The first sentence of Miranda July's debut novel, The First Bad Man, suggests the almost surreal self-absorption of its problematic narrator: "I drove to the doctor's office as if I was starring in a movie Phillip was watching."

Cheryl - 43, single and childless - has a crush on Phillip, a rich, aging hippie who sits on the board of the Los Angeles nonprofit where she works and lusts after a 16-year-old girl.

She's on her way to the doctor - actually, a New Age practitioner of color therapy - because she suffers from globus hystericus, the anxiety-induced feeling of a lump in her throat that makes it hard to swallow.