Since its original release in 2014, Chloé Caldwell’s novella Women has gathered a fanatic following, earning celebrity blurbs and other celebrities Instagramming themselves carrying tote bags with pull quotes from the book on them.

My own teachers reference the book as a quintessential piece of queer literature. I found a copy in 2024 when it was rereleased by HarperCollins due to the revived hype and its cult status; as a white woman who came out late in life, I thought living vicariously through a narrator who fumbles and bumbles her way into a fully toxic multi-year-long mess of a first queer love affair with a much older person would be a sweet gift to myself. Honestly, it made me mostly relieved I missed it: I’m not made for the game, you guys.

So when I saw that Caldwell had anothe

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