I was wrong about Nora Ephron's "I Remember Nothing." I thought it was shameless. I thought it should not have been marketed as a book. It's only approximately 130 pages, after all.
But: Think about it. Do you really want to read a book of personal essays that extends well beyond 130 pages? It seems to me that that's really the perfect length. And the essays themselves are short and (mostly) sweet.
There are a couple of stinkers. The one about going to the movies doesn't seem to have a point. The one about Internet Scrabble also seems a bit threadbare. Wisely, Ephron buried these essays in the middle of the book. (It's like when you're listening to Taylor Swift's "Reputation," and you skip right over "So It Goes" and "Look What You Made Me Do.")
But consider the gems! Ephron looked at the things that were hard and ugly in her life. Unlike others, she chose to make these things the centerpiece of her work. So, for example, she writes at length about a bald patch on her head, something new, and she calls it her "Aruba." This has something to do with the way trees lean precariously in Aruba, exposing the vulnerable Earth. (The trees are Ephron's stray hairs, the Earth is her bald scalp.) Ephron describes her divorce, and contends that divorce actually is rarely, if ever, "good for the kids," and then lets that painful observation sit quietly on the page. She writes about the experience of being over sixty: observing one's many dying friends, wondering how long one's own luck will last.
She writes without self-pity or sentimentality, so she's a knock-out.
Although the book is often about apparently trivial things--Teflon, egg whites--it contains some profound statements. "People are careless, and there are very rarely real consequences." "My religion is Get Over It." "It seems to me the main thing you learn from failure is it's entirely possible you may have another failure."
These insights have a contrarian flavor; like many other good essayists, Ephron wants to laugh at conventional "wisdom."
It's also possible that Ephron can get you to pay closer attention to quotidian details. Maybe we don't really appreciate a good pie, or a well-made meatloaf, because we imagine our attention should be on Loftier Things. Ephron says: Nonsense. In many cases, life really is about pie and meatloaf. If you're lucky. So why not give these items their due?
Ephron also has a gift for spelling out precisely the ways in which life can be unpredictable. In one of my favorite essays, she describes learning that she will likely be an heiress when her uncle dies. She begins to make extravagant plans. She enters into stormy arguments with family members. She fantasizes about abandoning the script she's nursing, a difficult piece of work that seems to go nowhere.
We imagine the story will end with an inheritance. Of course, life has other plans. The sum of money is fairly small. It won't do much for Ephron. Our heroine must continue to peck away at her screenplay. And what does the screenplay become? You guessed it: "When Harry Met Sally."
I've had a maddening week. I bumped a cone on a road test and failed. (I stupidly let my license expire, because the thought of dealing with the DMV in any way seemed overwhelming to me in my twenties. One of the most foolish moments of my life. Now, it seems, I will be married to the DMV forever.) This week, I lost an expensive gift. I spent ten dollars, and 150 minutes, on "Widows," which was humorless and seemed lacking in purpose. People near me chatted loudly through the film. Cell phones buzzed and glowed. I had civil words with one cell-phone user, and I thought he and I were on good terms, and he corrected his behavior, but he retaliated, at the end of the afternoon, by saying something rude enough to take my breath away.
In the back of my head, Nora Ephron's words: "Get over it." "People are careless, and there are very rarely real consequences."
I'd very much like to tap into that strength. It was a rare thing; Ephron was a rare thing. You can find some new wind in your sails--if you spend time with her essays.
But: Think about it. Do you really want to read a book of personal essays that extends well beyond 130 pages? It seems to me that that's really the perfect length. And the essays themselves are short and (mostly) sweet.
There are a couple of stinkers. The one about going to the movies doesn't seem to have a point. The one about Internet Scrabble also seems a bit threadbare. Wisely, Ephron buried these essays in the middle of the book. (It's like when you're listening to Taylor Swift's "Reputation," and you skip right over "So It Goes" and "Look What You Made Me Do.")
But consider the gems! Ephron looked at the things that were hard and ugly in her life. Unlike others, she chose to make these things the centerpiece of her work. So, for example, she writes at length about a bald patch on her head, something new, and she calls it her "Aruba." This has something to do with the way trees lean precariously in Aruba, exposing the vulnerable Earth. (The trees are Ephron's stray hairs, the Earth is her bald scalp.) Ephron describes her divorce, and contends that divorce actually is rarely, if ever, "good for the kids," and then lets that painful observation sit quietly on the page. She writes about the experience of being over sixty: observing one's many dying friends, wondering how long one's own luck will last.
She writes without self-pity or sentimentality, so she's a knock-out.
Although the book is often about apparently trivial things--Teflon, egg whites--it contains some profound statements. "People are careless, and there are very rarely real consequences." "My religion is Get Over It." "It seems to me the main thing you learn from failure is it's entirely possible you may have another failure."
These insights have a contrarian flavor; like many other good essayists, Ephron wants to laugh at conventional "wisdom."
It's also possible that Ephron can get you to pay closer attention to quotidian details. Maybe we don't really appreciate a good pie, or a well-made meatloaf, because we imagine our attention should be on Loftier Things. Ephron says: Nonsense. In many cases, life really is about pie and meatloaf. If you're lucky. So why not give these items their due?
Ephron also has a gift for spelling out precisely the ways in which life can be unpredictable. In one of my favorite essays, she describes learning that she will likely be an heiress when her uncle dies. She begins to make extravagant plans. She enters into stormy arguments with family members. She fantasizes about abandoning the script she's nursing, a difficult piece of work that seems to go nowhere.
We imagine the story will end with an inheritance. Of course, life has other plans. The sum of money is fairly small. It won't do much for Ephron. Our heroine must continue to peck away at her screenplay. And what does the screenplay become? You guessed it: "When Harry Met Sally."
I've had a maddening week. I bumped a cone on a road test and failed. (I stupidly let my license expire, because the thought of dealing with the DMV in any way seemed overwhelming to me in my twenties. One of the most foolish moments of my life. Now, it seems, I will be married to the DMV forever.) This week, I lost an expensive gift. I spent ten dollars, and 150 minutes, on "Widows," which was humorless and seemed lacking in purpose. People near me chatted loudly through the film. Cell phones buzzed and glowed. I had civil words with one cell-phone user, and I thought he and I were on good terms, and he corrected his behavior, but he retaliated, at the end of the afternoon, by saying something rude enough to take my breath away.
In the back of my head, Nora Ephron's words: "Get over it." "People are careless, and there are very rarely real consequences."
I'd very much like to tap into that strength. It was a rare thing; Ephron was a rare thing. You can find some new wind in your sails--if you spend time with her essays.
Comments
Post a Comment