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Informationen zum Autor Haley Jakobson (she/her) is a bisexual writer and playwright living in Brooklyn, NY. In her work she explores girlhood, bisexuality, brains, and bodies. Her debut novel, Old Enough , was named a New York Times Editors’ Choice and described by Vogue as being full of “winsome bisexual chaos.” Haley is a gemini apologist and a killer follow on Instagram. Klappentext Finalist for the Lambda Literary Award in Bisexual Fiction “Old Enough is full of growth, heartbreak, and winsome bisexual chaos.”— Vogue A debut novel “as astute, funny, and loving as your best friend from college”* about a young bisexual woman who is pulled between a new sense of community and loyalty to a friendship she’s outgrown *Isle McElroy Savannah "Sav" Henry is almost the person she wants to be, or at least she's getting closer. It’s the second semester of her sophomore year. She’s finally come out as bisexual, is making friends with the other queers in her dorm, and has just about recovered from her disastrous first queer “situationship.” She is cautiously optimistic that her life is about to begin. But when she learns that Izzie, her best friend from childhood, has gotten engaged, Sav faces a crisis of confidence. Things with Izzie haven’t been the same since what happened between Sav and Izzie’s older brother when they were sixteen. Now, with the wedding around the corner, Sav is forced to reckon with trauma she thought she could put behind her. On top of it all, Sav can’t stop thinking about Wes from her Gender Studies class—sweet, funny Wes, with their long eyelashes and green backpack. There’s something different here—with Wes and with her new friends (who delight in teasing her about this face-burning crush); it feels, terrifyingly, like they might truly see her in a way no one has before. With a singularly funny, heartfelt voice, Old Enough explores queer love, community, and what it means to be a sexual assault survivor. Haley Jakobson has written a love letter to friendship and an honest depiction of what finding your people can feel like—for better or worse. Leseprobe 1 It was the first day of Gender and Sexuality Studies 101. There were only six of us and the pressure of forced intimacy was palpable. The first person I noticed was a long-necked girl sitting with perfect posture, tapping her manicured nails on her notebook. Coffin-shaped, pink polish, with thin gold bracelets on both wrists. She was very pale, with a light smattering of freckles across her nose. A single small, pear-shaped diamond dotted the center of a gold band on her left ring finger. It was a promise ring, I could practically smell it, but I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was a feminist move to reclaim her ring finger, a kind of "I'm-married-to-myself" fuck-you to the patriarchy. I hated that word now, "patriarchy." All I could think of were overpriced graphic tees and white liberal mothers on Facebook updating their status to "WE'RE STILL WITH HER" and "PANTSUIT NATION!" Not that I'd prefer timelines littered with American flag beer koozies and Bible quotes. Although, I did love the liberal Christians-the ones who believe Jesus is a woman and include their pronouns and a verse from the Corinthians in their email signature. Promise Ring Girl was sitting next to a person in a navy button-up, ironed meticulously so that the collar was stiff and crisp. They were Black and wore a maroon beanie, a tight fade peeking out from underneath. I didn't want to assume their gender, not that I should have assumed Promise Ring's. They side-eyed her tapping nails and didn't seem amused. They lounged in their seat, legs spread, resting one elbow on the back of their chair. They took up space. There wasn't an ounce of self-doubt about them. I checked for rainbow paraphernalia. I...
