Further, as you know me personally, you know there are aspects of my life that never appear on the blog, as those close to me wish to preserve their privacy. And who can blame them?

Waldman’s Modern Love essay about loving her husband more than her children blew my mind. I have never forgotten it. File under things you just don’t say aloud. Much less publicly.

But then there is indeed Didion, who can admit anything and make it sound elegant.

Food for thought.

BK

I’d have to read more by Freeman to see if I felt like he’s out of bounds. Waldman in her essays doesn’t even seem to recognize their may be boundaries. The biggest difference between her (or maybe even Pollack) and Freeman or Franzen is that she’s writing about her children without their permission in ways that violate their privacy. I can’t imagine the hell to pay when her kids grow up and read that stuff on the net. With Waldman, the cringefactor is pinned to red from the first sentence.

Pollack has a lighter touch, but there is again, something about using his kid in the way he does for fodder. Pollack’s writing has a much more obvious “persona” but I feel as though there will be consequences down the line there as well.

Although Freeman’s outburst may not be the most diplomatic way to speak against a book he disagrees with, it’s a peek into the debate over award winners that outsiders don’t usually get to see. It reminds us that those considered qualified to determine excellence in writing are people with passions, too.