I was always in rooms full of men trying to stand up for myself [laughs]. It’s the story of almost every single woman today and then — if you’re a strong, powerful, smart woman, you tend to end up at some point in a room full of men trying to prove that your ideas are good. I felt like Robin was Peggy 40 years later. She’s what Peggy would be if she was an Australian detective [laughs]. Another parallel is that they’re women who are strong, but vulnerable. Who are smart and yet make bad choices.
— Elisabeth Moss, interviewed by the NY Times about her Emmy nominations for Mad Men and Top of the Lake.
Left early from work today. Agenda: finish one book, start another.
Just finished Edna O’Brien’s memoir, Country Girl, and just wow. So much about this book is great - like the section recalling her childhood in County Clare, her life as a single woman in 1950’s Dublin, and her depiction of all the shit she had to put up with as a woman writing in the early 1960’s (like her husband at the time insisting that she sign over all her royalty checks to him.) The latter half of the book does start to overwhelm a bit with the names of all the famous people she meets and befriends (McCartney, Burton, Brando, Beckett…), but it’s worth it to get her take on them. On Jackie Onassis, with whom she struck up a friendship in New York: "She was not a romantic, but she held on to the shibboleths of it, to see her through the carnivore world of celebrity."
The unreliable narrator!
I assure you, there’s a perfectly legitimate reason why we marked up the library floor plan to show where the bar should go.
Alright America, lets get these fireworks started!
Everyone had been telling me this is great, and they’re 100% right.
Misery and pessimism stand in opposition to value. And we all need to feel valuable. This is where stories come in. How we expand our lungs. We step into the shoes of others. I’m certainly not saying the world is an airy playground. I embrace reality. I know how shit it is. I don’t think I step away from the real horrors, but I don’t think it’s enough to only paint the real horrors; you have to find some purpose beyond them. Otherwise you remain in the shit.
Yo Meg Wolitzer, this is pretty good so far, and Imma let you finish, but Virginia Woolf’s The Waves was the best “group of friends” novel of all time.