In our current literary era of quirky, edgy characters fashioned solely for the purpose of being quirky and edgy (e.g., those terribly inauthentic women in Ya Ya Sisterhood, any character of Kingsolver's, most of the women's books of recent years), Alameddine's Sarah is a sigh of relief. Her tales, each an attempt to start off her memoirs, add up to tell the story of a life unique and absolutely compelling that feels, somehow, completely new and comfortably familiar. She is delicious: haughty, clueless, touching, exasperating, deep, shallow, and outrageously funny. The chapter about her tenure as an AIDS support volunteer once again illuminates Alameddine's breathtaking gift for presenting horror with a humor that never makes fun, never downplays, and neither winks nor blinks. Not since A Confederacy of Dunces have we seen anything as delightful as Sarah. This is a book to read, re-read, and only lend to a friend if he gives you something of great value to hold as guarantee of return.