Miranda July has been everywhere lately (books, movies, art) so after reading two of her (best) stories in the New Yorker, I was curious to read more of her work. My rating is actually an average because the collection is so uneven in quality. Many of her stories seemed undeveloped. She often has the same type of "quirky" character narrator who is funny and the stories become gimmicky and difficult to relate to. It's too bad because when she is able to create a distinct character, as in "Something That Needs Nothing," her stories can be powerful testaments to the lengths people go to to feel loved.