Skip to main content

City Guy

Now and then I like to return to Nora Ephron's essays, because they're worth the re-visit. I think Ephron knew she was dying when she wrote "I Remember Nothing," her final collection. Or she had a strong suspicion.

There are a few things to love about this book. First, it's exactly the length a book of essays should be: maybe 140 pages, not much more. (Who wants a fatter essay collection than that?)

Also, the book ends with two wonderful lists. The first is: "What I Won't Miss." (The title makes me think: This person was aware of her impending death.) Among Ephron's dislikes: email, dry skin, panels on Women in Film. (Fabulous specificity.)

The second list: "What I'll Miss." Among the items: Pride and Prejudice, coming over the bridge into Manhattan, reading in bed.

I love Ephron's book because it sneaks in a fair amount of wisdom. For example: If you can write a parody of a certain newspaper, then you can also write *for* that newspaper. And if you're young and new to a job, you should try not to ask, How in the world can I figure this out? As much as possible, you should just figure it out. And if you're writing for a paper, and you save the best info for the last paragraph, you ought to rethink that. Really, who bothers to read the last paragraph?

Finally, I love Ephron because she looks squarely at life's unpleasant features. Her final collection includes an essay on her bald patch, an essay on her divorce, an essay on the experience of being old, and an essay on her various flops (e.g. "Bewitched"). Among the nuggets of tough love I'll never forget here: "In fact, most of the time, you learn nothing from a flop. You learn only that a flop is, indeed, always possible." "Divorce is almost never good for the kids, and generally when people say otherwise, they're lying." "Divorce does make clear something that can become cloudy in marriage: Who is going to tend to the crying baby? It's you. It's always you. You are on your own." "It's very easy to say to someone, You have spinach stuck in your teeth. All you need to do is lean in and say, You have spinach stuck in your teeth."

Is this Kant? No. But I admire Ephron's no-bullshit smarts. Always. I recommend this book.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...
1 comment
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more