Greedy Notes from a bisexual who wants too much

In this sparkling debut, Winston dives headlong into a life of confusion and second-guessing her queer desire, only to realize that "maybe confusion is as queer as it gets." As someone who grew up in the cornfields of Indiana in the early aughts, she struggled to find "sexually fluid role models" to help her understand her bisexuality. In a series of essays, Winston viscerally describes the sense of being unmoored without language to describe herself and the difficult path to finding it, all with a breezy irreverence that will enamor her to fans of millennial essayists like Samantha Irby and Jia Tolentino. One of her greatest strengths is in pivoting from acerbic wit to earnest reflection, as she does in a standout essay about the social construction of ugliness and masturbating on AIM--aptly titled "True Life: I Masturbate Wrong"--and in another about the importance of setting boundaries. Winston's regular use of content warnings and Twitter handles may put off some readers, but those whose lives have been similarly shaped by social media will appreciate the roles these signifiers play in this story of searching for love by a writer to watch. In playfully queering the coming-of-age story, Winston has written something wholly original, and entirely delightful. Agent: Wendy Sherman, Wendy Sherman Assoc. (Oct.)

Winston looks to her own life and love experiences and finds "bi erasure," invisibility, and biphobia. When the author came out as bisexual, she thought "no one would care." She soon discovered that lesbians "tend to carry their bias quietly, losing interest especially fast" on dating apps, and that others assume bisexuality is a "gateway identity." However, for Winston, her bi identity is vital, "a lens through which to reimagine our world." She recounts her dating life with plenty of self-deprecating humor and many knowing references to both pop culture and queer theory. Her lack of shame around kinky sex is refreshing, as in her account of learning shibari, the Japanese art of bondage, and content warnings at the start of two chapters flag instances of substance abuse, sexual assault, and police brutality. Winston dissects a "girl crush" in clinical terminology, determining if it's malignant or benign, and she describes how gay dance clubs offer her "worship, safety and refuge," as churches do for others. She questions if she's attracted to women because of the male gaze or in spite of it: Do her sexual impulses stem from "lust, objectification, a sense of sisterhood, or all three"? At 30 years old, writes the author, "I needed to label my sexuality--if I didn't explicitly name my queerness, it seemed too slippery." Queer love stories are the best, she decides, because queer people are "forced to self-determine." Near the end of the book, she describes finding true love in the form of a "queer, trans/nonbinary person who takes a low dose of testosterone." Queer sex is "worth the hype," she writes. Winston considers gender to be confining--"It feels like quarantine"--and above all, her story is about love that is "rooted in radical, asymmetrical truth." A well-reasoned and entertaining affirmation of gender fluidity. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.