Inside a Late 20th Century Woman

It is a great blessing to have others read and report on certain books so that we can avoid tedium and queasiness.

From a WSJ Opinion Journal article, See Jane Run On and On :

See Jane Run On and On [/] Why Jane Fonda's tell-all book isn't likely to fly off the shelves. [\] Friday, April 8, 2005 12:01 a.m.

Reading Jane Fonda's autobiography is similar to watching one of those Roomba robotic vacuums clean a floor. Like the little machine, which careers off in a new direction after each object it hits, the woman at the center of "My Life So Far" seems to be guided mostly by the actions and ideas of others. It makes for a sad story in Ms. Fonda's case, full of emotional drama and addiction demons. In an earlier era, her self-searching (and the grisly details it calls forth) might have been called brave and celebrated as an inspiration. So far, however, that hasn't happened. After years of witnessing public confessionals, have we finally reached the point of revelation fatigue? [my emphasis]

Certainly Ms. Fonda's tale is full of woe: a distant mother who died by slashing her own throat; a cold father; three cheating husbands, one of whom demanded threesomes; decades of bulimia; substance abuse; difficult pregnancies; cruel or misguided medical treatment; all the harassment over her anti-Vietnam War activism. This is a partial list, in a volume that gives new meaning to the old song "Everything Happens to Me." If only half of what Ms. Fonda has been through, or subjected herself to, had occurred, it would still sound pitiably horrendous. [my emphasis]

So why has the reaction to her story been less than gushing? It's not because the book is badly written, although it thuds with lines like "My daughter's home had become a womb in which I was pregnant with myself." It's not because reading it is often a slog, as Ms. Fonda lurches grimly from personal tragedy to political agony. There are some accidental laughs--the author reports straight-faced that she got involved with the Black Panthers at the suggestion of the actor who played Grandpa on the "Munsters." The section of the book where Ms. Fonda regrets the 1972 picture of her sitting at a North Vietnamese antiaircraft gun is tinged with unintended black comedy. Ms. Fonda explains that she sat there distractedly: Vietnamese soldiers had just saluted "Uncle Ho" with a song that went, "All men are created equal. They are given certain rights; among those are life, liberty, and happiness" and Ms. Fonda was dazzled with joy. "I began to cry and clap," she writes. "These young men...celebrate the same words Americans do."

[ … ] If her book sells, Ms. Fonda can celebrate. But if it is validation she was seeking, the lesson here may be that the best place to find it is in private circles.

A life in our times. As told by a woman who had all the advantages.

And I am reminded of the advice a psychiatrist gave to clergymen. If a counselee’s story bores you, refer the person to a specialist in emotional and mental illness. Normal people do not tell boring stories when they are honestly asking for understanding and help.