Title: Poor poor pitiful me
Review: I noticed this book on a friend's bookshelf in his 1185 Park Avenue apartment. Interested in the the building, its neighborhood, and its original milieu, I began to read. To my dismay, I found that Roiphe's book is primarily a recounting of a series of embarrassing and painful episodes from the author's privileged past: foolish and unlikable people hurting themselves and each other, again and again. Except perhaps as catharsis for the author, the point of the exercise is unclear: there are no insights to be found here.
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