All the same, the careful way in which Waldman offers relationship insight from the perspective of a seemingly sensitive (though maybe not as sensitive as one would like) nerdy Jewish guy makes the book addictive and fun to read. We find out why Nate didn't call Hannah four days after their first date, and what he thinks about her jeans (he wonders why her friends haven't told her they're not flattering). These are questions I've Googled endless variations of, but it's a shame the answers turn out to be so unsatisfying.
Waldman does best when she's operating outside Nate's head, filling the book with sharp, funny observations about life in New York and class privilege. At Harvard, Nate notes how his classmates, when talking about their summer houses in Vermont or Maine, "would compete about whose had the fewest amenities." Waldman also captures the way everyone on the subway seems fascinating when you first move to New York City — the women in their "neat looking glasses ... sexy high-heeled boots and ... cool hair" — but also how, over time, it turns out that most of the strangers that talk to you are not actually that cool, even in New York. And a lesson from Nate's posh former girlfriend about what you can buy from Target ("things that started with the letter T: Tupperware, tights, toothpaste") is particularly memorable.
But would I recommend this book if you don't already care about the lives of 30-somethings in Brooklyn and aren't worried about whether your boyfriend likes you? Probably not. And if you do care, and are worried, you'll probably read this book in one sitting like I did — but you might not come away knowing much more than you did when you started. Literature can work wonders, as Kafka said, as "the ax for the frozen sea inside us." Unfortunately, as Kafka's famous social anxiety proves, the only way to find out how the person you're dating feels is to ask.
Read an excerpt of The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P.