icon | Seattle Book Mama

Barbara Walters was a force to be reckoned with. She was the journalistic pioneer who singlehandedly smashed the glass ceiling that kept women from anchoring network news; over the years she would conduct television interviews with heads of state, criminals, otherwise reclusive stars, and anyone else she deemed newsworthy. She was ruthless in the pursuit of a story, but during interviews, she used velvet gloves to deliver the most searing questions, and her subjects responded.

My thanks go to NetGalley and Simon and Schuster for the review copy. This book is for sale now.

Page has written a full, epic autobiography, starting with Walters’s childhood, which was fraught with uncertainty, and ending with her death. She has written it the way the story of a luminary should be written, touching on the many remarkable aspects of Walters’s life without lingering too long on any one of them. She keeps the pacing brisk, and the tone respectful but frank, never fawning. I can’t imagine anyone doing a better job, including Walters herself; the autobiography, Audition, is the most cited source in the endnotes, but Walters had a tendency to drone while telling her own story, particularly about her childhood, while Page keeps it moving.

Walters grew up in a show business household; her father, Lou Walters, produced live shows, and when they were successful, the family lived in style; when they weren’t, it was hand-to-mouth genteel poverty. His gambling addiction caused the family terrible hardship on numerous occasions, and once she made it in the industry, Barbara was forever writing checks to bail him out of debt. Her younger sister, Jackie, was intellectually disabled, and needed constant care and attention. Barbara remarked that in looking back, she doesn’t feel that she was ever young, as she carried so many adult responsibilities at such an early age.

Breaking into mainstream journalism—not fashion or cooking stories, but hard news—was a tough road. She did it at a time when women weren’t expected, or allowed, to do much of anything outside of mothering, housekeeping, and a small number of stereotypical positions. Any female that dared step outside these tight confines was labeled, not as an attorney, manager, or journalist, but as a “lady journalist,” and so forth. Her job on the Today show was announced—with a bit of urging from Barbara herself—in the New York Journal-American thusly:

“’Dawn Greets Barbara, A Girl of Today,’” the headline over the story read. ‘A very attractive, shapely, well-groomed, coiffed and fashionably frocked feminine member of NBC’s dawn patrol” …adding that she had ‘no wish to become a personality.’ She wants to remain as she is…the prettiest reporter in television.’”

That didn’t last, if it was ever true at all. She fought, tooth and toenail, for every single advancement in her career; mainstream news anchors, male of course, resented her and resisted her, particularly when she was hired to appear as a co-anchor. Her early career was marked with restrictions, with Harry Reasoner and Walter Cronkite subjecting her to endless bullying and requirements of when she could speak on the air—not until they had—and other petty, petulant rules.

But she never gave up, and she never went home.

As is often true for anyone that lives for their career, Walters wasn’t able to maintain any of her marriages or raise her own child. She was busy. This is the one regret she voiced at the end of her life, when she found herself alone, with only her longtime paid assistants to see to her needs.

Page narrates her own audiobook, which I checked out from Seattle Bibliocommons in order to catch up, and I immediately noted how much her voice and intonations resemble those of her subject, albeit without the speech impediment. I enjoyed listening to her.

Perhaps my favorite moment in this book is the moment when a very elderly Barbara Walters falls on a marble staircase after refusing to take the arm of the younger woman offering it. She faceplants, is badly injured, but when she regains consciousness, the first thing out of her mouth is an imperial order: “Do not call an ambulance. Do not call an ambulance.” (Of course they did. They had to.)

Although Walters was never a feminist crusader and generally looked out for herself, her family, and friends rather than her younger peers, we women owe her a debt of gratitude. She forced doors open that were bolted shut, and the ripple effect was immeasurable.

Highly recommended to those interested in Walters, feminist history, and anyone that just enjoys a good biography.

I hadn’t heard of Melissa Rivers, but when a friend mentioned that the daughter of the legendary comic, Joan Rivers, had an audio book nearing its publication date, I wanted it. My thanks go to Net Galley and RB Media for the review copy. This book is for sale now.

Joan Rivers was an icon, one of the first fierce women to breach the world of standup, an old boys club if ever there was one. She was scrappy, fearless, and very, very funny. Like all of the early women comics, she incorporated a good deal of self-deprecating humor, a defense against all of the nasty things that reviewers and audience members might throw at her, but she also made fun of the rich, the famous, and the powerful.

Joan died in 2016, and although she was eighty-one years old, news of her passing came as a shock. She hadn’t been ill, and had been admitted to a hospital for surgery of a fairly minor nature; her death was caused by errors made by the doctors and hospital. Her only child, Melissa, had been developing a standup career of her own, and now steps fully into the spotlight left vacant by her mother’s death.

I had never heard of Melissa or her work when I found this audio book, but I expected great things; often a talent is passed down within a family, after all. Sadly, there’s no joy to be had here. Melissa’s tone is grating and abrasive; whereas Joan sometimes veered in that direction, she had the skill and instincts that told her when to pull back or soften things. Joan’s trademark phrase, “Can we talk?” created a sense of intimacy, and drew me in. Melissa’s repels me. Apparently, I am not alone; I was playing this audiobook while preparing dinner, and when other family members came into the kitchen, they either wanted it turned off, or they left immediately. Nothing she said made any of us laugh, or even smile. Nothing. I have never heard a comic so obnoxious.

Wikipedia tells me that Melissa Rivers is known for her work in comedy, and for philanthropy, as heir to her parents’ considerable estate. I haven’t seen or heard any of Melissa’s other work, but if this book is representative, she might do better to focus on her charity work, brightening the world by embracing the causes dearest to her parents’ hearts, and her own.

Not recommended.