(Book #10) This meeting had fewer attendees than any other thus far. We met at Leona’s on Sheffield [which is long gone now] and only four of us attended. There was no excitement in any of us for the book; it seemed mis-titled — there were no women in love. There were men in love and some of us were happy to read it for its early treatment of homosexuality. I was bothered by the emotional rollercoaster of every paragraph. A character could start a paragraph blissfully and be ready to stab someone by the third or fourth sentence. It was also bizarre that not one of the four of us who were there could define with any certainty the word inchoate. [It’s embarrassing to admit this now, because I’ve run into it so many times since this book.] We asked the waiter and he didn’t know either. One of us finally looked it up on her phone. I’d either never read it before or skipped over it feeling I understood what it meant in the context, but it was used regularly in Women in Love.