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Bound With These Titles
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Summary
Summary
"A funny and moving commentary on that point in a woman's life when everything seems to come into question." --Camille Perri, The New York Times
"It's the superb insights and penetrating writing that make this book remarkable... An extraordinary debut." -- The Guardian
"Enthralling, sharply observed" -- Marie Claire
"Hilarious... The personal and workplace plots are woven together beautifully. Read, cringe, laugh, relate." -- Lenny
"In this cutting commentary on workplace toxicity and how its tendrils can strangle relationships, Winter uses humor to illuminate the state of modern work, family, and friendship." --Elle.com
"Sassy, sarcastic and sleek, this is a wonderfully brash appraisal of how we live."--Colum McCann
One of Elle Magazine's 19 Summer Books That Everyone Will Be Talking About
One of Cosmo's Reads for July
One of Refinery29 's Two New Books to Read in July by Brilliant Debut Authors
An irreverent and deeply moving comedy about friendship, fertility, and fighting for one's sanity in a toxic workplace.
Jen has reached her early thirties and has all but abandoned a once-promising painting career when, spurred by the 2008 economic crisis, she takes a poorly defined job at a feminist nonprofit. The foundation's ostensible aim is to empower women, but staffers spend all their time devising acronyms for imaginary programs, ruthlessly undermining one another, and stroking the ego of their boss, the larger-than-life celebrity philanthropist Leora Infinitas. Jen's complicity in this passive-aggressive hellscape only intensifies her feelings of inferiority compared to her two best friends--one a wealthy attorney with a picture-perfect family, the other a passionately committed artist--as does Jen's apparent inability to have a baby, a source of existential panic that begins to affect her marriage and her already precarious status at the office. As Break in Case of Emergency unfolds, a fateful art exhibition, a surreal boondoggle adventure in Belize, and a devastating personal loss conspire to force Jen to reckon with some hard truths about herself and the people she loves most.
Jessica Winter's ferociously intelligent debut novel is a wry satire of celebrity do-goodism as well as an exploration of the difficulty of navigating friendships as they shift to accommodate marriage and family, and the unspoken tensions that can strain even the strongest bonds.
Author Notes
JESSICA WINTER is features editor at Slate and the former culture editor of Time. Her writing has appeared in The New York Times, The Guardian, Bookforum, The Believer, and many other publications. She lives in Brooklyn.
jessicawinter.net
Reviews (5)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Winter's debut novel offers an entertaining and smartly satirical glimpse inside a New York City nonprofit startup. Jen, in her mid-30s and a new hire at the Leora Infinitas Foundation (also known as LIFt), attempts to navigate the office culture of meaningless jargon, comically hollow acronyms, and self-congratulatory meetings about vague project proposals. Jen, who is by nature accommodating and eager to please, becomes conflicted as she realizes that the company is more concerned with appearances than empowering women all over the world, as its mission statement claims. Still, unlike her coworker Daisy, who is hilariously blunt in her mockery of the foundation, Jen is determined to please her superiors and succeed in her position, having given up on her dream of becoming a visual artist in favor of a stable income for the next phase of her life. She and her husband have been trying to conceive for long enough that they've devised their own code language for doctors' visits and fertility tests. But as Jen's job begins to affect every aspect of her life, she's forced to reexamine her choices, relationships, and aspirations. This is both a biting lampoon of workplace politics and a heartfelt search for meaning in modern life. (July) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Booklist Review
Anxiety and frustration are the dominating emotions for Jen, leaving her unsure of herself and the direction of her life. After losing her job, Jen finds herself working for a feminist nonprofit, LIFt, founded by the eccentric celebrity Leora Infinitas. Her coworkers are consumed by brainstorming vague ideas and acronyms for projects rather than developing the programs at all. Stymied by not quite knowing what her job entails, Jen is left drafting pointless memos and planning projects that most often never come to fruition. This confusing inefficiency in her workplace is coupled with her feelings of inadequacy and disappointment in aspects of her life outside of work, such as her struggles with getting pregnant and her reliance on amphetamines. Her relationships with her husband and two best friends are shaken and tested by her insecurities. Winter weaves a story of the ridiculous (and the serious) people and events that can be found as we reach a turning point in our adult lives. Readers who like workplace satire will enjoy this debut from Winter (features editor at Slate).--Smith, Becca Copyright 2016 Booklist
New York Review of Books Review
JESSICA WINTER'S DEBUT NOVEL is a funny and moving commentary on that point in a woman's life when everything seems to come into question - sometime around her 30th birthday, when late-night ruminations go from the provisional and short-term to: Is my job completely pointless? I love my best friends from college, but.... I love my husband, but.... And that eternal chestnut, Do I want to have a baby? When we meet the novel's protagonist, Jen, she has "breached the threshold of 30 without yet crossing the Rubicon of 35" and has disassociated herself from her former identity as an artist when she takes a job at a feminist nonprofit. The foundation, called LIFt, purports to empower women as its staff squanders countless hours and resources brainstorming acronyms and catering to the whims of their celebrity boss, Leora Infinitas. This is where Winter, a features editor at Slate and a former culture editor at Time, really shines. Anyone who's ever worked in an office inundated with phoniness, passive aggression and a communication style heavy on duplicity will get a kick out of Winter's send up of LIFt's toxic environment and sugarcoated cruelty. Celebrity philanthropy takes a similar hit. At one point Jen