Image via the NY Observer

Oh, GOD. Oh god oh god oh god. I have so many conflicting thoughts and emotions swirling over Leon Nefakh's latest 3-page New York Observer profile. It's about Sloane Crosley, a 29-year-old Vintage book publicist who had a collection of personal essays published this past April. First of all, she really does seem geniune and loveable. And yes, I would like to be her friend. But there are secrets beneath the surface:

“She’s a pretty damn genuine person,” said Curbed’s Lockhart Steele, who was a longtime managing editor of Gawker. “[Sloane is unique in this way] especially among media people. You deal with so much bullshit from people and so much bullshit from publicists trying to tell you this is great or this is the next great American novelist.” Ms. Crosley, by comparison, cuts to the chase with editors and writers, and conscientiously tailors her pitches to suit their tastes. In other words, where publicists of all kinds—for movies, books, socialites and dentists—have created a giant wall of noise, Ms. Crosley manages to be heard above the racket, recommending her writers and titles to others with a gentle caress instead of a swift kick.

The first thing I did when I read this was forward it around to some book publicist girls I know, and this is what one of them wrote back: "I felt awful and small and like my hair wasn’t shiny enough." It's true. NOBODY's hair is naturally that shiny! Sloane, what product do you use? Please share. And look up there at her skinny jeans and boots! It makes my heart weep.

But more importantly...

How? In what way? Does she gently caress? Instead of kick? The editors and newspaper people? Who hate being harrassed by publicists? And how? Is she so confident? And How Is It Possible To Not Be Nervous when you're hanging out with Candace Bushnell, and, um, Paula Froelich? As a former book publicist who was kept awake at night wondering whether the hundreds upon hundreds of book editors I called and emailed routinely about my authors would ever get back to me, I am officially obsessed with her life and am desperate to know more. She's like... the Cory Kennedy of literary publicity! Maybe? What do her pitch letters look like? Do they contain magical spells? Is there anyone out there who can forward me one? Tell me everything and more.

From the inbox:

Tribute to poet Anne Sexton

Sunday, November 18th at 2 pm

Don't miss our 5th annual celebration of the life and legacy of Anne Sexton, featuring readings and reminiscences by four friends and colleagues

Join us for our annual tribute to Anne Sexton, who wrote fearlessly about family, sexuality, despair, and joy, pioneering a radical new poetry. Four writers who knew her well will read from her poetry and from their own writing.

The friends and colleagues who will gather to remember Anne Sexton are: Victor Howes, fellow teacher; Lois Ames, who co-edited Sexton's Life in Letters; Robert Clawson, who managed Anne Sexton and her Kind - the poet's rock band; and Suzanne Berger, one of her students. A portrait of Anne emerges from their recollections and stories and from her own writing. Funny, free-spirited, transgressive, and wildly intelligent, she broke away from the conventions of suburban middle class life. The aggressive, disturbing honesty of her writing still influences poetry today.

Weather permitting, the program in Forsyth Chapel is followed by a walk to Anne Sexton's grave site.

Tickets will be available at the door.

There is plenty of free parking along the driveway entrance to Forest Hills. The Cemetery is an easy walk from the Orange Line T, Forest Hill Stop, via the Tower Street shortcut; see website for directions. If you plan to take the T, please bring a flashlight to help guide your exit, as it will be getting dark by the end of the program.

Editor DAVID FOSTER WALLACE lead a formidable group of contributors  in a discussion of this year's answer to The Best American Essays. And tonight, Elaine Scarry, Jerald Walker, and Robert Atwan will bring their work to the reading stage. So if you've already puzzled over this week's "Modern Love," caught up on all your old New Yorkers, and let your Atlantic Monthly subscription accidentally expire, tonight is your night. That's at 7 pm at the Brookline Booksmith, 279 Harvard St, Brookline | free | 617.566.6660.

I just finished Diane Vadino's amazing debut, Smart Girls Like Me, last week. In preparation for the review I've been assigned to write, I Googled around and found her also-amazing and mouth-wateringly delicious fashion-and-shopping blog, Bunnyshop. (Bookmark. This. Now.) For a few days, I've been thinking about all the things I adore about Smart Girls while trying to figure out a way to discuss and justify the fact that it's packaged in a baby-pink cover with a picture of a rack of designer clothing. Because, you know.

What I couldn't understand was why I was forcing myself to care. A good book is a good book is a good book, even if the jacket art suggests something that will probably result in many incorrect snap-judgements. Because while Smart Girls is being marketed toward girls who love In Her Shoes and The Devil Wears Prada, it isn't anything like either of those novels. It's kind of like the fake-Chanel necklace I was staring at on the Forever 21 website today. I'm going to buy it, and I'm going to love it, and wearing it is going to make me exceedingly happy. Still, there will always be someone out there with the real Chanel necklace who thinks I'm a varnished fool. Oh well?

Earlier today, I was catching up on GalleyCat when I found this posting, "Don't Let the Pink Cover Faze You." It establishes just why Smart Girls is neither chick-lit nor "trick-lit," Seth Godin's lit-term-of-the-month.

Trick-lit, according to Godin: "A chick-lit novel that pretends to be something else, hoping to rope people in with an interesting premise. 30 pages later, you discover that you were deceived, that it's just another piece of genre trash." Godin's definition kind of makes my skin crawl. Like, God forbid someone recommends a novel is of a lighter fare than James Joyce! You've been completely HAD! Alert The Paris Review! Have David Remnick revoke this person's library card IMMEDIATELY. Tell NANOWRIMO! They shouldn't be allowed to participate anymore. I could keep going, but I won't.

I'm glad that GalleyCat brought this up, and I think I can write my review now. Perhaps more people will read Smart Girls and realize how lovely and good it is, and that sometimes the best writing can be a story about friendship and New York City and BOYS that someone has always wanted to tell, and is actually very, very astutely observed and witty. I love Diane Vadino so much more now, which is to say, a lot a lot a lot, and mostly that extra dose of lovin' is due to one of the things she said to Ron GalleyCat:

"I don't want to be too serenity prayer about it, but there are things I can control, and things I can't," Vadino said as we sat down to lunch in Brooklyn Heights, shortly after she had returned to New York City from an extended stay in London. "I just don't care anymore. I hate to be reductive about it, but I can choose to be obsessive or I can choose to just let it go."

Yes. Exactly. I'm buying my necklace. And I hope Diane Vadino comes to Boston on her book tour, because I would like to give her a really big, dorky high-five and maybe ask her if she wants to go boot shopping.