Aimée Lutkin - The Lonely Hunter: How Our Search for Love Is Broken

An insightful and thorough investigation into one womans loneliness and the systemic ways were all becoming less connectedIt might seem like a depressing topic, but I laughed so hard and learned so much.

Blythe Roberson , author of

How to Date Men When You Hate Men

Im not sure how one could read The Lonely Hunter and NOT fall in love with Aime Lutkin! Her memoir is at once a tender, vivacious consideration of modern romance and an incisive cultural study of American lonelinessa great and heartwarming achievement.

Rachel Vorona Cote , author of

Too Much

At once heartbreaking and deeply funny, Lutkins The Lonely Hunter captures the essence of seemingly endless singlehood in a world built for couples. As vulnerable as she is illuminative, Lutkin achieves what so many of us singles are looking forshe makes us feel less alone.

Rebecca Fishbein , author of

Good Things Happen to People You Hate

Wry, smart, full of bittersweet detail and vivid scenes, The Lonely Hunter is engaging without giving in to easy answers and is willing to ask the big questionswhat makes a good life, and what do we want from each other?

Rosalie Knecht , author of

the Vera Kelly novels

In unflinching, honest prose that deftly weaves sociological and cultural analysis with her personal journey, The Lonely Hunter challenged everything I assumed about the nature of loneliness and what it means to lead an authentic life. A deeply relatable story that will resonate with readers, lonely or not.

Doree Shafrir , author of

Thanks for Waiting and Startup

It was late in fall, long past the invigorating joys of vivid foliage. The clocks had been set back, and naked branches raked gray skies. There was still a long tunnel of darkness ahead before the twinkling lights of the holidays would emerge and illuminate a more cheerful atmosphere. These transitions were as familiar to me as the Brooklyn street I was walking down, carrying a bottle of wine in a black-and-silver striped bag, also familiar. The sensation of counting the days until the next thing and then the next thing was how I paced my life, with no expectations of more than what I already knew.

I knew the texture of the sidewalk, now with brown leaves ground into its porous cracks, the places where it bucked over tree roots. It led me to the door of a brownstone protected by a heavy, practically medieval gate hung with an actual bell that Id rung many times. I rang it again. The brownstone housed a cooperative of six or seven people, depending on who was in town. Id been invited to a dinner party and Id arrived a few minutes before the hour it was supposed to start.

When I walked into the kitchen, nothing had begun to happen that would result in a meal, so I kicked off my shoes and sat at the dining room table, opening the ten-dollar bottle of wine and chatting with my friend Xavier, whod opened the door. Hed come down from the upstairs living room a little flustered and sweaty, saying hed been dancing by himself to shake off a bad mood.

The rhythms of this interaction were pleasant. It was another night in my uneventful life, a night that I imagined would be swept away along with so many others. Some members of the cooperative and other, less foolishly punctual guests slowly assembled in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, moving a stack of plates from a shelf to a table, volunteering for a deli beer run, until finally a feast was prepared. It was a nice dinner, and by the end, sated and a little buzzed, we turned the conversation to love.

One of my fellow diners asked me, So whats going on in your life? With romance?

This is not an unusual question, and it wouldnt have been particularly memorable either, except that I was feeling unguarded and open after consuming so much home-cooked food. And booze. So I answered honestly and said, I dont really know if Im going to date anyone ever again.

The friend who had asked, Rachel, was recently engaged. Her fianc, Jon, was sitting at the table, too. Id been friends with Jon long before Id met Rachel, but shed made an impression. Theyd dated when they were much younger and had broken up. About eight months before this dinner party, Jon had emailed her out of the blue to say shed appeared to him in a dream.

Usually, if someone tells you they just had a dream about you, its a euphemism for wanting to have sex. With Jon I really believed it. He had an otherworldly aura, an angelic calmness that soothed everyone around him. He was the sort of person you could imagine moseying through the landscape of dreams, checking in on old lovers to see if the fruit of a relationship had finally ripened.

They went on the second first date of their two relationships, and this time love stuck. They would be married in a few months, in the same house we were all having dinner in with the permission of their many roommates. Almost before I had finished my sentence, Rachel was rolling her eyes, responding with the dismissiveness of someone who had recently been plucked from singleness by a dream walker.

Of course you will, she said, shaking her head.

My throat constricted, a kind of tightening that happens when Im compelled to say something that will make me feel more upset than relieved.

I think theres this idea that everyone finds someone eventually, I managed. And I just think, realistically, theres no reason that would be true. Some people are just alone forever.

A ripple of reaction went around the table. In turn, everyone denied that I was facing the rest of my life alone: Xavier, who was currently dating a woman in an open marriage, two friends of Rachels (completely unrelated women who looked like they came from the same wholesome, outdoorsy family), and a new redheaded roommate named Scott, whom Id met mere moments before. He had taken a seat at the table during dessert to go through the household mail and weigh in on my love life.