Vanity Fair, September 2005

My sister picked up the September Vanity Fair on an airplane and passed it on to me two weeks ago. I've been trying to get through it ever since.

Of course I read the Jen profile immediately. What a puff piece. I know, I shouldn't be surprised. And I'm even sympathetic to her. But, please, when they compared her to Job, after the first pictures of Brad and Angelina were published? I don't think so. The guy I work with whose brother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died six weeks later, at the same time as his mother was in the hospital with heart trouble, and while he was out of town taking care of them, his in-laws drove down to take care of his kids and got in a car accident and ended up in the hospital themselves--now that's Job-like. Divorce sucks, but beautiful thirtysomething movie stars get over it. Jen will be fine.

Then there's Rick Moody, who will forever be known as the worst writer of his generation, no matter how well he writes. Rick has a new novel, The Diviners. This is not ok with me, because my favorite novel ever is Margaret Laurence's The Diviners, and from the looks of the Amazon reviews, I'm not the only one. Laurence is the forgotten 20th-century Canadian woman writer, but she easily trumps Margaret Atwood, and I think she's better than Alice Munro, though Munro is pretty great. Go read The Diviners by Margaret Laurence; I don't care what you do with The Diviners by Rick Moody.

And finally, the Maldives, ah, the Maldives. Last year when we were in London, we were planning a vacation. There was a big map of the world on the wall of our dining room, and we spent a lot of time looking at it, trying to figure out where to go. We wanted someplace familial, someplace that would be warm enough in April, someplace logistically and financially feasible. We thought of the Canary Islands, but it soon became clear that they were package holiday hell. Madeira wasn't warm enough. Madagascar was too expensive. Then one day I happened upon the Maldives. They looked perfect. Except that it was an eleven hour flight, and perhaps the most expensive place on the planet. We went to Portugal and had a great time, but I continue to lust after the Maldives. The Maldives article, with pictures of luscious beaches, spas, and hotels, only whetted my lust. I told S if I get diagnosed with a terminal illness, I want him to take me to the Maldives. He said he would.