A Massive Swelling: Celebrity Reexamined as Grotesque Crippling Disease and Other Cultural Revelations

by Cintra Wilson

A columnist and cultural critic explores the meaning of fame and celebrity in modern-day society, in a provocative, witty colleciton of essays that takes on such icons as Barbra Streisand the role of the diva, Michael Jackson, Bruce Willis, the Academy Awards, athletic spectaculars, and Las Vegas, "The Death Star of Entertainment." Reprint.

Genres: Nonfiction, Essays, Humor, Sociology, Pop Culture, Cultural, History

229 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2000

About the author

Cintra Wilson is a playwright, novelist, and a past columnist for the San Francisco Examiner, Salon, and the New York Times. She lives in New York City.

Reviews

[James · Rating 1 out of 5]

If Cintra Wilson weren't so relentlessly unpleasant, I would have felt embarrassed for her. A Massive Swelling was a steaming pile of envy from a pathetic, prudish, pseudo-intellectual scenester with a tin ear and an undergraduate's penchant for exhausting comic hyperbole. I love a bitchy screed as much as the next misanthrope, but this book, which purports to be a skewering of our unhealthy collective obsession with fame, actually reads as an unconscious exercise in self-humiliation by a hanger-on whose desperate networking has, for painfully obvious reasons, failed to win her the fame and fortune she so clearly believes she deserves. As far as I can tell, Cintra Wilson's only real objection to celebrity is that there isn't enough of it for Cintra Wilson. Occasionally, she tries to affect an attitude of what, I suppose, she imagines is high-minded seriousness (e.g. her apparently straight-faced suggestion that the producers of the Academy Awards should have hired Pina Bausch rather than Debbie Allen to choreograph their musical spectaculars), but most of the time her first order of business is to let you know that Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson are in her yoga class and that she eats in restaurants frequented by the likes of Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman and drinks with Harry Dean Stanton.
Also, while Cintra Wilson disapproves of the shallow notions of beauty that are perpetuated by the Miss America contest, she doesn't disapprove of them quite as much as she disapproves of fat women. Or men who masturbate.
I'm really getting too old to indulge this OCD completist's need to finish awful books. My remaining reading hours are (slowly, I hope) dwindling, and I shouldn't waste them on turds like this.

[Laura · Rating 3 out of 5]

I wanted to like this book more than I did. I expected to love it unreservedly -- I spend so much time rolling my eyes at the sight of commuters with their faces buried in People Magazine and In Touch that I'm sort of surprised they aren't permanently lodged in the back of my skull -- but the content kept getting tripped up by the ostentatious, aren't-I-terribly-clever writing. Now, I don't mind ostentatious writing, necessarily, but ostentatious mixed with pages and pages of fulmination can get to be a bit much. Imagine a coke fiend standing on the middle of the 6 train during rush hour, holding forth, loudly, about the evils of Bush and Cheney. Dead on? Sure. Emotionally satisfying? Well, yeah, in a way. Do you kind of wish he would shut the fuck up already? Yep. That's sort of the feeling I had when I was reading this book. (There was also a bit of self-congratulation mixed in -- Ms. Wilson managed to note her disgust that even as an Award Winning Writer, she had some trouble getting a book deal. Ah, the blind folly of the publishing industry.)

Still, I must admit, I found myself nodding and chuckling a lot at the mordant observations about our celebrity-obsessed culture. And since things have only gotten worse since 2000, when this book was published, I do find myself wondering what Wilson has to say about the Spears Girls, for example.

[Mer · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ah, Cintra Wilson. How your brutal, merciless beauty has captured my heart.

When she described Los Angeles as "a giant peach of a dream crawling with centipedes" I knew it was love.

This collection of her screamingly funny essays lampooning our society's unhealthy fascination with fame and pop celebrity was LONG overdue when Penguin compiled it several years ago, and her message of "DON'T BELIEVE THE HYPE, YOU SICK LITTLE PUPPIES" holds true now more than ever.

