Like most authors' early novels, Ivy Pochoda has decided to set her story within the confines of a familiar town. Red Hook, a small docklands in Brooklyn, is the backdrop of Pochoda's tale of diverse characters and small town community life, which together get caught up in an intertwining murder mystery that reeks of omission.
Ordering in a bar is easy; you chat to your bartender or server, and exchange some money for your goods and services. So why am I writing about it? Well, for one, have any of you felt particularly underwhelmed by a bar experience a friend has raved about? This piece is about maximising your chances of having an experience that lives up to this.
New York is one of two places today. It's either a place where you're sitting watching TV box sets and texting your friends about how much cheese you've stowed away for the storm (me) or it's a hostile, frightening place which is offering you very little, beyond an order to evacuate that you're unlikely to be able to obey.
I was warned by friends from the mid-west that people in New York aren't as nice as elsewhere. That they are impersonal, hurried, aggressive. And they absolutely are. They are also kind, friendly, welcoming, inquisitive, calm, careless, peaceful, black, white, Muslim, Christian, egotistical, rap-loving, rap-hating, careful, Hispanic. No one belongs. Yet everyone does.