I feel bad about my neck And other thoughts on being a woman

Nora Ephron

Large print - 2007

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Subjects
Published
Waterville, Me. : Thorndike Press 2007.
Language
English
Main Author
Nora Ephron (-)
Edition
Large print ed
Physical Description
175 p. (large print)
ISBN
9780786292523
Contents unavailable.
Review by Booklist Review

Ephron's series of delectable short essays, most previously published (in the New Yorker, Vogue, and O, among other periodicals), will be especially delicious to women pretty much like her: over 60, though fighting to maintain a 50s sensibility, accomplished, a parent, rich enough to have regular manicures, and preferably a New Yorker. That said, there's plenty of universality in her wry humor. What woman hasn't looked in a mirror, pulled back her facial skin, and realized the problem was really her neck? Or been horrified to find that upscale purses cost what was used to be a reasonable price for a used car? Baby Boomer parents will certainly nod when she writes about the ungrateful adolescent who-unlike you-has parents really into parenting: ""You've devoted years to making your children feel that you care about every single emotion they've ever felt."" Some of the pieces are pop classics, like the one about her love affair with her Upper West Side apartment. And, beyond the wit, much of her advice is good: use lots of your favorite bath oil, she says, because recent events in her life-the illness and deaths of friends-have taught her that she's ""going to feel like an idiot if I die tomorrow and I skimped on the bath oil."""--"Cooper, Ilene" Copyright 2007 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

The honest truth is that it's sad to be over sixty," concludes Nora Ephron in her sparkling new book about aging. With 15 essays in 160 pages, this collection is short, a thoughtful concession to pre- and post-menopausal women (who else is there?), like herself, who "can't read a word on the pill bottle," follow a thought to a conclusion, or remember the thought after not being able to read the pill bottle. Ephron drives the truth home like a nail in your soon-to-be-bought coffin: "Plus, you can't wear a bikini." But just as despair sets in, she admits to using "quite a lot of bath oil... I'm as smooth as silk." Yes, she is. This is aging lite-but that might be the answer. Besides, there's always Philip Roth for aging heavy. Ephron, in fact, offers a brief anecdote about Roth, in a chapter on cooking, concerning her friend Jane, who had a one-night stand, long ago, with the then "up-and-coming" writer. He gave Jane a copy of his latest book. "Take one on your way out," he said. Conveniently, there was a box of them by the front door. Ephron refuses to analyze-one of her most refreshing qualities-and quickly moves on to Jane's c?leri remoulade. Aging, according to Ephron, is one big descent-and who would argue? (Well, okay-but they'd lose the argument if they all got naked.) There it is, the steady spiraling down of everything: body and mind, breasts and balls, dragging one's self-respect behind them. Ephron's witty riffs on these distractions are a delightful antidote to the prevailing belief that everything can be held up with surgical scaffolding and the drugs of denial. Nothing, in the end, prevents the descent. While signs of mortality proliferate, Ephron offers a rebuttal of consequence: an intelligent, alert, entertaining perspective that does not take itself too seriously. (If you can't laugh, after all, you are already, technically speaking, dead.) She does, however, concede that hair maintenance-styling, dyeing, highlighting, blow-drying-is a serious matter, not to mention the expense. "Once I picked up a copy of Vogue while having my hair done, and it cost me twenty thousand dollars. But you should see my teeth." Digging deeper, she discovers that your filthy, bulging purse containing numerous things you don't need-and couldn't find if you did-is, "in some absolutely horrible way, you." Ephron doesn't shy away from the truth about sex either, and confesses, though with an appropriate amount of shame, that despite having been a White House intern in 1961, she did not have an affair with JFK. May Ephron, and her purse, endure so she can continue to tell us how it goes. Or, at least, where it went. Toni Bentley is the author, most recently, of Sisters of Salome and The Surrender, an Erotic Memoir. She is writing about Emma, Lady Hamilton, for the Eminent Lives series. (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review

Not going gently into that good night: funny essays on women resisting aging, baby-boomer style. With a nine-city tour. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

A disparate assortment of sharp and funny pieces revealing the private anguishes, quirks and passions of a woman on the brink of senior citizenhood. Ephron, whose screenwriting credits include Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally and Silkwood, has brought together 15 essays, most of them previously published in the New York Times, the New Yorker or assorted women's/fashion magazines. She explores the woes of aging with honesty--hair-coloring and Botox are standard treatments, as is getting a mustache wax--but maintaining a 60-plus body is only her starting point. Ephron includes breezy accounts of her culinary misadventures, her search for the perfect cabbage strudel and her dissatisfaction with women's purses. An essay on her love affair and eventual disenchantment with the Apthorp apartment building on Manhattan's West Side deftly captures both the changes in New York City and in her own life. There's an unusual pairing of presidential pieces: A lighthearted piece on her non-encounter with Kennedy when she was a White House intern in the 1960s is followed by a fiercely astringent one on the failings of Bill Clinton. Some of the pieces, such as her essay on parenting, seem tentative, and two, "The Story of My Life in 3,500 Words or Less" and "What I Wish I'd Known," read like works in progress, suggesting that they may have been rushed into print to fill the pages of a too-small book. One doesn't need to be a post-menopausal New Yorker with a liberal outlook and comfortable income to enjoy Ephron's take on life, but those who fit the profile will surely relish it most. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

What I Wish I'd Known People have only one way to be. Buy, don't rent. Never marry a man you wouldn't want to be divorced from. Don't cover a couch with anything that isn't more or less beige. Don't buy anything that is 100 percent wool even if it seems to be very soft and not particularly itchy when you try it on in the store. You can't be friends with people who call after 11 p.m. Block everyone on your instant mail. The world's greatest babysitter burns out after two and a half years. You never know. The last four years of psychoanalysis are a waste of money. The plane is not going to crash. Anything you think is wrong with your body at the age of thirty-five you will be nostalgic for at the age of forty- five. At the age of fifty-five you will get a saggy roll just above your waist even if you are painfully thin. This saggy roll just above your waist will be especially visible from the back and will force you to reevaluate half the clothes in your closet, especially the white shirts. Write everything down. Keep a journal. Take more pictures. The empty nest is underrated. You can order more than one dessert. You can't own too many black turtleneck sweaters. If the shoe doesn't fit in the shoe store, it's never going to fit. When your children are teenagers, it's important to have a dog so that someone in the house is happy to see you. Back up your files. Overinsure everything. Whenever someone says the words "Our friendship is more important than this," watch out, because it almost never is. There's no point in making piecrust from scratch. The reason you're waking up in the middle of the night is the second glass of wine. The minute you decide to get divorced, go see a lawyer and file the papers. Overtip. Never let them know. If only one third of your clothes are mistakes, you're ahead of the game. If friends ask you to be their child's guardian in case they die in a plane crash, you can say no. There are no secrets. From the Hardcover edition. Excerpted from I Feel Bad about My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman by Nora Ephron All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.