[Jay · Rating 4 out of 5]

I loved this rant on celebrity culture in U.S.
It is smart and out loud funny.

Notes touched upon in book:

Rumors that Michael Jackson's nose fell off during the pepsi commercial.

Actual fan letters to New Kids on the Block from teenage girl's MOTHERS
not the girls themselves.

Celine Dion clutching a blind child on a playground and screaming
"She wants to learn, God Dammit. Let her Learn!"

Find a copy of this genius before it slips into out of print corners.

[Allison Floyd · Rating 1 out of 5]

GUPTGed on page 58. I was sufficiently charmed by the author's contribution to It's So You to seek this out from the library. I'll probably still try to read one of her novels, but man, this wasn't the book for me. The bombastic declarations on the book jacket didn't set a good precedent: "Wilson says what everyone thinks but *no one* has the audacity to say about modern celebrity culture." Really? Isn't the whole point of celebrity culture building it up to tear it down? And to exactly whom is Barbara Streisand a sacred cow? When in the last several decades didn't Michael Jackson have a giant bull's-eye painted on his butt? Who would have dreamed there was something rotten at the core of Las Vegas AND Los Angeles? It also doesn't help that the jacket mentions her "fans" at least twice, which seems an odd replication of the very power relationships this book purportedly sets out to skewer. I mean, I realize she probably didn't write the jacket, but she did write what comes between the book flaps, and honestly, I have plenty of bile to pickle in without borrowing someone else's. This just came across as a snotty, run-on-sentence-laden (and if I'm criticizing it, you know it's a problem, because, as is painfully obvious from my reviews on this site, I adore a good run-on sentence, even if it's not very good), not terribly original screed. If you're going to roast marshmallows, don't pretend it's wild boar on those skewers, dig?

One final note: it's fascinating how quickly a book of this nature becomes dated. This book was published in 2000, before Jacko's passing, before the whole Siegfried and Roy debacle, before et cetera...Oh yeah, and I'm sorry, but the collages are dumb: we don't need to see them repeated flipping (har) every other page.

[Jenne · Rating 5 out of 5]

I was trying to describe this book to a friend, and the closest I could come up with was "It's like if Tom Robbins and Maureen Dowd had a sordid one-night stand at some trashy producer's party in the Valley, and nine months later this brilliant and vicious woman sprang forth fully formed from the forehead of the editor of US Weekly."
But better than that.

I'm just sorry I didn't read it right when it came out--the world of fame and celebrity has gotten so much MORE grotesque since 2000 that I bet Ms Wilson would be spinning in her grave if she were dead. Which luckily she isn't, so I hope she'll write an update.

[Alvin · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is nothing less than a jeremaiad against celebrity culture, but its never sanctimonious or stuffy. In fact, it's over the top hilarious. The fact that nobody can cram more venom into a sentence than Wilson should not blind one to the fact that she's also an amazingly clear eyed thinker with a lot so say... all of it brilliant.

[Shannon · Rating 4 out of 5]

This was funny. The funniest thing about it, though, I'm sad to say, is the title. Though as I was reading it and feeling somewhat unsatisfied I realized the reason for this was that it didnt' seem very current. I checked the publication date and it was published in 2000. Probably written in 1999. So... a lot has happened in the horrible entertainment world since then. So, with this in mind, the book is much better. Nothing was particularly ground-breaking for me, as I already feel nausiated and indifferent towards most forms of celebrity. I liked her section on ice skating, though. I had never thought about the whole virgin/whore thing she talked about (mostly because I never really think about ice skating but whatever). Also, she pointed out how the goody two-shoes Asian girl always wins the skating competition, basically, the conservative bias. And how gymnastics is ruining people.

I also liked when she said "People are easily brainwashed. All you need is some stress, some sleep deprivation, a new language of esoteric terminology, and the constant input of extremist propaganda by the faithful; it's always worked on prisoners of war, hostages, and Scientologists." Heh.

