Lighter and airier than some other DeWitt novels, this is a comedy of manners centered around an Upper East Side widow and her emotionally stunted son. Think Wodehouse, if Aunt Agatha were a bit younger, meaner, and a lot more sexually active, and if Bertie had lost his joie de vivre. The plot is mostly an excuse to bring together a cast of oddball characters and let them interact, which is fine by me, since DeWitt writes some of the funniest 👇