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shamelessbibliophile41's review
3.0
A pretty uneven collection of essays. Some were interesting, while some dragged on far too long and seemed to ramble without much point. Overall, the interesting was interesting enough to bring up the average.
el_tuttle's review
4.0
What Kipnis does well is what she always does - provides a scathingly honest assessment of romantic relationships between couples, here focusing on the state of romance in 2020.
The premise of the book is half the intrigue. We, the living, had not endured a pandemic and anything resembling its lockdown until 2020, and so relationships had not been selected with this criteria in mind. How couples fared under these strenuous conditions seems to have been a mixed bag, but Kipnis complements our commonplace anecdotes we have heard from friends and family about their relationships with case stories and a bit of psychological (loosely psychoanalytic) analysis.
The second chapter provides some comprehensive context to the state of heterosexual communication leading up to the pandemic. As a culture, we have shifted towards an increase in puritanical ethics by taking a conversation about rape and abuses of power and turning it into an increasing set of HR-style rules around sex, leaving no room for eroticism to flourish without the invisible hand of bureaucratic approval processes.
The first and last chapters are those which most directly address changes during the pandemic itself. I'd like to see a greater connection between her tail end of the second chapter, concluding by mentioning friends who had mid-lockdown mentioned longing for the touch of stranger during an otherwise puritanical sexual moment, and the online anecdotes and psychological analysis of sexual/romantic relationships as they are since the lockdown.
Most out of place is her chapter on codependency, not because it doesn't warrant treatment in this type of diagnostic analysis of relationships, but because the friend Mason she seems to be responding to ultimately does not understand what "codependency" means, and thus the chapter seems strangely built on a lack of understanding. Kipnis is fine to make the point that codependency has many different definitions and is a bit of a "catch all," but I trust she can differentiate from Buzzfeed op-eds and an intellectual treatment of a condition.
If you're expecting a singular thesis crafted like "The pandemic has affected sex and romance in X, Y, Z ways," you will be disappointed. This essay collection is best situated in Kipnis's larger work, spanning from pre-social media critiques of monogamy and discussions of the porn industry to more recent work on feminism and the carceral campus. In the context of her larger project, her musings diagnosing the state of heterosexual coupledom in a post-pandemic and post-MeToo era seem to not make a concrete argument but instead circle around a constant theme: ambivalence and contradiction.
The premise of the book is half the intrigue. We, the living, had not endured a pandemic and anything resembling its lockdown until 2020, and so relationships had not been selected with this criteria in mind. How couples fared under these strenuous conditions seems to have been a mixed bag, but Kipnis complements our commonplace anecdotes we have heard from friends and family about their relationships with case stories and a bit of psychological (loosely psychoanalytic) analysis.
The second chapter provides some comprehensive context to the state of heterosexual communication leading up to the pandemic. As a culture, we have shifted towards an increase in puritanical ethics by taking a conversation about rape and abuses of power and turning it into an increasing set of HR-style rules around sex, leaving no room for eroticism to flourish without the invisible hand of bureaucratic approval processes.
The first and last chapters are those which most directly address changes during the pandemic itself. I'd like to see a greater connection between her tail end of the second chapter, concluding by mentioning friends who had mid-lockdown mentioned longing for the touch of stranger during an otherwise puritanical sexual moment, and the online anecdotes and psychological analysis of sexual/romantic relationships as they are since the lockdown.
Most out of place is her chapter on codependency, not because it doesn't warrant treatment in this type of diagnostic analysis of relationships, but because the friend Mason she seems to be responding to ultimately does not understand what "codependency" means, and thus the chapter seems strangely built on a lack of understanding. Kipnis is fine to make the point that codependency has many different definitions and is a bit of a "catch all," but I trust she can differentiate from Buzzfeed op-eds and an intellectual treatment of a condition.
If you're expecting a singular thesis crafted like "The pandemic has affected sex and romance in X, Y, Z ways," you will be disappointed. This essay collection is best situated in Kipnis's larger work, spanning from pre-social media critiques of monogamy and discussions of the porn industry to more recent work on feminism and the carceral campus. In the context of her larger project, her musings diagnosing the state of heterosexual coupledom in a post-pandemic and post-MeToo era seem to not make a concrete argument but instead circle around a constant theme: ambivalence and contradiction.
superiour_medium's review against another edition
This book is immensely disjointed and has spent an unreasonable amount of time discussing ugliness in a way that straight up harkens to the ugly laws and the author seems incredibly unaware of how this reflects fatphobia, ableism, and overall hamstrings an intersectional feminist view of the pandemic
studeksbooknook's review
1.0
We all know that the pandemic has changed so so much in our lives – and relationships, especially romantic relationships, are certainly no exception. Love in the Time of Contagion: A Diagnosis purports to look at the ways in which covid and its restrictions and isolation and the incredible amount of time that people are suddenly spending with their partners/families/cohabitation buddies has impacted relationships of all stripes.
COVID-19 has produced new taxonomies of love, intimacy, and vulnerability. Will its cultural afterlife be as lasting as that of HIV, which reshaped consciousness about sex and love even after AIDS itself had been beaten back by medical science? Will COVID end up making us more relationally conservative, as some think HIV did within gay culture? Will it send us fleeing into emotional siloes or coupled cocoons, despite the fact that, pre-COVID, domestic coupledom had been steadily losing fans?