My only real complaint is that Wilson seemed to spend more time just talking about what certain celebrities/the media do/does, and little time examining this in much depth.

But her bottom line, I agree with "Stop pathetically believing that you deserve fame or fame deserves you. It's yucky, and it's only making you miserable, so stop."

AMEN.

Also, she uses the word "smarmy" a LOT. Which is kind of cool, cause I like that word.

[Kip · Rating 2 out of 5]

I always enjoyed Cintra's Oscar wrap-ups on Salon, so was really looking forward to reading this book. Her style is best served up in essay-sized chunks, I think -- by the end of the book I was tired of wading through her rants.

Oh, and maybe it's just the prude in me, but I was embarrassed to read this book in public due to the title and cover image. I also did a little cringe when I picked it up at the library reservation desk.

[Ariel · Rating 2 out of 5]

Oh man did I ever want to like this book. Sadly, this kind of pop culture writing doesn't seem to age well ... and many of the references that would have slayed me when the book came out just didn't quite hold up. Cintra Wilson is a great writer, but this book feels dated.

[Heather · Rating 3 out of 5]

Do you like scathing criticism adorned with flourishes of bitingly funny / hate filled descriptions? Does our celebrity soaked society make you want to jab your eyes out with rusty nails? Then this book is for you!

Being someone who deeply HATES our disgustingly shallow celebrity worshipping society, I loved most of it. Some of the chapters, however, didn't appeal to me. For example, the chapter on Broadway or the chapter on Las Vegas bored me. Probably because I'm not familiar with those topics. But, the chapters that discussed the following topics were just plain awesome: celebrity worship, pop singers, gymnasts / ice skaters / beauty queens, awards ceremonies and B list celebrities.

My only other complaint is that the book is a little dated (published in 2001). Ms. Wilson should publish a follow up edition addressing more current train wrecks like American Idol (and other reality TV) and the modern clan of vapid celebrities and celebrity wannabes (like that Heidi whatsherface idiot and her man-child husband who barely has the brain cells to stop him from eating his own feces).

[Leland Goodman · Rating 2 out of 5]

“As the writer herself explains, her biting style is meant for who she believes her audience to be: ‘1,300 women in Connecticut and urban gay guys in Manhattan.’” -Jen Carlson for The Gothamist

I bought this book after seeing a video of Cintra hosting the 1997 Webby Awards— I was hoping to find a shred of info about early silicon valley but as I should have known, this book is not related to that whatsoever lol.

Sometimes funny, mostly annoying, but surely intentionally so. The writing is very theatrical, very acidic.

DNF because at the risk of stating the obvious, we are culturally 'way past this'-- but as the forward of the book itself states: it serves as a time capsule. I get the gist, I'm good.

[lissa haffner · Rating 3 out of 5]

I picked this up, because I'm totally down with the sentiments behind it, and thought it would be an intelligent, researched expose. It's not that - it's more like a tirade, a long rant in bloggish form. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, just not what I really wanted. I think that it would be a good visceral eye-opener for people who had never given much thought to the bloated, sickening world of the famous.

[Casey · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book is cutting and smart. Cintra Wilson is profane, acerbic and very funny. A good read to help stop the madness. A must read if you have been reading too many fashion magazines or are feeling unsatisfied with your life and just wish you could be famous and rich already. I go back to it every couple of years.

[Lilly · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book is entirely worth the price of the chapter where Cintra gets her hands on some unopened NKOTB (New Kids on the Block, for those of you not in the know) fan mail. Yeah, she's about 10 years late, but that only makes it more hysterical.

[Tracy · Rating 2 out of 5]

unfortunately, this book is already dated, as only books about celebrities can be and is therefore not very effective or funny, though the pieces are short enough to hold ones attention. if only gossip mags could be this bitchy, they might not be as evil.

