All Fours by Miranda July

A Dance on the Edge of Desire and Despair

There’s something about hitting your mid-forties that makes you want to throw it all away and start fresh, isn’t there? To shed your skin like a snake, leaving behind the comfortable-but-stifling life you’ve built and emerge anew, raw and glistening. Miranda July’s latest novel, “All Fours,” dives headfirst into this urge, following a semi-famous artist as she abandons her cross-country road trip plans mere minutes after leaving home, holing up instead in a nondescript motel room that becomes the stage for her unraveling and rebirth.

July’s protagonist – never named, adding to the everywomanness of her journey—is a mess of contradictions and barely-contained longing. She’s successful but unfulfilled, married but yearning, a mother who loves fiercely but feels suffocated by domesticity. Sound familiar? July taps into that vein of restlessness that seems to pulse beneath the surface of so many women’s lives, especially as they approach the liminal space of perimenopause.

A Room of One’s Own (With Tacky Wallpaper)

The bulk of the novel unfolds in Room 321 of the Excelsior Motel, a space our protagonist transforms from bland to decadent with the help of an eager young interior designer. This room becomes a womb-like cocoon, a place where fantasy and reality blur as she explores her desires, both sexual and existential.

July’s writing shines in these motel scenes. Her trademark oddball humor is on full display (a “pat-down” ritual with a famous pop star to diffuse the tension of celebrity is particularly memorable), but it’s balanced by moments of raw vulnerability that punch you in the gut. The protagonist’s affair with Davey, a twentysomething Hertz employee, crackles with an urgency that’s almost painful to read. It’s not just lust—though there’s plenty of that—but a desperate grasping for youth, for possibility, for a self untethered from responsibility.

The Body Electric (and Menopausal)

“All Fours” by Miranda July doesn’t shy away from the physical realities of a woman’s aging body. July writes about hormonal fluctuations, unpredictable periods, and the looming specter of menopause with a frankness that’s refreshing. There’s a scene where the protagonist obsessively studies a graph of declining estrogen levels that’s both hilarious and heartbreaking. It captures that moment of reckoning so many women face: the realization that your body is changing in ways beyond your control, and with it, perhaps, your very sense of self.

But July isn’t interested in painting a bleak picture of middle age. Instead, she shows how this physical transformation can be a catalyst for reinvention. The protagonist throws herself into weightlifting, sculpting her body even as she reimagines her life. It’s messy and sometimes misguided, but there’s an exhilarating energy to her quest.

Love in the Time of Perimenopause

At its core, “All Fours” by Miranda July is a love story—or rather, a tangle of love stories. There’s the comfortable-but-strained marriage to Harris, the white-hot affair with Davey, a tender exploration of queer desire with Kris. July doesn’t offer easy answers or neat resolutions. Instead, she presents love as a constantly shifting landscape, one where the lines between passion, companionship, and self-discovery blur and reform.

The novel’s treatment of non-monogamy is particularly nuanced. As the protagonist and Harris negotiate an open marriage, July explores the messy reality of trying to expand the boundaries of a long-term relationship. It’s awkward, painful, and sometimes hilarious (a scene where they craft a family “coat of arms” to represent their new arrangement is peak July absurdism). But there’s also a touching honesty to their fumbling attempts to grow together while allowing each other the freedom to explore.

The Art of Being Seen

Like Miranda July’s previous works, “All Fours” is deeply concerned with the act of performance—both in art and in life. The protagonist’s career as an artist serves as a backdrop to her personal journey, raising questions about authenticity, self-expression, and the gaze of others. A pivotal scene involving a dance performance for an online audience becomes a metaphor for the entire novel: the vulnerability of putting yourself out there, the thrill of being truly seen, and the potential for transformation through art.

July’s prose mimics this dance between reveal and concealment. Her writing style is deceptively simple, almost conversational, but it’s punctuated by moments of startling poetry. She has a knack for zeroing in on the tiny details that make a scene feel achingly real—the smell of a motel room, the texture of a lover’s skin, the weight of a child’s sleeping body.

A Chorus of Women’s Voices

While the novel focuses primarily on one woman’s journey, July weaves in a tapestry of other female voices. There are frank discussions with friends about aging and desire, a hilarious and touching encounter with a pop star grappling with similar midlife questions, and poignant reflections on motherhood and generational trauma.

One of the novel’s strengths is how it shows the protagonist finding solidarity and understanding in unexpected places. A spontaneous gathering of women sharing their experiences of menopause becomes a sort of impromptu consciousness-raising session, funny and raw and deeply moving. July captures the power of women talking to each other honestly, without shame or filters.

The Inevitability of Return

Of course, our protagonist can’t stay in her motel-room chrysalis forever. The novel’s final act deals with her re-entry into the “real world” of family, work, and responsibility. July doesn’t offer neat solutions or a complete transformation. Instead, she shows how the journey of self-discovery is ongoing, how the search for freedom and authenticity is a constant negotiation.

There’s a bittersweet quality to the ending that lingers long after you close the book. The protagonist hasn’t solved all her problems or become an entirely new person. But she has expanded her sense of what’s possible, both within herself and in her relationships. It’s a messy, imperfect kind of growth – which feels infinitely more true to life than any fairytale reinvention.

A Worthy Addition to July’s Canon

Fans of Miranda July’s previous work (her debut novel “The First Bad Man” and short story collection “No One Belongs Here More Than You”) will find much to love in “All Fours.” Her signature blend of whimsy and pathos is on full display, as is her unflinching examination of human intimacy in all its forms.

However, “All Fours” feels like a more mature work, grappling with weightier themes while retaining July’s playful spirit. The novel’s exploration of aging, motherhood, and long-term partnership adds new depth to her recurring fascinations with loneliness, connection, and the performance of self.

Not Without Its Flaws

It’s worth noting that “All Fours” by Miranda July won’t be for everyone. July’s idiosyncratic style can sometimes veer into self-indulgence, and some readers might find the protagonist’s choices frustrating or difficult to relate to. The novel’s structure, with its long stretches in the motel room punctuated by bursts of action, might test the patience of those used to more plot-driven narratives.

Additionally, while July attempts to address issues of privilege and class, these explorations sometimes feel superficial. The protagonist’s ability to essentially check out of her life for weeks on end is a luxury many women couldn’t dream of, and this isn’t always fully reckoned with in the text.

A Mirror and a Window

Despite these minor quibbles, “All Fours” stands as a bold, often brilliant exploration of what it means to be a woman in midlife, grappling with societal expectations, physical changes, and the ever-present desire for something more. July has created a work that functions as both mirror and window—reflecting back the messy reality of so many women’s lives while also opening up new possibilities for how those lives might be lived.

For readers willing to embrace its quirks and wrestle with its sometimes uncomfortable truths, “All Fours” offers a reading experience that’s by turns hilarious, heartbreaking, and profoundly cathartic. It’s a novel that dares to ask: What if, instead of fearing the changes that come with age, we leaned into them? What if we allowed ourselves to be reborn, not just once, but again and again?

In the end, “All Fours” is a celebration of women’s resilience, creativity, and endless capacity for reinvention. It’s a novel that will make you laugh, cry, and quite possibly want to redecorate your entire life. Just maybe don’t check into a motel to do it.