Amy Silverberg’s debut novel First Time, Long Time arrives with the kind of raw, unvarnished honesty that makes readers simultaneously uncomfortable and utterly captivated. This is a book that refuses to offer easy answers or tidy resolutions, much like the messy reality of navigating love, loss, and identity in your late twenties. Silverberg, drawing from her background as both a stand-up comedian and literary fiction writer, crafts a narrative voice that oscillates between sharp wit and devastating vulnerability—a combination that feels both authentic and occasionally exhausting.
The Weight of Inherited Grief
The novel centers on Allison, a twenty-eight-year-old aspiring writer teaching at a junior college in Los Angeles, still reeling from her brother’s suicide two years prior. Silverberg’s exploration of how grief becomes a family inheritance feels particularly acute. Allison doesn’t just carry her own sorrow; she’s burdened by her parents’ unprocessed trauma, especially her father’s worship of radio shock jock Reid Steinman—a man who becomes both Allison’s unlikely lover and the catalyst for her most profound period of self-discovery.
The author’s handling of grief avoids the typical literary traps of sentimentality or redemptive arcs. Instead, Allison’s mourning process feels genuinely chaotic and non-linear. When she reflects on her brother’s death, Silverberg writes with the kind of specificity that suggests deep personal understanding: “He was not always lingering at the surface of my mind, trying to break through the membrane of my memories into the world at large. He was not the shadow of every thought. Most thoughts, but not every single thought.” This measured honesty about how grief actually functions—not as a constant presence but as an unpredictable visitor—demonstrates the novel’s commitment to emotional authenticity.
Complex Intimacies and Questionable Choices
The central romantic entanglement proves both compelling and problematic. When Allison begins an affair with Reid Steinman, a radio personality decades her senior whom her father practically worships, the power dynamics are immediately concerning. Yet Silverberg doesn’t present this relationship as purely exploitative. Reid emerges as a complex figure—aging, insecure about his declining relevance, surprisingly vulnerable despite his public persona.
The novel’s most intriguing development occurs when Allison becomes involved with Reid’s daughter Emma (also called Maddie), who is roughly her own age. This triangular relationship creates the book’s most electric moments, particularly when Silverberg describes the physical and emotional intensity between the two women:
“She made me feel brave, creative. I pulled the spandex shorts aside. She made a pained noise when I held her like that, let the cold air-conditioning in Reid’s house do its work on her.”
The LGBTQ+ elements of the story feel organic rather than performative, though the resolution of this relationship proves one of the novel’s weaker points.
Silverberg’s Distinctive Voice and Literary Prowess
Silverberg’s prose style mirrors her protagonist’s internal state—meandering, self-aware, occasionally indulgent, but ultimately compelling. The narrative voice has a distinctly contemporary feel, mixing pop culture references with moments of surprising profundity. Her background in comedy shines through in unexpected moments, like when Allison observes that famous people at grocery stores seem as confused by produce as anyone else, or when she notes that her father’s gods have become her own.
The author demonstrates particular skill in capturing the peculiar isolation of Los Angeles, where everyone seems to be performing a version of themselves. Allison’s work facilitating book clubs for wealthy Beverly Hills women provides some of the novel’s sharpest social commentary, revealing the ways educated, privileged women can be simultaneously insightful and utterly disconnected from reality.
Structural Ambitions and Their Limitations
First Time, Long Time employs a fragmented structure that mirrors its protagonist’s scattered mental state. Short, numbered chapters create a sense of urgency while allowing Silverberg to skip across time periods and emotional registers. This approach works well for conveying Allison’s psychological fragmentation but occasionally feels gimmicky rather than meaningful.
The novel’s treatment of family dynamics proves particularly sophisticated. Allison’s relationship with her father—dubbed “The Problem”—captures the exhausting reality of loving someone whose emotional volatility dominates every interaction. Silverberg writes: “We were close like a foot is close with a bunion—I felt their presence with every step. We were close in the way three polar bears on the same lone iceberg are close. There might not be enough to go around.”