[shiv · Rating 4 out of 5]

the first time i read this book, i laughed so hard that people moved away from me on the subway. the girl is remarkable.

[Tanya · Rating 4 out of 5]

Being the inherent cynic that I am, very rarely does a book make me laugh out loud -- this one did.

[John cassidy · Rating 4 out of 5]

perhaps this is what did in Ike turnner

[LeeLee Lulu · Rating 2 out of 5]

Though there are parts that are insightful and intelligent, this is mostly exhaustingly vicious to all types of women.

On women who have had plastic surgery:
"America's version of 'cute' has become so type-specific that Hollywood seems to be heading the way of Argentina, where all women are thought to be so unnaturally repulsive at birth that the government will actually pay for all plastic surgery - everything. Argentinean women all have big lips and teeth and tiny noses and no lines anywhere, except where their wigs tape on and their nails are glued."

On Courtney Love:
"Courtney Love got wonderfully famous despite the fact that she was kind of fat and homely and chewed-up inside."

On female body-builders:
"A new female appeared: preposterously huge, box-bronzed, superinflated Gladiatrix Valkyries with jaws like anvils and clitorises testosterone-enhanced to the size of walnuts and Adam's apples they'd have to learn how to shave around. [...] Bleach-blond ladies with Lucite-heeled prostitute shoes and faces like merchant marines'."

On women who live in LA:
"Women with 13-inch waists in vinyl G-strings and breasts the size of speaker cabinets discussing plot options, outrageously bombed on hunger and Chardonnay and vitamin B and the kind of screaming pink self-loathing that burns supersonically through all psyches in LA like a dated racing stripe."

Okay, but this is a book about famous people. What about "regular" people?

Average white women are treated just as poorly, if not worse:
"They have splayed feet in white Keds, shins widening like a rubbery V under their large, quivering thighs. From some matronly gene, they inherited large buttocks in the shape of a wide, flat square. This does not prevent them from wearing extremely short shorts and halter tops that betray thick handfuls of misplaced flesh, nor does it prevent their hunger for mounds of whipped oil, dripping meat, and buttery dough. There is willfulness in their sticky little eyes; they look like they want to consume everything they can eat, smoke, or get drunk on first, then have raunchy sex with evasive, mustachioed gun owners, then watch television. They speak the loud ranting patois of the confessional-talk-show addict, filled with aggressive slang, trumpeting out shameful viewpoints as a badge of raw individualism. Often there are unfortunate tattoos involved -- greenish-black smears across the ankles and shoulder blades of A Flower or A Design, not reflective of any conscious personal choice. Often you see them with their mothers, who look exactly the same but older, with worse perm-scorch on their short hair and maybe more gold-dipped jewelry."

I loved Fear and Clothing: the Unbuckling of American Style; but this was 229 pages of hateful drudgery.

[canyon · Rating 1 out of 5]

finally and thank god it is over. i tried to not let the slightly pathetic letter of intent from the author influence my opinion of this book but unfortunately about 80% of it reads like bitter diary excerpts of self-perceived failure. it's not that i didn't laugh or learn or enjoy a paragraph every 60-70 pages, it's that you can't, or shouldn't attempt to accurately critique sexism or racism while still actively contributing to that which you're condemning. my biggest take away is that while writing this admittedly extremely outdated and offensive piece of an excuse of literature, the author was stuck in a pit of self-hatred of womanhood that they then chose to project rather than just going to therapy like the rest of us. writing out pain works for some of us, but i don't know or care if it ever got better. i spent so much of this experience cringing at the obscene levels of projection and shame. this actually got published? how? i want the two weeks it took me to trudge through this returned to my lifespan. the saying goes, "those who can't do, teach", but i've got to suggest an alternative after reading this: those who can't act, write. sadly.

