Katie
Roiphe
Reading
Katie Roiphe is like a drink of Campari and grapefruit, bittersweet and
bracing. She’s the sort of person who’d be a good friend, but never your best
friend. Thoughtful, considerate, yes, but a little too astringent, a little too
willing to be dead honest, a little too sarcastic, a little too ready to see
the ridiculous in the things you thought you admired.
Thank
goodness we still have essayists, and books of essays; that we haven’t all
crawled up the navel of novels, or nonfiction, but still have people like
Roiphe dedicated to just writing opinion.
What’s
she on about? Pointless babies, American travelers, benighted relationships,
Didion, Austen, the incest card, Sontag, Updike, modern urban life, the benighted
Internet, being a dominatrix.
There
is so much she finds questionable, but so much she wants to appreciate. Her
approach/avoidance for everything is one long invigorating tone poem.
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