the one who needed to get the stamp of approval.
I was on safer ground once we started talking about books, and she seemed impressed that I actually read them. She remarked on the steadiness of my job, the steadiness of my family.
I wasn't sure I wanted to be steady, but she saw my unease and assured me it was a good thing, not usually your type. We found out we'd gone to summer camp within ten minutes of each other, and that sealed it. You were lost in our tales of the Berkshires and the long, unappreciative stretches we'd spent on the Tanglewood lawn.
At the end of the dinner, I got a hug, not a handshake. Preferably a beer. There's plenty of reflection, not just on the relationship but on the attempt to distill and describe such complex feeling, including this: No matter how many words there are, there will never be enough. We stopped counting our relationship in dates first date, second date, fifth date, seventh and started counting it in months.
That might have been the first true commitment, this shift in terminology. We never talked about it, but we were at a party and someone asked how long we'd been together, and when you said, "A month and a half," I knew we had gotten there.
I have summer Fridays off; you don't. So what better reason for me to take you to lunch and then keep you at lunch for the whole afternoon?
Reserving these afternoons to do all the city things we never get around to doing — wandering through MoMA, stopping in at the Hayden Planetarium, hopping onto the Staten Island Ferry and riding back and forth, back and forth, watching all the people as they unknowingly parade for us.
You notice clothes more than I do, so it's a pleasure to hear your running commentary, to construct lives out of worn handbags or shirts opened one button too low.
Had we tried to plan these excursions, they never would have worked. There has to be that feeling of escape. You left your email open on my computer.
I couldn't help it — I didn't open any of them, but I did look at who they were from, and was relieved. The doubts. You had to save me from my constant doubts. That deep-seeded feeling that I wasn't good enough for anything — I was a fake at my job, I wasn't your equal, my friends would forget me if I moved away for a month.
It wasn't as easy as hearing voices — nobody was telling me this. It was just something I knew. Everyone else was playing along, but I was sure that one day they would all stop. That first night, you took your finger and pointed to the top of my head, then traced a line between my eyes, down my nose, over my lips, down my neck, to the center of my chest. It was so surprising, I knew I would never mimic it. That one gesture would be yours forever.
These words will ultimately end up being the barest of reflections, devoid of the sensations words cannot convey. Trying to write about love is ultimately like trying to have a dictionary represent life.
Good that right after I got married, all the toothpaste manufacturers changed to snap cap the cap does not need to part with the tube. So, I am surprised that Leviathan still used this analogy in this book. Come on, man, think of better and updated stuff to put in your book!
But this is a book supposed to be for people who are in love or in love with love. So, who am I to dislike those people? Who am I to dislike love? The day reminds us the importance of love and so I rate this book with 2 stars. Meaning, this book is okay.