The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook [Paperback]

Dunn's book is funny and sweet. Tonewise, it has more in common with Sophie Kinsella's "Shopaholic" series than, say, Nick Hornby's lad lit. Recommended for readers of modern romance. (Library Journal 20101123)

I loved this book. The premise had me from the start. I love that this novel was written by a man and the storyline is the typical "chick lit" story with a man as the protagonist instead. The novel digs into the inner workings of a man to show that he is a well rounded being with feelings too, not just the loser or prize of most "chick lit" or romance novels.

(Laura's Reviews 20101124)

The book was a fast, light read...amusing and enjoyable. (Life...With Books 20101130)

So rarely do you read books where it's the men who feel they need to get into better shape or put in the effort that is usually ascribed to women in order to be successful romantic. I really appreciated that this book puts it out there – that men need to make an effort too and that romance is a two-way street. (Steph & Tony Investigate 20101201)

Fun and easy to read, but the best part that both and women could really enjoy this one.
(Book Girl of Mur-y-Castell 20101202)

Can simply be called the Bridget Jones Diary for men.
(Suite101.com 20101122)

The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook is something everyone should read. It really makes you think about how differently each person in a relationship can feel. My heart went out to both characters, especially because this is something that happens all the time. I loved Matt's writing and I'm looking forward to reading his other books.

(Readaholic 20101212)

I love chick lit. And chick lit written by a man? I'm hooked. Matt Dunn has written an absolutely hilarious, insightful, and entertaining book...Even if you're not a big chick lit fan, The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook will make you forget why you didn't like the genre in the first place. (The Book Chick 20101217)

This book had me laughing and wanting to share this book with my friends. (Cheryl's Book Nook 20101220)

This was a fun, light read. Rather like Bridget Jones for men. (Broken Teepee 20110110)

The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook is a refreshing chick-lit page-turner. Witty, wildly entertaining and a fresh perspective coming from the man's point of view, this one is a sure-fire hit!

(Minding Spot 20110110)


Matt Dunn's The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook is a fun read, so if you want the male perspective pick this one up. (Aisle B 20110113)

This book was hilarious and I loved it. A totally fun read, with a nice romantic aspect to it and great characters. (Palmer's Picks for Reading 20110113)

It's a sweet book and, seriously, Edward is one of the most easy characters to root for. It has a touch of the Biggest Loser sensibility...If you'd like to give chick lit another go, I think you'll enjoy the change in the cast of characters that the author, Matt Dunn, has to offer. And hey, it's fun to watch a guy try to figure out what the heck women are thinking, right?

(Fumbling with Fiction 20110117)

Fans of Bridget Jones's Diary and Chick-Lit will love the male insight from Edward's POV and the humor that comes along with it. They need to make of movie from this book! The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook would be a great Valentine's Day read. (The Book Vixen 20110129)

If you want to read a truly enjoyable, funny romantic comedy, The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook By Matt Dunn should be on your short list.

(Savvy Thinker 20110215)

A terrific romantic comedy... (Love Romance Passion 20110307)

The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook is hilarious! A very easy to read, comical story of Edward's self-inflicted tortures to get his girlfriend back...I laughed often and had a hard time putting this one down. After all that Edward put himself through, I absolutely loved the ending (and you may just be surprised)! (Dark Divas Review )

This book pretty much had me a fan from the first page. It's really nice to see a chick lit novel written from the guy's perspective...Single, dating, married, doesn't matter what stage of life you are in, this book is TONS of fun. HIGHLY recommended.

(Books, Movies and Chinese Food )

A great read from a man's prospective of a break-up. (Chick Lit Club ) --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.

"It's not me - it's you. You've let yourself go, so I'm letting you go too."

When Edward Middleton hears those words from Jane, his girlfriend of the past ten years, he knows he's in serious trouble. Determined to get her back, Edward must learn how to make women fancy him again. But what makes for a good boyfriend nowadays? Right now, he's the kind of man who puts the 'ex' into 'sexy'. One thing is certain: if he's to be Jane's Mr Right, he needs to turn himself into a bit of all right. From Atkins and Botox, Edward begins working his way through the makeover alphabet. But can cuddly Teddy really become sexy Eddie? Can he rise from the ranks of discarded exes? Or has his journey of self-discovery taken him in a different direction entirely?

