The debut of a sparkling and reassuring memoirist -- an inspiration to late bloomers everywhere "I like to consider myself a late bloomer, meaning someone who will eventually, however late, come into bloom. Although when and if I will bloom remains a mystery. I wish I knew how to speak a foreign language fluently. I wish I knew how to cook a simple roast chicken, or that I had read The Idiot, whose main character sounds like someone I can relate to. "In quick succession, Amy Cohen lost her job writing sitcoms, her boyfriend (with whom she'd been talking marriage), and her mom, after a long bout with cancer. Not exactly the stuff humor thrives on, is it? But filtered through Amy's worldview, there's comedy in the most unexpected places. In this unforgettable, engaging memoir, she recounts her (seemingly) never-ending search for love, her evolving relationship with her widowed dad, and her own almost unintentional growth as she stumbles through life. Filled with observations sweet, bittersweet, and laugh-out-loud funny, The Late Bloomer's Revolution will be irresistible to anyone who believes her greatest moment is yet to come.

[A] charming book, an addictive journey through dating and loss that remains stubbornly hope-filled . . . Revolution is a warm, hilarious memoir that reminds us it's never too late to begin.

-People Magazine

Cohen's memoir starts with an amusing anecdote about traveling to Prague with her mother, who seems cheerfully oblivious to the fact that the handsome young man who joins them for dinner is far more interested in her than her daughter. Unfortunately, Cohen's mother is dying of a brain tumor by the end of the chapter, and though the endless kibitzing of her father, who tries to fix Cohen's love life while dating a string of "older widows and comely divorcees," is entertaining, the other members of her inner circle pale in comparison. Like Candace Bushnell, Cohen was a dating columnist for the New York Observer, with stories that drew liberally upon her friends' experiences and commentaries—and it's hard not to compare characters like John the TV journalist or George the rock star to "Mr. Big." Cohen's misadventures have a much deeper masochistic streak than Sex and the City, even if she copes with setbacks like a virulent face rash with as much self-deprecating humor as she can muster. If the results fail to overturn Bushnell's legacy as the reigning observer of Manhattan dating life, they make for a perfectly acceptable substitute. (July)
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-Publishers Weekly