The Friend who Got Away edited by Jenny Offill and Elissa Schappell

This book had been on my booklist for a while. The first time I went to Barnes and Noble for it, I thought the name was, The One who Got Away and lost a couple hours tracking down all the books with that title. The second time I went, it was out of stock (although, interestingly, the hardcover had found its way into Self-Help while the softcover had found its way into Women's Studies) so I found it at the library.

This is a collection of twenty essays written by women about friendships that somehow ended. The subtitle of the book says it is about friendships that "blew up, burned out, or faded away." As the subtitle suggests, in some cases, the endings were a surprise to the authors, while in other cases they were obvious fallings-out. In some cases, the author left the friendship, and in others it was the friend who pulled away.

Not unsurprisingly, boyfriends, lesbians, and abortions play roles in many of the stories. However, each friendship described was incredibly complex. Two of the essays detail opposite sides of the same friendship, which was unique to read. My only criticism is that, with the exception of a handful of pieces, the editors may have homogenized the "voice" of the pieces too much.

However, what I felt most strongly when reading this book was relief. I, too, have lost friends along the way. In some cases, I know the reasons, and in others I don't. Reading this book made me understand that not all my lost friendships were my fault. It also made me realize that not all the explanations I've chosen to craft for each ended friendship are accurate. One day maybe I will write my own essays about my friends who got away.

There were many passages and phrases that stood out to me as special or well-written or familiar, and during reading Heather Abel's piece, "Emily," I dog-eared the section that I connected to most:

In describing her relationship with Emily and why it was not initially competitive, she writes:

"I would decide that certain things were mine and that I alone could claim them. In return I'd abstain from other things. Early on, the color red was mind. Blue was my sister's, even though I quite liked it, so I would not choose the sweet blue sweater at the store. Later, Nicaragua was mine. Marxism was also mine. Doc Martens were mine. Having best friends was mind. Having boyfriends was not mine. (This got confusing because I actually had a boyfriend through much of high school and into college, but I still didn't identify as someone with a boyfriend.) Discussing was mine. Making out was not mine. Apartheid was mine. Athleticism was not mine. Deep, difficult things were mine; I wasn't actually depressed but I liked to talk animatedly about depression. Drinking games, TV, and one-liners were not mine. The environment was mine, both the outdoors (yes, I claimed the wide world) and the defense of the outdoors.

This is the thinking, I can say in retrospect, of a scared girl."

I loved that passage and the type of person it suggested Abel is/was. I once (when it was in vogue to listen to Billy Joel's Greatest Hits I & II ad infinitum) stated that "She's Always a Woman" was about me and "She's Got a Way" was about someone else in particular. I guarded my less-desirable but unique image fiercely. I once asked the other girl not to wear a particular dress to a formal dance because it was too similar to mine and I didn't feel special enough. I, like Abel, was a scared girl.

In any case, I'd recommend this book if you're interested in the interpersonal interactions within women's friendships.