Born in Margate in 1966, Matt Dunn now lives in London. He's worked as a professional lifeguard, fitness-equipment salesman and, most recently, an IT headhunter, where his skill in re-writing CVs made him think he might have a talent for fiction. The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook is his second novel. Visit www.mattdunn.co.uk

Sunday 16th January

7 p.m.

'Edward. Let me get this straight. You've called me right in the middle of Antiques Roadshow just to tell me your girlfriend's gone to bed?'

'Tibet, Dan. Jane's gone to Tibet. She's left me.'

It's the first time I've said those words out loud, and my voice cracks a little down the phone line. My girlfriend of ten years, the woman who I've been sharing my bed, my flat, my life with, has gone. Vanished. Departed. Cleared out. And, by the looks of things, cleared me out as well.

'What do you mean, "she's left you"?'

'Dan, there's no clearer way of saying it. Jane's. Left. Me.'

I can almost hear the cogs turning in Dan's head as what I've just said sinks in. 'Stay where you are,' he says. 'I'll be right over. And don't do anything stupid.'

Don't do anything stupid? I put the receiver down, wondering what Dan's idea of doing something stupid would actually be. Wearing socks with sandals, possibly.

I stare disbelievingly around my flat, which appears to be almost as empty as I'm feeling inside. The place looks like it's been ransacked: wardrobe doors still ajar; drawers left open as if they've been rifled through in a hurry; and the CD rack empty except for a couple of dodgy rock compilations and my collection of digitally re-mastered Queen albums.

While I wait for Dan to arrive, I walk from room to room, compiling a mental check list of what Jane's taken. The chairs and dining table set she bought from IKEA: gone. The red imitation leather sofa her mother gave us which made obscene noises whenever you sat down too quickly: missing. The breadmaker that she won in a competition and then used just the once: well, I won't miss that, I suppose. Even the Picasso poster she bought as a souvenir from that exhibition we saw five years ago in Barcelona has been neatly removed, leaving just the faintest outline on the kitchen wall where it used to hang. At least she's left me the bed, although most of the rest of the furniture seems to be missing. All her things, now I come to think of it.

I'm amazed at how clinical Jane's been; how effectively she's managed to excise herself from this flat, and my life, without leaving so much as a trace of the ten years we've been together. The only hint of anyone else ever having lived here is the photograph I find on the floor in front of the bookshelf of the two of us, taken at college, when we first met. Jane and I always used to smile when we looked at it, remembering the time it was taken, and just how happy and carefree we were back then. She'd even bought a special frame, and given it pride of place above the fireplace. But as I prop it up on the mantelpiece I realize she's taken the frame but left the picture, and I'm not smiling any more.

I retrieve Jane's note from where I've screwed it up and thrown it into the fireplace, smooth it out, and read it through one more time, even though I can already remember it word for word.

 Dear Edward, By the time you get this letter, I'll be on a plane to Tibet. I'm going away for a while because I need to sort some things out, and while I'm gone, I suggest you do the same. Let's face it, Teddy, you've let yourself go, so I'm letting you go too. I'd tell you not to think about following me, but I know that a romantic gesture like that would never even occur to you. And that's part of our problem. As I'm sure you've noticed, I've taken my things, although I've left you the bathroom scales - you might want to use them for something other than stacking your old newspapers on. I'll be back on April 16th, so perhaps we'll talk again then. Meanwhile I suggest you use this opportunity to take a long hard look at yourself in the mirror. Jane P.S. I realize at this point I'm supposed to say something like 'it's not you, it's me', but in actual fact, it is you. 

As I finish reading, my hands are shaking. I fold the note carefully and place it in my pocket, then light a cigarette and inhale deeply, longing for the calming buzz of the nicotine, hoping it will take the edge off the pain I'm feeling.

It doesn't.

7.59 p.m.

I'm smoking my fourth cigarette, and wondering where on earth Dan's got to, as he only lives in the next street, when he finally rings my doorbell. I buzz him in impatiently, a swirl of cold Brighton air follows him in through the door, adding to the chilly atmosphere already in my flat.

Dan takes one look at my miserable expression. 'How are you?' he asks.

When I can't seem to answer, he doesn't know how to react. We stand there for a second, and then begin an awkward dance as he tries to give me one of those male hugs where you touch at the shoulders while ensuring no body contact below the nipples, but I don't know what he's trying to do and instead lean forward to try and shake his hand. We end up accidentally bumping heads, which digs my glasses painfully into the bridge of my nose.

As he lets me go, I jab a finger at my watch.

