The graveyard of personal literary ambition.
There is only one of me, but I am Legion.
(lazy dot reviewer at gmail)
Oh, it was totally fun. I have a massive, massive obsession with Mindy Kaling, so I was bound to like it. You should buy it and then read it. And then lobby her to resurrect her shopping blog, which was always a delight. (UPDATE SHE DID AND YOU HAVE TOLD ME: http://theconcernsofmindykaling.com/)
But, as I was reading the book (again, while nursing and watching Robyn videos at two am), and emailing my bestie to say “I wish Mindy Kaling was our friend and would come over and watch Top Chef with us, and stuff,” it occurred to me that we place way too much of a burden on female writers to be people we could envision watching TV with and meeting for brunch.
You know? I feel like interviews and articles about Lionel Shriver are always “this bitch is kinda cold and weird,” but she’s absolutely a tremendous genius, and doesn’t owe us this let’s-have-Cosmos-together personality thing, at all. But her non-personability is always displayed as a mild negative.
Whereas, I’m sure, say, Keith Gessen is totally fun, but it’s not something that’s going to be MENTIONED in REVIEWS, right? And when male authors are dicks, it’s really a mark in their favor. Because they are Serious.
But I still want Mindy Kaling to be my friiiiiieeeend.