I'm not sure why I picked this up, except that it was essays, and I'm sure I thought, "Oh! I love essays", some of them from the New Yorker and some from NYRB and I'm sure I thought, "Oh! Those will be quality."

Maybe they were, but they were so very, very dated. I guess it was a nice walk down memory lane as we were reminded of the confirmation hearings for now-Justices John Roberts and Samuel Alito, and Jon Stewart/Stephen Colbert's march to restore sanity, etc.. But the essay about email - what a hoot. "As email's novelty wears off and its limitations become clearer, we will revert to the telephone..." Ha ha ha!

Essays in the beginning of the book tended to profile people with some unusual vocation or avocation, such as concert pianist or running a rare-print book shop. These weren't terribly gripping. I have to admit I skipped one about a classic music radio show. ( )

I really really love Janet Malcolm’s writing style! I’m going to have to tackle some more of her full-length books. ( )

Essays are one of my favorite written forms and Janet Malcolm is known for her essay writing. Some of these here, especially the artist profiles are wonderful. Others, particularly the political and current events pieces are not at all good. I'm planning to read her book "Forty-one False Starts: Essays on Artists and Writers" and ignore her other witing. One very interesting entry is about a university professor who insists that sexuality is an important part of pedagogy. The essay examines that premise and is especially telling in the era of snowflake feminism. ( )

I liked this book, but it was kinda hard to get through. Learned it was necessary to take a break between essays; it's not really possible to go straight through.

IMO it got worse as it went along. My favorite piece in the book was the second essay, about the concert pianist Yuja Wang. (Probably, I'll admit, because I play piano myself.) One of the most interesting parts was Malcolm's discussion of Wang's clothing. Malcolm tells us that Wang wears skin-tight, short, strappy dresses when performing, accompanied by stiletto heels. There;'s an excellent discussion of the effect on pp. 40-41, including a quote from one reviewer: "It turns a recital into a performance" (Zachary Woolfe, New York *Times*, quoted in Malcom, *Nobody' s Looking At You*). I don't have anything to add to the discussion, really, except to say that fashion is absolutely Art and ought to be treated as such. (Also, the picture of Wang on the book's cover is spectacular.)

The Wang piece is sandwiched between similar 'enigmatic commentary profile etc' essays, on Eileen Fisher (the namesake founder and the company) and the Argosy bookshop, in New York City. The Argosy piece has a section that exemplifies what I love about this style, although I'm not sure why I do. Malcolm devotes two and a half pages to a son - Zack - of Naomi, one of the three sisters and co-owners of the Argosy. The section includes a lengthy digression on Zack's principal hobby (he works at the Argosy part-time): ball hawking, or collecting baseballs. Malcolm connects his obsession with ball hawking to a meticulous attention for detail that he applies to his work at the Argsoy. OK, makes sense. But the last paragraph of this section... it's incredible. I'm just going to type it all out for you.

> Early in our talk, a messenger had come in and handed Zack a letter, which he glanced at and put aside. Now he picked it up and said, "I think this is a piece of *hate mail*. I recognize the handwriting. In 2009, I had an unfortunate experience with a fan at Yankee Stadium. I caught a lot of ball during batting practice, and some guy in the stands took exception. He said something rude, and what I should have done was just walk away. But for some reason I chose to engage, and it just escalated and got ugly. Now this guy sends me hate mail. Of all the things in the world that are horrible and cause suffering to other people, you wouldn't think that catching baseballs was one of them."

(emphasis mine)

And then it just ends! That's it! Malcolm moves on to a new topic; there's a section break! (It isn't the end of the essay.) This is astounding to me. What conclusion am I supposed to draw?? It's an essay about an antique bookstore. I hate that, but I also love it. Like, you're the writer, shouldn't you be making a point? And she just doesn't! It's practically a power move.

