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rhodered 's review for:
A Fine Romance
by Candice Bergen
A disappointment.
Read her first book, even just a chapter or two of it, and then read some of this one. They are overtly not by the same woman. The first is intelligent, thoughtful, amusing, lyrical, humble, interesting.... The second is a crotchety, self-centered woman speaking in plain, even bald, English. It's apparent from the afterward of the second that she used a ghostwriter. Was the ghost to blame or has the woman herself changed? A little of both I think.
I did not want to know that she and her daughter have a disgustingly cutesy wootsy pet language they use when speaking between themselves. (It sounds like the kind of thing that would make anyone overhearing them want to vomit.) I did not want to hear she has a tiny admittedly stupid dog she hires people to walk because really it's too much trouble to do oneself in New York. I did not want to hear that her husband annoys her when he moves the snacks out of her reach because she is so fat due to self indulgence alone. I did not want to know that she had her neck cords shaved after the Murphy Brown premiere episode because TV cameras are so unforgiving. I did not want to hear how many times she fluffed her Broadway show appearance because gee whiz it's hard to remember ones lines and entrance.
I feel as though someone I admired for being kind of a deep person had jettisoned her brain at age 50 and become a self centered old bore.
There is a short story by, I think, Ursula leGuin, where a famous war general runs across an aging noblewoman in a ballroom decades after they last met, when they were both young and she was an idealist full of fervor and care for her people. Now, she is concerned only with society and her dress.
Same thing here.
Read her first book, even just a chapter or two of it, and then read some of this one. They are overtly not by the same woman. The first is intelligent, thoughtful, amusing, lyrical, humble, interesting.... The second is a crotchety, self-centered woman speaking in plain, even bald, English. It's apparent from the afterward of the second that she used a ghostwriter. Was the ghost to blame or has the woman herself changed? A little of both I think.
I did not want to know that she and her daughter have a disgustingly cutesy wootsy pet language they use when speaking between themselves. (It sounds like the kind of thing that would make anyone overhearing them want to vomit.) I did not want to hear she has a tiny admittedly stupid dog she hires people to walk because really it's too much trouble to do oneself in New York. I did not want to hear that her husband annoys her when he moves the snacks out of her reach because she is so fat due to self indulgence alone. I did not want to know that she had her neck cords shaved after the Murphy Brown premiere episode because TV cameras are so unforgiving. I did not want to hear how many times she fluffed her Broadway show appearance because gee whiz it's hard to remember ones lines and entrance.
I feel as though someone I admired for being kind of a deep person had jettisoned her brain at age 50 and become a self centered old bore.
There is a short story by, I think, Ursula leGuin, where a famous war general runs across an aging noblewoman in a ballroom decades after they last met, when they were both young and she was an idealist full of fervor and care for her people. Now, she is concerned only with society and her dress.
Same thing here.