[Peacegal · Rating 3 out of 5]

Well, that was unusual. The author has a tone similar to that of Chelsea Handler and takes snark-drenched look at fame and celebrity culture in this collection of essays. Reading this two decades after it was written, yep, the cultural touchtones highlighted are indeed dated. That said, the celebrity "types" have stayed the same and have just been replaced with new names.

The best chapter by far has the author stumbling upon, and analyzing, a collection of frightful fan mail sent to New Kids on the Block during the boy band's pop prime.

[Hmmmmmmmm · Rating 3 out of 5]

I wanted to love this more than I did because I love Cintra Wilson. Even if I ignore how awkwardly this has aged and how bad she is at race, it’s still...lacking. When it is good it is great, like the last few paragraphs of the penultimate chapter - an anti-fame manifesto to tack on your wall (if you blot out her use of the term “Eurofag”). But when it is bad it is too self-conscious, too edgy to be incisive and not enough heart to balance out the bile.

[Bill · Rating 2 out of 5]

Started out kind of funny and kind of interesting. And then it just got old and repetitive and, well, nasty. Not funny nasty. Nasty nasty. As social commentary, it’s maybe 5th grade level, but with better swearing. I’m sure this writer has better stuff in her. But I’m not sure I’ll try to find out any time soon.

[Rob · Rating 4 out of 5]

Really good book, lousy edition. Wilson has the kind of Lester Bang-ish voice that entertains and inspires me. The Kindle edition of this collection is of an absolutely shameful quality, rife with typographical errors and obviously published without any proofreading performed on it.

[Super Amanda · Rating 5 out of 5]

A truly EXCEPTIONAL book! Like Dave Chappelle’s comedy special THE CLOSER, Cintra starts off swinging, and then just completely goes IN! Absolutely skewering every single sacred cow myth about modern celebrity!! Of course she’s right; I want to be famous and so do you which makes us mutants.

[Heather · Rating 2 out of 5]

It's pretty good snarky writing at first, but at a point the negativity and angst just makes it like trudging through molasses to finish.

[Kathy Bartlett · Rating 2 out of 5]

I don't think this book has held up well over time. Too many things have changed although the underlying problem is still there.

[John · Rating 4 out of 5]

I love that subtitle. I discovered Cintra Wilson in the pages of the (late) San Francisco Examiner. Her hero was Hunter S. Thompson -- who also had a column in the (late) San Francisco Examiner that I read riding BART back in those fearful, loathsome times. Unlike every other new journo wannabe, Cintra could & can write. She put out this book, then reemerged gloriously as a Salon.com contributor. I even caught her joint e-cast during the Oscars with Camille Paglia. It was disappointing.... as 'celebrities' always are in person. Which brings us to the subject of this book. Cintra thinks that celebrity is a phenomenon worthy of cruel literary evisceration. And having read her book.... I'm a big fan! Pulling the book off the shelf just makes me want to reread it, especially Ch. 4 - "Las Vegas, The Death Star of Entertainment"; Ch. 9 - "As a Dog Returneth To Its Own Vomit, So Doth L.A."; Ch. 10 - "Crossing Boundaries: Towards a New Hermeneutics of Dumb Pimps Like Bruce Willis"; and all of Part 4 - "Orchestra Tickets to Grief".

[Amanda · Rating 3 out of 5]

This was such a weird and difficult read for me...

I highly enjoyed Cintra Wilson's writing, and I'm excited to read her other books(esp. "Colours Insulting to Nature"). She's funny and biting and bitter (and that IS a compliment in my world view), and this collection of essays about the "cult of celebrity" does have some laugh-out-loud funny moments that make you want to turn to the person next to you and read aloud, so they can also enjoy the snarky goodness. However, I couldn't bring myself to intake more than one essay at a time and I when I did, they started to all feel like the same essay...

I also wish this book had been written just a few years later than it was, as it would have benefitted from a wealth of fodder from "Brangelina" to Britney Spears to hundreds of reality T.V. "celebrities" that have since popped up.