This review of the new book/diary from Courtney Love is in this Sunday’s NYTBR . It begins:
There was a moment — let’s say 1989, since that’s when I discovered her — when Courtney Love seemed like the solution to every girl’s problems. A brazenly feminist punk rocker with big hips and a sloppy grin, she was the first female celebrity in a long time who wasn’t embarrassed to take up space.
Why, why, WHY do I care when reviewer Emily Nussbam discovered Courtney Love? No disrespect to Ms. Nussbaum, but I don’t. And I don’t see how any editor would let this lead a review.
Oh no, I went and googled her. And now I see the problem. Here’s a sampling of first sentences from her pieces at New York Magazine:
October 2, 2006: It’s a rainy September afternoon, the first day of the school year, and Cynthia Nixon offers me her umbrella.
July 24, 2006: Paul Giamatti and I are sitting on a stoop near Washington Square Park when two sweet little girls ask him for an autograph, having recognized the actor from his appearance in Big Fat Liar.
February 13, 2006: Maybe I’m just showing my demographic, but I wasn’t exactly jolted by the fact that the WB and UPN—those runty Davids of the network lineup—were joining forces, becoming one slightly larger David with a moderately heavier slingshot and a better lead-in for Veronica Mars.
November 14, 2005: Just before I left my apartment to meet Mary Gaitskill, I slipped off my engagement ring.
Enough! Ms. Nussbaum, who is probably a perfectly wonderful person, is in a writing rut. She can’t get herself out of her first sentences.
Someone, get that woman a blog.
huh. really? i much prefer to feel the reviewer present in the review. not ego-pieces, but reviews that really site the writer and their relationship with the work.
i’m afraid i don’t have the time right now to read that piece, but i guess i’m saying that i don’t mind any of those first sentences! (as a trend, though, they’re perhaps a little offputting.)