A punk on welfare met a Polish painter in a downtown bar and fucked him in her east end apartment block bedsit. That’s why Leah is alive.

Leah is the child of a one-night stand, and as if cursed, she is haunted by one-night stands. And this is a kind of story about them. Or maybe more of a rant. About relationships that are passed down and how we rarely talk about the class issue of LOVE.

And by the way, my name is Leah is a novel about terrible sex, bling-bling shoes and emergency contraception, about eating ice cream at Ikea, and about becoming the world’s best liar.

Not least, it is a novel about being a child and an adult at the same time.

And yes, about how insanely expensive love is.