'That's what you call "I'll be right over", is it?'

Dan's my best friend, although there are times I could gladly punch him in the face. He's one of those annoyingly good-looking guys, with almost model features, and a smile that could get him off a murder charge. Trouble is, he knows this.

'Sorry, mate' he says, grinning sheepishly. 'Had to get ready. Make sure I looked OK.'

'Looked OK? Just to come round and see me?'

Dan shrugs. 'Never know who you might bump into. Paparazzi and all that.'

'Dan, you're a daytime television presenter on a rubbish antiques programme. I hardly think you're going to have photographers camping outside your front door.'

Dan doesn't reply, but just taps the side of his nose in that annoying way. I sigh with exasperation and show him through into the front room.

'Jesus, Edward. It looks like you've been done over,' are his first sensitive words.

'At first I thought I had been,' I say, wistfully. 'And then I wished I had.'

Dan examines the space where the hi-fi used to sit, then inspects the near-empty CD rack. He walks into the kitchen, then through to the bedroom, silently taking in the scene, then turns to look at me, a puzzled expression on his face.

'At the risk of asking a stupid question...'

'That's never stopped you before.'

'You are sure you haven't been? Burgled, I mean.'

I nod. 'Pretty sure. Burglars don't normally only take half your stuff. Especially not just your girlfriend's half-'

'Or your girlfriend,' says Dan, peering inside the near-empty wardrobe.

'Thanks for reminding me.'

'Sorry,' he says, following me back into the front room. 'Shame, though. At least then your insurance would have replaced everything. And with some decent furniture.'

'Yes, well.' I remove Jane's letter from my pocket and wave it in front of him. 'Things kind of fell into place when I found the note. Burglars don't usually leave a note.'

Dan stares at it for a second or two, as if it might be infected.

'What does it say?'

'What do you think it says? The usual "Dear John" stuff.'

Dan looks a little confused. 'Er...Which is?'

'Sorry, Dan. I forgot the concept of the woman actually doing the dumping would be alien to you.' I unfold the piece of paper and speed-read it in front of him. '"Dear Edward, you've let yourself go, it's over, I'm off." That about sums it up.'

Dan takes it from me and reads it through slowly, his lips moving as he does so. Eventually, he hands it back to me with a grimace.

'That's terrible.'

'I know. How could she do it? Just end it like this?'

'No. I mean the fact that she calls you "Teddy". Yuk.'

Dan takes his jacket off and looks around for a place to throw it, a task made somewhat difficult by Jane's recent removals. Eventually, he just puts it back on.

'Well, look on the bright side,' he says. 'At least you don't have to go through that painful "sorting out who gets what" time.'

'Thanks, Dan. That really makes me feel better.'

He punches me playfully on the shoulder. 'Don't mention it. Any time.'

'I was being sarcastic.'

'So was I. Anyway, how on earth did she manage to get it all out without you knowing?'

'Yeah, well, I'd been away visiting my parents for the weekend - my mum's birthday - it'd been planned for months, and then at the last minute Jane hadn't been able to come. Emergency at work, she said.'

Dan sticks his lower lip out and nods appreciatively. 'Ah, the old "emergency at work" line.'

'She said that she might be out when I got back. I didn't realize that she meant out of the country.'

'And out of your life, by the looks of it,' he says, taking Jane's note back from me and reading it once more. 'What are you going to do?'

I take my glasses off and rub my eyes wearily. 'I don't know. I just...She...I mean...'

Worried that I might start crying, a look of panic crosses Dan's face. He puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

'Edward - before you go any further, we need to sit down and talk about this. And we can't do that here.'

'Why ever not?'

Dan points to the space where the sofa used to be. 'Well, mainly because there's nowhere to sit.'

'Ah.'

I look up at him, and he smiles, and utters those immortal words, his cure-all for any situation.

'Come on. Drink.'

Dan slips Jane's note into his jacket pocket and marches off down the hallway. I stare at him for a moment, then pick the photo up off the mantelpiece, slide it into my wallet, and follow him out of the door.

8.15 p.m.

Our local, the Admiral Jim, is perched on the border between Brighton and Hove in a quiet mews that runs between our respective streets. It's typical of the new wave of Brighton pubs: beer-stained carpets replaced with bare wooden floorboards; traditional ales swapped for the latest Czechoslovakian lagers; and brightly coloured alcoholic mixers with names like 'Psst' and 'Rekd' lining the shelves...