I believe I’ve mentioned that I’m a big fan of Terry Teachout, the writer and theatre critic of The Wall Street Journal, which I’ve found has some of the best feature writing in the whole industry. Because of a blog post he put up several moons ago, I ordered* a copy of Elaine Dundy’s The Dud Avocado, and was delighted to receive an original Penguin Books edition that was nearly as old as I am. (It’s probably worth something…)
Despite the 1958 publication date and my copy’s yellowing pages, I was astonished to discover how fresh her writing was. Other than a very few political or cultural references, the book could have been written yesterday. Teachout calls her the “spiritual grandmother of Bridget Jones,” and he’s absolutely right.
We meet Sally Jay Gorce as she is stumbling along the streets of Paris, dressed in an evening gown because the rest of her clothes are at the laundry. (Oh, I’ve been there! Haven’t you?) And things just go downhill from there for Our Girl in Paris, who has the most appalling taste in men. She’s one of those heroines you want to throttle half the time, because she’s always shooting off her mouth and getting in the most dreadful messes.
If you don’t believe me, Maud Newton has posted Teachout’s introduction to the most recent edition of The Dud Avocado. Dundy reportedly endured a terrible marriage to critic Kenneth Tynan, had a daughter and wrote several other well-received books, but it was her fictionalized version of her life in Paris in the ’50s that made her mark. Sleep well, Elaine. Sally Jay never seemed to.
*I almost always buy books used and online. I can even get fairly recent titles if I wait a few weeks after they’re published. Saves paper and gas. My little sacrifice for the environment. And I never know what’s going to show up in the mail!