From the glittering skyscrapers of Manhattan’s media elite to the slacker haven of a fashionably low-rent L.A. bar, Strawberry Saroyan traces her journey from girl- to womanhood, as well as from fantasy to reality. A powerful and profoundly postmodern coming-of-age story, with a voice reminiscent of Liz Phair’s one moment and Mary McCarthy’s the next, Girl Walks into a Bar explores Saroyan’s struggle not only with who she is and who she wants to be but also with who she is in the context of what she’s supposed to the iconic, media-promulgated “girl,” a twenty-first-century version of Audrey Hepburn standing outside Tiffany’s looking at diamonds.
Girl Walks into a Bar takes a handful of the most striking and formative episodes of Saroyan’s life and brings them to the page as a filmmaker might, zooming in on the crucial “scenes”: Saroyan losing her virginity, starting her own riot-grrrly magazine, falling in dysfunctional love. Yet all the while she’s trailed by that other black-clad girl, the Platonic ideal of so many modern young women’s fantasies. Will the two ever meet? That question lies at the heart of Saroyan’s genre-bending memoir. Girl Walks into a Bar promises to be one of the most memorable debuts of the year.
Strawberry Saroyan (born 1970) is an American journalist and author. She writes for the New York Times Style section and the New York Times Magazine, and is the author of Girl Walks Into a Bar: A Memoir.
I really enjoyed this book. Although the order of events did not always make sense, I think this perfectly embodies the human mind; there is no order. And this also applies to life; there is no order in life. Life is chaos. It's messy. I think the order of this book was intentional. And it is pretty short. I really related to the author in that I have not quite found myself yet. I would recommend this to anyone with the time for a quick read. Also anyone who is currently trying to find themselves in life.
I found this kind of trite and boring. Saroyan never moves beyond her obsession with how cool she is supposed to be, but I wasn't all that intrigued by her bland descriptions of random hook-ups or how her bar scene was morphing. It could have been more funny, it could have been sweeter, it could have been more heart-breaking; it just needed more flesh. It even could have benefited from more dialogue, but it read like a diary, and not in a compelling way. It's like having excruciating drinks with someone who thinks they are living "the life" and won't shut up about it, or like hanging out with people who name-drop. It all seems shallow and pointless and fake. I read it awhile ago and there must have been some parts of it I liked but I remember being horribly disappointed; if that girl walked into my bar, I'd walk out.
Well, the author is smart and self aware so I bet at this point in her life she finds this book to be a painful embarrassment. The solipsistic navel gazing of youth ends for most of us when we find long term partners, or have children (or even pets), or settle into careers. It ends sooner when we dont have fairy godmothers, too. This intolerable little book takes you right back to the pointless and boring vacillations between deep insecurity and anoying arrogance that you were relieved to exit as you grew up and have no need to revisit now. Worse, there is no juicy drunken gossipy fun to temper its relentless nothingness. Sorry, but avoid.
If your having a quarter-life crisis, this may be the book for you! Since I'm past that, what I found interesting was the way she thought she was broken somehow and purposely picked mentally-unstable boyfriends and fought with her friends on purpose because they were growing up and she wasn't. It takes a hell of a woman to actually admit to all of that, though, so that's a plus for the author. Still, the drifting and navel-gazing tire one out a bit...
This memoir is written as a series of essays, so some of the material overlaps, which isn't a big deal. I definitely enjoyed the earlier essays about Straw's struggle to lose her virginity and search for identity in the New York magazine world compared to the later essays where she dates a series of troubled guys.
I really wanted to like this book. It was written by a girl I went to high school with. We weren't best friends, but we did spend a memorable post-graduation tirp together in Hawaii and I have fun memories of her. I was so eager to read her memoir. Her writing style did not flow for me at all and the subject matter just wasn't that interesting.
Strawberry Saroyan is a good writer, but this memoir of her lost years between the end of college and her thirtieth birthday offers little to sustain my interest. It's about temporary friends, moving nowhere, reflection and analysis of mid-twenties angst. I finished the book hoping for more but was disappointed.
I could not relate to this book at all and found it very boring. It IS possible to write about superficial things and be interesting, but that did not happen here. I can't believe this got published. It has to be because her last name is Saroyan.
I like Rachel Dratch and I was interested in her story of unexpectedly getting pregnant in her 40s. It seemed like she was just jumping on the Tina Fey bandwagon by writing this book though. Not particularly funny but somewhat interesting and I did finish it.
I meant to read the book that Amy Poehler recommended in her autobiography. I don't think this was it. I think I was supposed to read Rachel Dratch's book of the same title!