I am sheltered in the fact that I don't have much of an internet presence aside from a blog and this account. I would avoid email if I could. And thanks to years lost in slacking off and binge drinking, I'm not entirely caught up yet on either my classic feminist theory or many of its current day counterparts. So I consider myself lucky enough, whether from ignorance or apathy, to be unaware of all except the existence of a certain sentiment of hatred surrounding Katie Roiphe. I decided to self impose a google blackout on her name until I finished this collection, which further helped to keep my objectivity intact. So this is a pure review of this collection of essays, and not of Katie Roiphe herself, whose vague scandals and controversies I'll remain ignorant of until I finish wiring this review. (She does address some of the reactions of others, in essays about angry commenters and twitter feuds and some riotous people on gawker, in the particularly strong internet section of this collection, but doesn't really discuss much of what riled them up so much in the first place.)
On the whole, I enjoyed the essays. Those that aren't such big supporters of Roiphe herself will not be able to deny, after reading this book (which I doubt they will) that she is extremely intelligent and articulate, well-read, and well-versed in theories which she may or may not agree with. These things aren't what makes her a gifted writer, but they are what strengthens her arguments and allows her to provide copious contextual and quotational evidence that makes it difficult not to at least explore the points she makes.
The essay on Joan Didion will upset a lot of people. As a Didion disciple myself, I cringed a few times. But a more thorough read should allow readers to see that Roiphe is not condemning Didion to irrelevancy and accusing her of exhaustively repetitive and deceptively calculated prose style, she is more focused on those up-and-coming imitators of what we come to recognize as "Didionesque." And Roiphe is right - they are everywhere.
Another of my favorites was an essay on the sudden and seemingly unending discussions of sexual assault and, more prominently, incest, in our modern literary cannon. It's as if Roiphe has realized that we've hit upon the last undiscovered, and therefore sacred, taboo, and are now, as writers, exploiting it in a desperate attempt to make a "heartfelt" (read: shock factor) connection to our readers, like actors who overact in a weak and lazy attempt to make an audience cry. Roiphe leaves unsaid but certainly implies, "What will we do when we run out of things to be shocked by?"
If "angry commenters" are able to remain objective and level-headed enough to read this collection instead of the author, I think they'll enjoy what she's written and explored here. If not, they'll probably read everything as a way to confirm what they already "know" and feel about Roiphe.
Now, I'm off to google and periodical search and youtube what I've missed. Hopefully I'll be able to keep my own objectivity intact afterwards.