I don't usually review books on this blog, but reading Nora Ephron's Wallflower at the Orgy this weekend has inspired me to start. So what if the book is 40 years old? So what if it is, in many ways, out of date and filled with references to people you're unlikely to know if you're under 30. So what, I say! This. Book. Is. Fabulous.
It's a compilation of essays written by Ephon during the mid-to-late 1960s. It's a book of profiles, in a sense. A who's who of the former famous. It's gossipy. And frivolous. And very well written. What was somewhat fluffy in 1970, thanks to a decline in literacy and the birth of multiple generations of people who are culturally bereft (my own included), is now heavy criticism.
Ephron's writing is, in a contemporary context, too high brow for all but a few publications (The New Yorker, for example, and Vanity Fair). Also interesting is that Ephron's style feels a bit masculine, a result (I suppose) of the flood of vapid so-called women's writers in the vein of the fictitious Carrie Bradshaw, who have been polluting the media since the late 1990s. These days, very few women are permitted to be smart, you see. 2nd wave feminism, in the mainstream at least, gave birth to what we've got going now, which depresses me to no end. And if you don't believe me, take a walk down to your nearest magazine stand, observe the racks of tabloids and tabloid-esque covers and despair.
Ephron's old book, now reissued with a modern cover designed to appear to purchasers of the offensively titled chick-lit genre (bare legs and all), features a profile of Cosmo magazine's Helen Gurley Brown, a look into the catty foodie universe (complete with reference to the hot-again Julia Child and her contemporaries) and a behind the scenes look at Women's Wear Daily in all it's bitchy glory. There's a Q&A with director Mike Nichols, a fictitious piece about what it's like to be a beach wife in the Hamptons, and a piece about Bill Blass and the rise of fashion menswear. My only real criticism is Ephron's occasional and rather disturbing use of the idea of rape for comedic effect. For example, in a piece about Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead:
"Like most of my contemporaries, I first read The Fountainhead when I was eighteen years old. I loved it... I deliberately skipped over all the passages about egotism and altruism. And I spent the next year hoping I would meet a gaunt, orange-haired architect who would rape me. Or failing that, an architect who would rape me. Or failing that, an architect."
And later, in the beach wife piece, when discussing a man who is not her husband:
"He's probably just blocked on his new novel and wants to talk to a sympathetic soul. And if, in the course of the evening, he happens to attack and rape me-- well, we're civilized people. I could hardly yell for the police. I'd just have to submit."
I understand the cultural differences that made this sort of joke possible 40 years ago. It's just not funny anymore. But all in all, that's a minor complaint.
The book is appealing. I'm sure Ephron now considers it "dippy" (and she says as much in the introduction to the 1980 edition (ten years after initial publication). But looked at in the context of 2010, it's much more. If you're interested in popular culture, I'd almost call it required reading. It's the sort of thing that illustrates both how much things have changed, and how they're exactly the same. It's not what Ephron intended, I'm sure, but it works.
It's a compilation of essays written by Ephon during the mid-to-late 1960s. It's a book of profiles, in a sense. A who's who of the former famous. It's gossipy. And frivolous. And very well written. What was somewhat fluffy in 1970, thanks to a decline in literacy and the birth of multiple generations of people who are culturally bereft (my own included), is now heavy criticism.
Ephron's writing is, in a contemporary context, too high brow for all but a few publications (The New Yorker, for example, and Vanity Fair). Also interesting is that Ephron's style feels a bit masculine, a result (I suppose) of the flood of vapid so-called women's writers in the vein of the fictitious Carrie Bradshaw, who have been polluting the media since the late 1990s. These days, very few women are permitted to be smart, you see. 2nd wave feminism, in the mainstream at least, gave birth to what we've got going now, which depresses me to no end. And if you don't believe me, take a walk down to your nearest magazine stand, observe the racks of tabloids and tabloid-esque covers and despair.
Ephron's old book, now reissued with a modern cover designed to appear to purchasers of the offensively titled chick-lit genre (bare legs and all), features a profile of Cosmo magazine's Helen Gurley Brown, a look into the catty foodie universe (complete with reference to the hot-again Julia Child and her contemporaries) and a behind the scenes look at Women's Wear Daily in all it's bitchy glory. There's a Q&A with director Mike Nichols, a fictitious piece about what it's like to be a beach wife in the Hamptons, and a piece about Bill Blass and the rise of fashion menswear. My only real criticism is Ephron's occasional and rather disturbing use of the idea of rape for comedic effect. For example, in a piece about Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead:
"Like most of my contemporaries, I first read The Fountainhead when I was eighteen years old. I loved it... I deliberately skipped over all the passages about egotism and altruism. And I spent the next year hoping I would meet a gaunt, orange-haired architect who would rape me. Or failing that, an architect who would rape me. Or failing that, an architect."
And later, in the beach wife piece, when discussing a man who is not her husband:
"He's probably just blocked on his new novel and wants to talk to a sympathetic soul. And if, in the course of the evening, he happens to attack and rape me-- well, we're civilized people. I could hardly yell for the police. I'd just have to submit."
I understand the cultural differences that made this sort of joke possible 40 years ago. It's just not funny anymore. But all in all, that's a minor complaint.
The book is appealing. I'm sure Ephron now considers it "dippy" (and she says as much in the introduction to the 1980 edition (ten years after initial publication). But looked at in the context of 2010, it's much more. If you're interested in popular culture, I'd almost call it required reading. It's the sort of thing that illustrates both how much things have changed, and how they're exactly the same. It's not what Ephron intended, I'm sure, but it works.
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