Few American writers of the twentieth century so embody the quotably pungent and pithy in their prose as does Dorothy Rothschild Parker.
Google her name, and her often caustic, witty, gems just tumble out at you:
–“The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.”
–“If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people He gave it to.”
–“She runs the gamut of emotions from A to B” (this from a review of a Katharine Hepburn performance in a Broadway play)
–“The first thing I do in the morning is brush my teeth and sharpen my tongue.” (I particularly appreciate this one since it’s been said of me more than once that I always carry two lethal weapons: my tongue and my pen.
–“What fresh hell is this?” (Allegedly this was Parker’s usual response every time the doorbell rang in her Upper East Side apartment.)
–“Brevity is the soul of lingerie.”
–“I don’t care what anybody says about me as long as it isn’t true.”
–“Of course I talk to myself. I like a good speaker, and I appreciate an intelligent audience.”
And one of the finest, recounted in a vignette written by Sheila Graham in the Hartford Courant from October 14, 1938:
Dorothy Parker tells me of the last time she encountered Playwright Clare Boothe Luce. The two ladies were trying to get out of a doorway at the same time. Clare drew back and cracked, “Age before beauty, Miss Parker.” As Dorothy swept out, she turned to the other guests and said. “Pearls before swine.”
But the DP quote I’ve chosen for today is one I particularly love. It comes, as did so much of her output, from a review of an item of cultural interest, in this case, Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged:
This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.*
So, come on. Haven’t we all come across at least one of these in our lives? Which weighty tomes, or bits of literary fluff, would you put on the list? Or better yet, fling across the room, if you had the chance (less effective, more expensive, and not as much fun with e-books, which don’t land with the same satisfying thump, it’s true).
I’ll start: Just about anything with Jack Kerouac’s name on it (self-indulgent and creepy). Lady Chatterley’s Lover (tedious, overwrought, and laughable purple prose). Fifty Shades of Grey (unbelievably badly written). Any Dan Brown book, starting with The DaVinci Code (Can’t keep them straight, one from the other. I suppose if you overlook the abysmal writing, the lack of character development, and the ludicrous and inconsistent plot twists, what’s left might be worth saving).
You can have my share of any and all of these.
So. Your turn. What are your least favorite novels of all time?
*In its most quoted form, it’s generally assumed to be a paraphrase of the actual review. No one has been able to find exactly these words, in exactly this order, in her writings. But, if she didn’t say it in precisely this way, she should have. If for no other reason than that I so completely agree with the sentiment.
Dorothy Rothschild Parker, a “true New Yorker,” was born 131 years ago, on August 22, 1893.
To be honest, I ditch most of those I dislike early on! But if I think of a book, I’ll let you know.
Me too! I’m currently wrestling with one that’s the sixth in a series of seven mystery/PI novels by one of my favorite authors. I loved the first five, but this one is a dud, largely because the author interpolates page upon page of social media posts by a gang of weird Goth Gamers into the plot. There are often several “threads” occurring at once, and it’s just impossible to keep track of them (because print, with no hyperlinks), let alone try and stay on top of how they relate to the rest of the action. I put it down about 1/3 of the way into it (it’s over 1000 pages) a couple of weeks ago, and haven’t picked it up since.
I’ll probably keep it, just in case the leg falls off my sofa and I need a temporary replacement. But I doubt I’ll finish it. Perhaps I’ll read the last chapter, just to see whodunit, and then move on to the next one. Hope it’s better.