A novel about friendship is always welcome to me, so I started reading Emily Gould’s “Friendship” with glee. Yawn. Though it had some nice tender moments between the characters of Beverly and Amy, their personal plights were bland and uninspired, with cop out moments used to settle moments. The book was trite, and predictable, and if I wasn’t anal, I totally would have ditched it about a third of the way in. The stupidest plot point: a woman spending money so she could be an “aunt” to someone. Spare me.