It’s been awhile since I’ve written a review, and this book might not be the best one with which to resume. But it’s something to get me started again. In the past, my reviews have been academic, formal, dry. Something tells me Dorothy Parker would have hated them.
“The great trouble lies in expecting too much of a thing.”
-Dorothy Parker in ” Ziegfeld Follies of 1921″
Parker was, arguably, authentic in her voice. At least when it was time to bring the snark, which I honestly expected more of in this book. Probably one of the biggest takeaways I found here is that Parker’s voice cannot be emulated, and her wit defies imitation.
In Farewell Dorothy Parker, we’re introduced to Violet Epps, a somewhat renowned movie critic, whose life is complicated by a custody battle involving her niece and her niece’s grandparents. Violet is articulate and feisty. In her reviews. But her gumption is reserved for her writing, and her backbone all but disappears when she has to interact with people in real life. There’s a complicated backstory there that involves her older sister, now deceased, but in all honesty, the reason for Violet’s pliability seems sort of underdeveloped.
Through a series of bizarre circumstances, Violet is introduced to the real live (sort of) Dorothy Parker, who invades her life and, perhaps predictably, teaches her how to use her own voice off the page as well as on. And somehow, in the process, Violet manages to teach Parker a thing or two as well.
The idea for this story is a unique one, a literary what-if if there ever was one. The writing…eh…it’s ok. I wouldn’t say it’s the book to pick up if you’re looking for pretty sentences. But anyone who’s a fan of Parker will appreciate the nerve it must have taken to put words into her spitfire mouth. The book is a fun read and a quick one, and I don’t regret the time it took me to finish it. Meister is also the author of Dorothy Parker Drank Here, which is also currently on my bookshelf. I don’t know that I could read them back to back, but I’ll probably get to it sooner than later.
For now I’m content to move on to something a little less fantastic (maybe) and a little more scandalous: Judith Mackrell’s Flappers: Six Women of a Dangerous Generation.