![]() ![]() ![]() Heartburn is an autobiographical novel in that it follows the shape of Ephron’s own life: just like the protagonist, Ephron learned that her husband was cheating on her when she was seven months pregnant. Ephron shines on her own, and then Meryl comes along and burnishes her silver. There is an outrageously funny part about the way pregnancy transforms a woman’s breasts, and I actually cackled out loud on the street while walking Tilly because of it. Of course, hearing her words come to life via Meryl Streep only makes everything fifteen times better. The arrangement and timing of her comedy is nothing short of genius, especially given that her medium was the printed word, and therefore uniquely susceptible to readerly skimmings and misreadings and unanticipated breaks that might interrupt or obviate her humor (in a way that, for example, a script might not be). She is witty, she is clever, she is idiosyncratically chatty, but running just beneath that hilariously-neurotic-friend-from-New-York persona is a sluicing intelligence and a tender heart. I’ve read this book at least twice before, and each time, I am completely gobsmacked by Ephron’s brilliance. I am currently listening to Nora Ephron’s Heartburn, narrated by Meryl Streep. ![]() *Image via I Love the Upper West Side - an account I still follow despite the fact I no longer live there. ![]()
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