I awoke early this morning and finished Jess Walter's sprawling novel Beautiful Ruins. While it was an enjoyable read, I wasn't as moved as I expected to be based on all the reviews I've been reading, and a lot of that is because much of it seemed...calculated. I could see behind the illusion. Could see why the author had placed certain passages in the story, knew what he was attempting to make me feel, and as a result his manipulations were largely unsuccessful. Anytime an author tries to place his opinions about a character or an incident on me, not only does it take me out of the story, but I tend to rebel.
I'm sad to say I'm much more excited about Debbie Reynold's new Hollywood tell-all (which I had pre-ordered and is set to arrive on my door step tomorrow) in which she claims to tell some pretty juicy stories observed as one of the Hollywood's in-crowd during the fifties and sixties. I've always loved Debbie, admired her deep respect for Hollywood's past, and loved her bawdy sense of humor which she promises to dispense in the upcoming book.
Now that most of the people she's worked with from MGM's hey-day have passed on, she's said in interviews that she feels freer than she has in the past to discuss their lives. And though it's likely to be a little salacious, I won't be able to keep myself from tearing into it and devouring it whole.
One of the tidbits involves Shelly Winters at a party wearing a huge skirt, under which not one, but two men were servicing her. Yes, it's tawdry, and yes, I'm sorry I placed that picture in your head, because no matter how young she was at the time this little incident took place, I have a feeling you are imagining something closer to this Shelley Winters...
I'm hoping there will be a couple stories about Judy, as I know the two of them were good friends and I have a strong feeling Debbie will do well by her. After all, everybody knows how wild and crazy ole' Shelley was anyway, so her memory will hardly be tarnished.
It feels like early on in our lives, every one of us is convinced to cast aside a piece of ourselves. Whether that something is as big as a sexual preference or as seemingly insignificant as a favorite color. Here's my journey to taking those pieces back.
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