Like many, the description of this novel's premise hooked me, but within only a few pages, I was literally groaning out loud.
Brenda Clough's idea was wonderful, but was squandered on an execution so amateurish, I find it hard to believe a qualified editor even read it. Truly, the dialogue was so silly, it verged on parody. (Adult american men do not EVER say "Gee whiz!", or "Gosh, no!" or "Holy Mike!". And no straight man I know responds to another man's filthy appearance with "My goodness, you're a mess! Let go shopping!")
The characters in this book were no deeper than the pages they appeared on, with trivial acts causing absurd levels of tormented 'soul-searching' in one chapter, and life-altering events tossed off with a shrug in the next.
If it wasn't for the fact that I was truly intrigued by the premise, I would have done the (for me) unthinkable, and tossed a hardcover in the trash. Note to the publisher: Hire someone who knows how men talk to each other to at least read what you're considering putting into print... I'm seriously wondering about the quality of the other books bearing your logo.