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Summary
Summary
NATIONAL BESTSELLER
ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR:
VOGUE * FORBES * BOOKPAGE * NEW YORK POST * WIRED
"I have not been as profoundly moved by a book in years." --Jodi Picoult
Even after she left home for Hollywood, Emmy-nominated TV writer Bess Kalb saved every voicemail her grandmother Bobby Bell ever left her. Bobby was a force--irrepressible, glamorous, unapologetically opinionated. Bobby doted on Bess; Bess adored Bobby. Then, at ninety, Bobby died. But in this debut memoir, Bobby is speaking to Bess once more, in a voice as passionate as it ever was in life.
Recounting both family lore and family secrets, Bobby brings us four generations of indomitable women and the men who loved them. There's Bobby's mother, who traveled solo from Belarus to America in the 1880s to escape the pogroms, and Bess's mother, a 1970s rebel who always fought against convention. But it was Bobby and Bess who always had the most powerful bond: Bobby her granddaughter's fiercest supporter, giving Bess unequivocal love, even if sometimes of the toughest kind. Nobody Will Tell You This But Me marks the creation of a totally new, virtuosic form of memoir: a reconstruction of a beloved grandmother's words and wisdom to tell her family's story with equal parts poignancy and hilarity.
Author Notes
Bess Kalb is an Emmy-nominated comedy writer and the bestselling author of Nobody Will Tell You This But Me , a New York Times Editor's Choice. She wrote for eight years on Jimmy Kimmel Live! and has written for the Emmy Awards, the Academy Awards, and the 2020 Democratic National Convention. She is the head writer and executive producer of the WGA Award-nominated Yearly Departed , an Amazon Comedy Special, and is currently adapting Nobody Will Tell You This But Me into a feature film with Sight Unseen Pictures.
Reviews (4)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Jimmy Kimmel Live! writer Kalb honors her late grandmother, Bobby Bell, in an amusing debut memoir written in the grandmother's sassy voice. The book, framed as a love letter to Kalb and featuring excerpts from grandma's funny voice mails and phone calls, contains intriguing family stories about Kalb's great-grandmother, who, at 12, emigrated to New York from Belarus, alone, to escape Jewish persecution; about Bobby's marriage to Kalb's grandfather, a scrappy businessman who got rich building houses; and about Bobby's contentious relationship with Kalb's fiercely independent mother. Kalb does a great job of capturing the voice of an opinionated, chronically concerned grandmother who's convinced that she knows best. Bobby shares her thoughts on everything from Kalb's choice of pets ("we are not cat people") to her decision to live in San Francisco ("San Francisco is for people who wear polar fleece to restaurants and try to convince each other to go camping"). The book spans Bobby's life and beyond (there are cheeky sections written from beyond the grave) and offers both wisdom and unsolicited advice ("you'd be gorgeous if you went a little blonder"). This is a fun, touching tribute to family, and the perfect book for anyone who treasures their domineering, spirited grandmother. (Mar.)
Kirkus Review
A Jewish "matrilineal love story" uniquely narrated by a voice from beyond the grave.TV writer Kalb employs an unconventional yet highly effective and charming narrative device, channeling the voice and personality of her now-deceased grandmother Bobby Bell. Outspoken and persnickety, Bobby snares readers' attention right from her first comments about how "degrading" and boring being dead actually is and how "the worst part was the dirt." Drawn from both a generous selection of family images and a text very much grounded in the family's Jewish heritage, the narrative skillfully captures Bobby's wit, worldly advice, well-intentioned meddling, and enduring love for her granddaughter. Bobby describes her mother as an "enormous Russian immigrant in a falling-down house" who arrived in Brooklyn speaking no English. Bobby also comments on her near-fatal bout with meningitis, her marriage to the author's grandfather, and her lifelong friendship with Estelle, her sorority sister and fellow Jewish Brooklynite. Kalb sharply reimagines her grandmother's inner thoughts and feelings as she regales readers with anecdotes about her life and remembers her biting yet fiercely nurturing criticism of the author's choices in men ("is he Jewish?"), her appearance ("you'd be gorgeous if you went a little blonder"), and her relocation to the West Coast ("no serious person moves to San Francisco"). The true heart and soul of their relationship is reflected in the frequent phone exchanges between grandmother and granddaughter, most of which are hysterical. Readers familiar with the Bobby in their own families will appreciate how well Kalb embodies the classic stereotypes of stoic overprotectiveness and frequent exasperation that come with being a parent and grandparent. As the book progresses, the story becomes both sad and poignant as age and illness catch up to Bobby, and though she pokes fun at her situation, the photos and the imagined conversations make for sometimes-heartbreaking reading. Through interviews with her mother and grandfather, voicemails, and nostalgic memorabilia, Kalb commemorates her beloved grandmother, honoring her legacy and inimitable character.An endearing, bittersweet, and entertainingly fresh take on the family memoir. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Booklist Review
TV writer Kalb's first book is voiced from the perspective of her late maternal grandmother, Bobby. Speaking to the author, whom she calls Bessie, Bobby shares what Kalb's author's note calls "a matrilineal love story, drawn from her life, and dedicated to her memory." Readers will grasp Kalb's artful and imaginative conceit easily, and appreciate it, because with Kalb operating the spotlight, Bobby is the charming, hilarious, and ever-quotable star of her own one-woman show. In conversation with Bessie and thus all of us, Bobby introduces her mother, who paid for her own terrifying journey from Russia to the U.S. as a child; recalls the challenges of having her own daughter; and the joys of becoming grandmother and best friend to Bessie. She can even explain her death, and what comes after. Kalb interrupts and augments Bobby's narrative with family photographs and transcripts of her and Bobby's conversations, phone calls, and voice mail messages. Mixing in day-to-day practicalities, crystalline deliveries of amazing family tales, and oft-repeated lines, Kalb-as-Bobby crafts an uncanny rendering of two whole, wholly connected women and their unshakable bond. This is a monumental act of attention, love, and memory, and readers will almost certainly be affected by it.
