...is probably not what you'd think. Last week Ann, our Penguin rep, sent me the galley we have all been waiting for: Red Carpet Suicide by Perez Hilton. Actually, she sent me two galleys which is a good thing because the first one she sent mysteriously disappeared the first day I got it. Furious office cleaning and passive-aggressive notes on our bulletin board have not coughed up its return. Very curious.
So far I've read Red Carpet Suicide and passed it on to Katie who will be passing it on to Bonnie who will be passing it on to Kate. We should probably be ashamed, but we're not. If you love Perez then you'll want this book. If you have no idea who or what I'm talking about then you probably shouldn't bother. If you hate Perez then sorry if you're now thinking less of me. (But know that I'm not judging you on what you bring up to the register)
I had a blast with the book, especially the first part where we are instructed on the eleven steps of celebrity (drink! don't eat! get paid just to show up places! hire your own paparazzi!) and the third part where Perez is unexpectedly open about the ways he gets his gossip. The book can be snarky and dirty and a bit immature at points (none of this is surprising if you are a Perez fan) but I was surprised by his genuineness at the very end in a letter to Andy Warhol.
Moving from the ridiculous to the sublime, in completely unrelated news the National Book Awards are being given practically as I type!
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