I am a bit the cliched New Yorker in that I have a minor obsession with real estate. I am one of those irritating people that visits open houses with absolutely no intent of buying...I just like to see what's inside all of the buildings that surround me. So you can imagine my interest in Meghan Daum's latest book Life Would Be Perfect If I Lived In That House.
I do not dream constantly of the perfect apartment...I like my place most days. But I am occasionally vulnerable to the sentiment that the title expresses, and was intrigued that an entire book had been written on it.
If anything this book is a memoir seen through the lens of the author's quest for a home, which manifests itself in frequent moves as she seeks the house that will be her ultimate dwelling.
Now perhaps I was primed to like this book, as I had just slogged my way through too many self-indulgent, chick lit-esque memoirs and just about anything would have looked good in comparison. But I found Daum's frankness and wit utterly endearing, and her quest for a place to call her own was courageous, the fervor with which she pursued it, from New York to Nebraska to L.A. and back again, inspiring. Dysfunctional perhaps, but inspiring nonetheless. I liked the girl. A lot. And having read her story, I'm rooting for her to find what she's looking for.