In the latter half of 2019, Sloane Crosley’s New York apartment was broken into. Luckily she wasn’t home, but the burglar(s) had ransacked her bedroom and made off with several pieces of jewelry, much of it handed down from her maternal grandmother. That neither she nor her mother were particularly fond of said grandmother was neither here nor there, they were still Sloane’s things and now they were gone. Dealing with such an intrusion and the material loss that went along with it would be hard enough, but only one month later her best friend and one-time boss Russell Perreault hanged himself.
This sudden shock sets her adrift as she struggles to come to terms with the reality of it. He had been a constant in her life for so many years and the mere act of accepting that he was gone was challenge enough, let alone learning to live with it. In a way, having the robbery to focus on proves to be a blessing, as investigating it provides at least some brief moments of distraction. When COVID-19 sends the city into lockdown a few months later, she is left with little but time to reflect on the loss and finally try to make peace with it.
Much of this book was written essentially as it was happening to her, though of course edited and rewritten later, which gives it a confessional tone. Crosley’s writing is eloquent and often funny, but still down-to-earth and easily relatable. The affection she has towards Russell is obvious as she takes us through several fond memories, but this isn’t a hagiography, and she delves into some of his faults in an effort to try and understand what could have led him to take his own life. Despite the weighty subject matter this brief book is a joy to read. As someone who has experienced the loss of a best friend and also the suicides of others who were close by, the emotions and thoughts documented within ring true, and reading about someone else going through them is a surprisingly cathartic experience. ★★★★★