A sad, pastel little love story centers on two young Greenwich village types who lack the strength to grow up or survive. The narrative alternates between Natasha, a pretty, more or less traditionally brought up Jewish girl, and her lover, Tim, an Irish boy whose strongminded mother lives in the Village with her third husband, Vaclav. Tim and Natasha take an apartment together, and Tim talks of how his mother's time (the '20's) and the War was Real Life. He and Natasha are leftovers, with no purpose. But even when Vaclav dies, leaving his mother bereft, and Natasha becomes pregnant, Tim is aimles---- and after an interminably talked-over abortion, Natasha commits suicide. This may be a real life situation, and it is reasonably touching, but the air of sweet sad lostness is irritatingly unjustified. Neither Tim nor Natasha are ever rebelling against anything- they are merely drifting. . . This book has had some advance attention in critical circles as expressing a truth about modern young people; perhaps so- but the truth seems somehow more complex.