After the Argosy come another two profiles. One is of the Hungarian-born George Jellinek, who for for thirty-six years (though no longer) curated and narrated the hour-long radio program *The Vocal Scene*, on WQRX, which was an opera showcase. It was fine; it's interesting to read about opera, but I'm not particularly interested. More accurately, then: it's interesting to know how interested some people are in opera. This is the subculture thing. The last profile is of Rachel Maddow; it's also fine. Thus ends Part I.

Part II starts with a history of Supreme Court confirmation hearings. It was interesting, but published in 2006; it felt flat in a world where the Kavanaugh and [Obamas last nomination] confirmations happened and didn't, respectively.

There's then a bizarre review of a bizarre Sarah Palin docuseries, a boring review of the Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear, and a weird review of an email how-to and étiquette manual. (The last one is IMO kind of a juvenile treatment of the subject.) Thus ends Part II.

Next, two essays on *Anna Karenina*. The first, discussing the comedy in the plot, I skipped; the second, about the relative quality of different translations, was interesting but I found I didn't really care, because I've never read it. I hope I'll remember to review Malcolm's recommendations when I do.

That's followed by a super weird profile-review about the writing of a dude named Joseph Mitchell. Mitchell wrote a bunch: essays (many in the *New Yorker*) and books; evidently he toed the line between fiction and non-fiction. Malcolm doesn't condemn this as strongly as I would've liked. (Although, I remember being kind of bleary while reading this one; I was confused the whole time. It's possible I just missed or misinterpreted it.)

To close out, a series of book reviews (I guess the previous was a book review, too, which is part of the reason I was so confused). First, a woman who got really mad at two university students for making a fuss after (mostly/all, don't remember) verbal sexual harassment by a professor; Malcolm (correctly) sides with the students. It's mostly just annoying to read because the woman is so obviously wrong. Then, one about how sexual relations between students and professors can be empowering for the students. Read it with a grain of salt, but it certainly seems a much more mature handling of the situation than the previous review's book. It also has some interesting comparisons between the author's relationship(s) with her professors when she was a student and her relationship(s) with her students today, as a professor. Then, a book about (I think) the life and family of Virginia Woolf, written by a nephew. It seemed interesting, but the review was written for people who had more knowledge of the whole situation going in than I did. Then a review of an unauthorized biography; it's kinda fun to watch Malcolm slowly come to the conclusion that the author is a bellend and realize she's thought that the entire time. A series about a firm of lady detectives in Botswana follows; Malcolm's last paragraph of glowing praise was unexpected after a much for restrained body. Finally, a reissue of the Norman Podhoretz memoir *Making It*. This was interesting for it's discussion of a Writer's life and the New York literary scene (i.e. this, from p. 285: "We follow Norman's campaign to gain acceptance into 'the family'--the mostly but by no means exclusively Jewish intellectuals associated with *Partisan Review*--with the sort of interest we reserve for favorite sports teams."). Thus ends Part III.

One of my favorite things about this book was Malcolm's use of "psychotherapy" and "psychotherapist" instead of "therapy" and "therapist." It's charming. I was also interesting by the editing; each of the pieces is dated and they're definitely not in chronological order. I see the major arcs -- profiles, misc (cultural reviews), reviews -- but I'd be curious to know how those were decided on, how they were ordered, how pieces were selected, and how each Part was ordered within itself.

I'll leave with this: Malcolm is certainly an excellent writer. I was befuddled sometimes, sure, but I felt the whole time like I ought to be thanking her. The words roll by on the page. ( )

Reading this collection of essays is to put you into the hands of a masterful writer. I’ve have always read a lot of nonfiction, and many times, if the subject interested me enough, I would accept sub-par writing just to learn more. When I first got to know my late wife, I was surprised to learn that she never accepted any poor writing whether it was nonfiction, fiction, or poetry. Now, writing those words out, it only seems right and logical … just another way Vicky opened my eyes. I feel sure that she would have been enthusiastic about every single one of these well-crafted essays. ( )