“A book about friendship that is also interested in the miscommunication that can so complicate it . . The language, in this book about language, is saturated with concepts that apply equally well to romance in its more traditional forms. The language, too, celebrates friendship in its frustrations and its rewards and, above all, its wonderful complexity. It is promoting friendship from a supporting character into a starring role. . The loves that the linguist explores in her romantically named book are not merely ones that comfort and sustain women until, one day, the real thing comes along. They are the real thing.”— The Atlantic
Ruiz placed his coffee into the hand of the confounded barista, sprinted back to 'wowwee', and took a look at the body that was once Nobody. At least it had been a clean shot; were it not for the circular hole in the centre of his forehead, or the dried blood that had run down his cheeks, or the teeth that had broken from the sudden impact, or the smell of his body beginning to decompose, or his extremely dishevelled suit, with his customary grey fedora (also punctured) dropped beside the seat with burn marks and blood at the point of impact, you could almost think he was still alive.