Library Journal Review
Kalb (Jimmy Kimmel Live!) channels the voice of her recently deceased grandmother Bobby Bell to share the multigenerational story of women in her family. Narrated from Bobby's perspective, this "representation of a life" begins with Bobby's mother's immigration from Russia to America and concludes with Kalb's writing of the book. Kalb deftly captures her grandmother's fierce, loving, and particular personality with the aid of saved voicemails, family photos, and stories of the strong-minded women in their family. Bobby explained that she treated Kalb as an equal so that they'd be friends, and the relationship between the two was admirably strong. Especially charming is Bobby's advice, often unsolicited and always honest, about Kalb's well-being. As Bobby's death inevitably arrives, Kalb's grief is gracefully expressed through imagined conversations and observations. VERDICT Striking a perfect balance between levity and poignancy, this is a standout debut. Readers looking for memoirs featuring strong family relationships with much love and laughter will be highly satisfied.--Anitra Gates, Erie Cty. P.L., PA
Excerpts
Excerpts
THE MET Do you remember what we always did when I took you to the Metropolitan Museum of Art? I'd bring a yellow legal pad and pencils, and we'd sit in front of the paintings and you'd sketch. "Bessarabia, what do you see?" "Haystacks." "I didn't realize I was accompanied by the chief art critic of The New York Times. " "What am I supposed to see?" "You tell me." And you'd get very close to the painting, your nose just a breath away from the varnish--the guards would bark at you and you'd jump back with an electric jolt and straighten your back, and we'd both wince and shrug at each other. And you'd collect yourself and clear your throat and stand there with your arms crossed, solemnly squinting at the paint- ing, rocking from foot to foot like a grand appraiser. Thirty seconds. A minute. Five minutes. You'd occasionally stroke your chin with two fingers like you'd seen Bugs Bunny do in a cartoon. You might as well have wiped your monocle on a handkerchief. Finally, when there was practically steam coming out of your ears, you'd have your fully prepared remarks: "I think he loved hay and he probably loved painting." And I'd turn to the guard and say, "She charges fifty cents for a tour." After the art was the main event: the cheese plate. We'd go to the grand old cafeteria where it used to be in the back of the museum in the columned atrium. We'd line up, pick out two plastic containers full of cheese, find a quiet table away from the tourists and talk, and eat our snack very methodically. First the brie, scooping it out from the rind with the water crackers, and then we'd press a sliced strawberry into the soft cheese and eat it just like that. We were very French, you and I. We'd eat the cheddar, throw away the blue; then on the way out the main entrance you'd buy a postcard of your favorite painting. Always something with flowers. · · · METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART, PERMANENT COLLECTION, 1994 GRANDMOTHER: Bessie, I want you to go around these rooms and take this notepad and tell me how many paintings were done by a woman. GRANDDAUGHTER: And then we can look at the ballerinas? A building full of all the greatest masterpieces, and all you want is to see how an old man kept wandering into dance practice. I'd have had him arrested. I like the ballerinas. After this we can see as many damned ballerinas as you can stand. [THIRTY MINUTES LATER] OK! Eight women. Eight! Yep. Did you write them down? [STUMBLING THROUGH PRONUNCIATIONS] Simone Martini, Andrea del Sarto, Camille Corot, Annibale Carracci, Andrea Mantegna, Jules Bastien-Lepage, Camille Pissarro, and Jan Steen. Oh, honey. Give that here. [EXTRACTS GLASSES FROM GIANT HANDBAG, LOOKS AT THE PAPER] Did I miss any? I saw them all. All of those are men. They have girls' names. They're just European names. Did I miss the women? There aren't any women. It was a trick? It was a lesson. What's the lesson? If you're born a man and halfway decent at something, everyone will tell you you're great. There's only one woman nearby. Right through here in the American wing. [TAKES HAND AND WALKS ME INTO THE NEXT GALLERY] Here she is. Lady at the Tea Table. Mary Cassatt. I like it. Yes, you do. You know how you can tell a Mary Cassatt? How? She was kind to her subjects. She left out their hips. Excerpted from Nobody Will Tell You This but Me: A True (as Told to Me) Story by Bess Kalb All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