Honestly, I wish I had DNFed this one. The early publicity info the publisher says that this is a “darkly funny investigation” into the above questions, but it just comes off as disjointed, like it was written by the stereotypical angry feminist undergrad who’s trying so hard to be edgy and provocative that they just end up stringing together random thoughts and missing the point of the assignment all together.
That’s not a trope that I use lightly. Look, I have two masters degrees, so I’m used to heady works, including those that can push the envelope, and given my fields of study, feminist literature and theories weaved into my grad work often. This isn’t a context with which I am unfamiliar. But I just couldn’t shake the feeling of that trope all the way through the book.
Kipnis spends a great deal of time on #MeToo, but doesn’t really make the connection between the movement and its resulting impacts and the main thesis of the book. Yes, the movement gained major traction before the pandemic and we’ve all had lots (and lots) of alone time to think on it over the last two years, but ultimately, bringing it up feels like nothing more than a venue for railing on “ugly” old men that Kipnis finds to be worthy of public berating. Yes, it’s great that “an international plague of shitty men was being exposed and dethroned,” but the manner in which Kipnis takes this on just felt juvenile and vindictive – not educated and empowered and actionable.
It felt like Kipnis expects that every hetero female out there to be disgusted by the “male-female thing.” I mean, yes, there are definitely parts of the socially-constructed hetero relationship that need to change (and have changed), but not every hetero female is “in a conflicted position” over their relationships and wants to wash their hands of it or “choose queerness.” Umm, what? I’m not even sure where to start with that last gem.
And I’m sorry, but the last chapter just felt like I was reading a trashy rag. I hate the phrase, but I just can’t even…
Be provocative. Push boundaries. Get angry. Make people uncomfortable. That’s often what research and writing is about. But please, make a cogent point.
So, long story short, I want my two days of reading time back. I’m sure this book will find an audience with which it resonates, but this was a massive swing and a miss for me.
COVID-19 has produced new taxonomies of love, intimacy, and vulnerability. Will its cultural afterlife be as lasting as that of HIV, which reshaped consciousness about sex and love even after AIDS itself had been beaten back by medical science? Will COVID end up making us more relationally conservative, as some think HIV did within gay culture? Will it send us fleeing into emotional siloes or coupled cocoons, despite the fact that, pre-COVID, domestic coupledom had been steadily losing fans?
Honestly, I wish I had DNFed this one. The early publicity info the publisher says that this is a “darkly funny investigation” into the above questions, but it just comes off as disjointed, like it was written by the stereotypical angry feminist undergrad who’s trying so hard to be edgy and provocative that they just end up stringing together random thoughts and missing the point of the assignment all together.
That’s not a trope that I use lightly. Look, I have two masters degrees, so I’m used to heady works, including those that can push the envelope, and given my fields of study, feminist literature and theories weaved into my grad work often. This isn’t a context with which I am unfamiliar. But I just couldn’t shake the feeling of that trope all the way through the book.
Kipnis spends a great deal of time on #MeToo, but doesn’t really make the connection between the movement and its resulting impacts and the main thesis of the book. Yes, the movement gained major traction before the pandemic and we’ve all had lots (and lots) of alone time to think on it over the last two years, but ultimately, bringing it up feels like nothing more than a venue for railing on “ugly” old men that Kipnis finds to be worthy of public berating. Yes, it’s great that “an international plague of shitty men was being exposed and dethroned,” but the manner in which Kipnis takes this on just felt juvenile and vindictive – not educated and empowered and actionable.
It felt like Kipnis expects that every hetero female out there to be disgusted by the “male-female thing.” I mean, yes, there are definitely parts of the socially-constructed hetero relationship that need to change (and have changed), but not every hetero female is “in a conflicted position” over their relationships and wants to wash their hands of it or “choose queerness.” Umm, what? I’m not even sure where to start with that last gem.
And I’m sorry, but the last chapter just felt like I was reading a trashy rag. I hate the phrase, but I just can’t even…
Be provocative. Push boundaries. Get angry. Make people uncomfortable. That’s often what research and writing is about. But please, make a cogent point.
So, long story short, I want my two days of reading time back. I’m sure this book will find an audience with which it resonates, but this was a massive swing and a miss for me.
thecatherineread's review
1.0
Absolutely terrible. Possibly one of the worst books I've ever read and still finished. It felt like the author sanctioned her own rant on the practices of modern sexuality and monogamy and then indulged herself in every possible way.
The book was difficult to follow, though not particularly complex in verbiage or structure. It was phrased in a way that should have been shocking, but the lack of cohesive narrative negated any impact it might have had.
The book barely seems to address it's core question- what happened to intimacy during the pandemic- and instead became a travelogue of the author's thoughts and experiences. It is profane without being impactful and is in DESPERATE need of an editor. Kipnis would have to radically change her writing process for me to consider reading anything she writes in the future.
The book was difficult to follow, though not particularly complex in verbiage or structure. It was phrased in a way that should have been shocking, but the lack of cohesive narrative negated any impact it might have had.
The book barely seems to address it's core question- what happened to intimacy during the pandemic- and instead became a travelogue of the author's thoughts and experiences. It is profane without being impactful and is in DESPERATE need of an editor. Kipnis would have to radically change her writing process for me to consider reading anything she writes in the future.
stevierae5's review
3.0
A pretty uneven collection of essays. Some were interesting, while some dragged on far too long and seemed to ramble without much point. Overall, the interesting was interesting enough to bring up the average.