About a week ago, my editor called me to say that David Colman, of The New York Times, was writing an article about the new Confessions of a Shopaholic movie, and he needed someone "scholarly" to comment. Since I published a book on chick lit with a chapter specifically on that novel, he thought I might have something to say. I was ecstatic. This was big time. I had daydreams of sending the article to a snide, Guggenheim winning, former professor from graduate school who boldly declared, "You'll never get anywhere writing about chick lit." (Um, how 'bout The New York Times?) Plus, I'd be able to put it on my annual report, finally finding a way to answer the rather puzzling question: "Briefly describe the impact of your recent research/scholarship/creative activity on significant new knowledge, infrastructure for scholarship, society, students, underrepresented groups, policy, and community." (What?!)
The first time David called I was in class. Because I'm always in class. But, in between classes, I eagerly checked my email, hoping he'd give me a sense of what his timetable was. I certainly didn't want to miss my one chance at fame because I was helping a student catch up on work she had missed while absent with the 24-day flu. He had emailed. In his article, he said, he wanted to discuss the history of consumerism in the novel. You know, Vanity Fair, Anna Karenina, etc. He named about 18 19th-century novels that I had never read. Things were not looking good.
We talked, though, for a rather long time about books, shopping, chick lit. It was clear to me from our discussion that the article was already written, at least in his head, and he was looking for someone to corroborate the views that he had already established. I got the feeling that my work didn't exactly mesh with what he had already been thinking about, so I wasn't feeling very hopeful. Then, when I heard he'd interviewed Plum Sykes, I got even less hopeful.
The article came out on Thursday, and needless to say, I didn't make it in. David quoted a professor from Hunter instead (damn, New Yorkers). But Plum didn't make it in either, so I felt a little better.
The only thing I could see to do in response was a little retail therapy. I bought a pair of boots. I almost bought an $890 Louis Vuitton bag. Fitting, right?
Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!
Keep sweeping, Martha
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