Though the setting will feel familiar to local readers, I kept imagining Jocelyn Tennant’s L.O.R. playing out at the resort from Dirty Dancing– all the shit going down in the background while those rich bitches navigated their coming of age. Somebody’s got to strip the beds. Wash the champagne flutes.

This writing is honest, clean, and economical. It catches hold of a moment, gives you something to chew on, and takes its leave before you’ve even swallowed. L.O.R. is proof that we could use 1000% more stories by female authors about the intricacies of female relationships, not for some kind of affirmative action head count, but because we do it better. Jocelyn certainly nails it here.

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