Synopses & Reviews
The perfect holiday gift: a pair of hilarious books from the “wickedly witty and astute” Nora Ephron, a “crackling smart cultural scribe” (
The Boston Globe) whose insights and observations have made her a heroine to women all over America.
Critics and readers embraced the nationwide best seller I Feel Bad About My Neck—“Marvelous” (The Washington Post); “Sparkling” (Ladies Home Journal); “Delightful” (The New York Review of Books)—and applauded Ephron for “mak[ing] the truth about life so funny” (The Sunday Times, London). In I Remember Nothing the beloved humorist returns with more razor-sharp reflections on growing older in the twenty-first century, along with those stories from the past she hasnt (yet) forgotten.
I Feel Bad About My Neck
and Other Thoughts on Being a Woman
With her disarming, intimate, completely accessible voice and dry sense of humor, Ephron shares with us her ups and downs in this wise, wonderful look at women of a certain age who are dealing with the tribulations of maintenance, menopause, empty nests, and everything in between. Ephron chronicles her life as an obsessed cook, a passionate city dweller, and a hapless parent. But mostly she speaks frankly and uproariously about getting older. Utterly courageous, unexpectedly moving, and laugh-out-loud funny, I Feel Bad About My Neck is a scrumptious, irresistible treat of a book.
I Remember Nothing
and Other Reflections
Ephron takes a cool, hard, hilarious look at the past, the present, and the future, writing about falling hard for a way of life (“Journalism: A Love Story”) and breaking up even harder with the men in her life (“The D Word”); revealing the alarming evolution, a decade after she wrote and directed Youve Got Mail, of her relationship with her in-box (“The Six Stages of E-mail”); and asking the age-old question, which came first, the chicken soup or the cold? All the while, she gives voice to everything women have been thinking . . . but rarely acknowledging. Filled with insights and observations that instantly ring true—and could have come only from Nora Ephron—I Remember Nothing is pure joy.
“[Ephron] retains an uncanny ability to sound like your best friend, whoever you are . . . Some things dont change. Its good to know that Ms. Ephrons wry, knowing X-ray vision is one of them.” —The New York Times
“Nora Ephron has become timeless.” —Los Angeles Times Book Review
Review
"[M]ost of these essays work as comic relief, tailor-made to the publications in which they first appeared...but executed with overall sharpness and panache. They prompt the wish that Ms. Ephron would let down her painstakingly colored and blown-dry hair a lot more often." Janet Maslin, the New York Times
Review
"What is so refreshing about Ephron is that she doesn't take herself too seriously. Mid-complaint about her rising rent, she has the self-perspective to quip, 'And no one cared. Even I wouldn't have cared if I hadn't been me.'" Newsday
Review
"Use this wryly romantic book as a guide to musing about mortality, or just curling up in your empty nest." O: Oprah magazine
Review
"I Feel Bad About My Neck...is the kind of book you want to buy for all your baby-boomer girlfriends as they dread their next birthdays. Her little book of essays is indeed a gift rich with laughs and comforting in its reflections on everything from hair dye...to reading glasses." Rocky Mountain News
Review
"While very little in the book is meant to be taken seriously, it is clever enough to qualify as more than just an assemblage of one-liners. Whether you agree with her observations or not, Ephron's perspective as an admittedly high-maintenance, New York-dwelling, successful screenwriter will keep you entertained. She doesn't stop with necks, but takes on other afflictions (and a few delights) that mark this season of her life....These topics are laced with wry observations, told in an intimate style that makes Ephron seem like a close friend spilling details about her life." April Austin, The Christian Science Monitor (read the entire CSM review)
Synopsis
With her disarming, intimate, completely accessible voice, and dry sense of humor, Nora Ephron shares with us her ups and downs in
I Feel Bad About My Neck, a candid, hilarious look at women who are getting older and dealing with the tribulations of maintenance, menopause, empty nests, and life itself.
The woman who brought us When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, You've Got Mail, and Bewitched, and the author of best sellers Heartburn, Scribble Scribble, and Crazy Salad, discusses everything from how much she hates her purse to how much time she spends attempting to stop the clock: the hair dye, the treadmill, the lotions and creams that promise to slow the aging process but never do. Oh, and she can't stand the way her neck looks. But her dermatologist tells her there's no quick fix for that.
Ephron chronicles her life as an obsessed cook, passionate city dweller, and hapless parent. She recounts her anything-but-glamorous days as a White House intern during the JFK years ("I am probably the only young woman who ever worked in the Kennedy White House that the President did not make a pass at.") and shares how she fell in and out of love with Bill Clinton from a distance, of course. But mostly she speaks frankly and uproariously about life as a woman of a certain age.
Utterly courageous, wickedly funny, and unexpectedly moving in its truth telling, I Feel Bad About My Neck is a book of wisdom, advice, and laugh-out-loud moments, a scrumptious, irresistible treat.
About the Author
Nora Ephron is the author of the huge best seller I Feel Bad About My Neck as well as Heartburn, Crazy Salad, Wallflower at the Orgy, and Scribble Scribble. She recently wrote and directed the hit movie Julie & Julia and has received Academy Award nominations for Best Original Screenplay for When Harry Met Sally . . . , Silkwood, and Sleepless in Seattle, which she also directed. Her other credits include the script for the current stage hit Love, Loss, and What I Wore with Delia Ephron. She lives in New York City with her husband, writer Nicholas Pileggi.