GHOST LOVER

Nine stories take us into the world of people cooler and more attractive than we are.

Trendy bars, awards shows, political fundraisers, the right type of butter (Kerrygold), wedding table centerpiece (wildflowers in McCann's oatmeal tins), even the better side of the street (“the fine side of Bleecker, with the awnings and dachshunds”)—all the aspirational pleasures you could ever want are on offer in Taddeo's first story collection following her big nonfiction debut (Three Women, 2019) and a novel (Animal, 2021). People magazine may offer pictures of movie stars, but here we actually get to experience sex with one. In “Beautiful People,” a downtrodden prop master on a big movie set ends up, to her amazement, with the hottest man alive in her apartment, where he makes her veal osso buco and takes her to bed. “The first five hundred times it went in, it felt like the first time. There was no drug on earth, Jane knew, no man on earth, like this.” The dominant focus of the stories, however, is less relationships between men and women than the triangulation (or even quadrilateralization) of women around men. “American Girl” is about three women eyeing each other around the hot young senatorial candidate they all adore; “Maid Marian” is about the jealousy of an ex for her older lover’s wife. That former story contains a sentence that seems to crystallize the mood: “Noni was holding court with a few lesser-thans, in a corner with some Fernet and twinge.” Always the women are comparing bodies: “Fern was skinnier than Liv, but Liv was blond and tall and her breasts were enormous and thrillingly spaced.” “Back then, I think I had the better body. My butt and legs were more exciting.” This aggressively shallow approach is no accident—look what’s coming: “We would turn twenty-four and twenty-six and thirty. We would be leaving an acquaintance’s funeral—heroin, Cape Cod—and the dead boy’s father would turn to look at us, our rears. We've still got it, Sara would say. I laughed out loud, because I’d been thinking the very same thing.”

Like the Venetian candies in the last story, these intense little gems evaporate “like racy air.”