There was a span of time in the early to mid-aughts where I would buy every man I was romantically interested in a copy of An Invisible Sign of My Own by Aimee Bender. I probably hold the record for buying the most copies of this book. I could probably write a memoir called Books I Used to Unsuccessfully Woo Men in My Life. There must have been something about this compulsive book giving. Some sign of my own I was trying to show the men I wanted to love me, but I have no idea what it was.

Maybe it’s just that I really love this strange, quirky novel and I thought men who could appreciate it would be worthy? Who knows. The real question is, would An Invisible Sign of My Own hold up to further scrutiny, a re-reading nearly a decade after I first read it?

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