Where the Novel Stumbles
Despite its considerable strengths, First Time, Long Time suffers from several significant weaknesses. The pacing becomes uneven in the middle sections, particularly when Allison’s relationship with Reid grows routine. The novel also struggles with its own moral framework—while Silverberg clearly wants readers to question Allison’s choices, she sometimes seems uncertain about how critically to examine her protagonist’s behavior.
The resolution feels rushed and somewhat unsatisfying. Emma disappears from the narrative with insufficient explanation, and Allison’s eventual marriage to an unnamed partner feels like a narrative convenience rather than an earned conclusion. The novel’s final chapters, which attempt to provide closure through a wedding scene, feel tonally inconsistent with the rest of the book.
Additionally, some readers may find Allison’s self-absorption challenging. While this is clearly intentional—a reflection of how grief can make people narcissistic—it occasionally makes for frustrating reading when the protagonist seems incapable of considering others’ perspectives.
Literary Context and Comparisons
First Time, Long Time fits well within the contemporary tradition of millennial coming-of-age novels, alongside works like Sally Rooney’s Normal People and Melissa Broder’s The Pisces. Like these books, Silverberg’s novel explores how young women navigate desire, ambition, and identity in an era of economic uncertainty and social media-driven anxiety.
The novel also shares DNA with earlier works exploring intergenerational relationships and sexual awakening, particularly Philip Roth’s The Professor of Desire and Joyce Carol Oates’s Because It Is Bitter, and Because It Is My Heart. However, Silverberg’s contemporary setting and explicitly queer elements distinguish her work from these predecessors.
For readers interested in similar explorations of grief and family dysfunction, the following books offer compelling companion reads:
- “Crying in H Mart” by Michelle Zauner – A memoir exploring family grief and cultural identity
- “The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo” by Taylor Jenkins Reid – Another novel examining complex relationships across generations
- “Such a Pretty Girl” by Laura Wiess – A darker exploration of inappropriate age-gap relationships
- “Red: A Crayon’s Story” by Michael Hall – While a children’s book, it beautifully captures themes of identity and self-discovery
- “The Female Persuasion” by Meg Wolitzer – Examines young women navigating mentorship and personal growth
Final Verdict: A Flawed but Necessary Voice
First Time, Long Time succeeds as a portrait of a particular type of contemporary malaise—the directionless anxiety of educated young people trying to build meaningful lives while carrying inherited trauma. Silverberg’s willingness to present an unlikeable, morally complicated protagonist feels refreshing in an era of increasingly sanitized fiction.
The novel’s exploration of bisexuality and complex family relationships adds important representation to contemporary literature, even if the execution isn’t always perfect. Silverberg demonstrates real talent for psychological insight and social observation, suggesting that future works may achieve the consistency this debut occasionally lacks.
Ultimately, First Time, Long Time functions best as a conversation starter rather than a definitive statement. It raises important questions about power, desire, family loyalty, and the ways grief can both paralyze and liberate us. While the novel doesn’t always provide satisfying answers, its willingness to sit with discomfort and moral ambiguity feels appropriate for our current moment.
For readers seeking fiction that grapples honestly with the messy realities of modern life—including the ways we hurt the people we love and make questionable choices in pursuit of connection—First Time, Long Time offers a compelling, if occasionally frustrating, reading experience. It’s a debut that announces an important new voice in contemporary fiction, even as it reveals the growing pains inherent in any first novel.
Final Rating Considerations
While maintaining the complexity that makes this novel worthwhile, it’s important to acknowledge that First Time, Long Time is not a book that will appeal to all readers. Its morally ambiguous protagonist, uncomfortable power dynamics, and lack of clear resolution may frustrate those seeking more traditional narrative satisfaction. However, for readers willing to engage with challenging material, Silverberg offers rewards in the form of genuine emotional insight and fearless honesty about the ways we navigate love, loss, and desire in contemporary America.
