I know that Miranda July’s All Fours divided readers – I thought it was an astonishing story about a woman questioning her role and her identity (and without getting into gross generalisations, there’s a reason this happens during menopause, when the gentle scrim that oestrogen provides is ripped away). Wifehouse by Sonya Walger tackles similar themes (although without July’s humour and quirk).

…the ruin was internal, invisible and incremental. She had no words for the aching elasticity of time. Continue reading →