hilariously refers to Leora's worldview as "Zen Rand," a "jumble of Buddhism and libertarianism," or "like a yoga teacher rewriting ?The Fountainhead.'" The noxious nature of Jen's workplace only worsens her already precarious sense of self, and this plays out most visibly through her relationships with her two closest friends. Meg is a successful lawyer with a picturesque family life; Pam is living the starving artist's ideal and somehow making it. Combined, Meg and Pam represent everything Jen wants but can't seem to grasp, her idea of having it all - mastery as a wife, mother, career woman, artist. Envy begins to surface, as it's wont to do when friendships that originated in college face the transition to adulthood. As if this weren't enough, Jen and her husband, Jim, are having difficulty conceiving a child. It should be noted that they want a baby but can barely utter the word. They go so far as to create their own coded language in order to talk about the entire process, which they call "the project." The potential baby itself is referred to only as a "hypothetical tiny future boarder." In lesser hands this tactic - writing Jen and Jim as self-protective ironists - could easily have fallen flat, but here it succeeds as a creative spin on well-worn subject matter (yet another story of a woman's struggle to conceive) while simultaneously attracting the reader to Jen's chumminess and comfort with her husband. Still, Jen secretly wishes Jim could be more of a breadwinner, and money is a source of great tension and strain throughout the book. Winter addresses it most directly and honestly when Jen reflects on her discomfort in regard to Meg's privilege. "Pointing out the size of Meg's home veered too close to talking about money; or, more precisely, it veered too close to gawking." Later, Jim criticizes Jen for never negotiating a fee for her artwork, and a connection is implied between Jen's uneasiness around money and her lack of self-worth. EVEN THE HEAVIEST scenes of financial angst and other tensions go down easily because of the novel's short, brisk chapters. So does Winter's writing style, which is full of tightly packed sentences that build on themselves, often ending in a kicker, like this: "Jen scanned the other women around the jade-and-walnut table, festooned with crystal-and-bamboo vases filled with fresh-cut gerbera daisies and flamingo lilies, selected at Leora's request for their air-filtering qualities and replaced every day, even on days when the conference room was not in use, which was most days." As the novel proceeds, Jen is forced to confront her relationship not only to money and privilege, but also to her art. It is this reckoning that will ultimately satisfy Jen's search for meaning and her yearning to create a new life. Her 30s just might not be so bad after all. CAMILLE PERRI'S first novel, "The Assistants," was published in May.
Kirkus Review
Work woes and fertility issues, female friendships and marital challenges are among the factors at play in this satirical novel.Some of the details of the day-to-day life of Jen, the overly accommodating protagonist of Winter's debut novel, will sound all too familiar to many young women: the cavalier (not to say cruel) treatment she receives at the company where she works, a vanity charitable foundation that purports to empower women while robbing Jen of her own sense of self; the sweet husband she dearly loves yet wishes was more of an economic provider; the college friends she feels closest to but can't help envying; the struggle to conceive a childin Jen's terms, a "hypothetical tiny future boarder"; and the squelched yearning for some kind of self-actualization, although Jen and her crew would probably dismiss the very concept as sounding too much like something Leora Infinitas, the TV sitcom star-cum-socialite who heads the nonprofit at which Jen works, would hold a board meeting to discuss. When she's not toiling away at her pointless jobher chief duties are writing memos no one reads; devising acronyms no one likes; and reading the heartfelt, meandering musings of the privileged women Jen and her caustic-yet-caring work pal, Daisy, have dubbed "the Judys"Jen makes art and is actually a gifted portraitist. Her work evokes the hidden, perhaps happy, perhaps sinister inner lives of her subjects, and over the course of the novel she finally begins to get a handle on her own inner life. While at times the story veers uneasily between the broadly farcical and intimately emotional, it gains momentum as it goes along. At a certain point, Winter's hold on the plot, her characters, and, as a result, her readers becomes surer as it leads to its satisfying conclusion. Half rollicking sendup of celebrity philanthropy and half meaningful meditation on marriage, friendship, family, and adulthood, Winter's curious, captivating novel seems to teeter at times between split purposes but ultimately finds a pleasing balance. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Library Journal Review
Jen, an aspiring young artist living with husband Jim in a non-hip part of Brooklyn, has just been laid off. In desperation, she takes an ill-defined job at the Leora Infinitas Foundation (LIFt). The brainchild of self-made celebrity entrepreneur Leora -Infinitas, this nebulous enterprise with an all-female staff purports to help empower poor women around the world. But Leora has an amazing way of turning every proposed project to benefit the downtrodden into a brazen exercise in her own self-promotion. Jen finds herself in the most toxic New York workplace environment since The Devil Wears Prada, all the while dealing with worrying problems at home and misunderstandings with longtime friends. Readers will long for Jen to stand up for herself, and finally she does, in a very satisfying conclusion. VERDICT This witty and sophisticated debut is a wonderfully snarky satire on the world of celebrity do-gooders. It is also the sympathetic story of a deserving young woman who finally gets what she wants. Happy endings for all, except maybe those phony LIFt folks. [See Prepub Alert, 1/11/16.]--Leslie Patterson, Rehoboth, MA © Copyright 2016. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
Our Focus Is Focus Itself "It's hard to reproduce those kind of results if--oh, sorry," Jen said, realizing a beat too late that the rest of the room had gone quiet. Leora Infinitas had already taken her place at the head of the table. For one silent-screaming moment, it looked as if she were attempting to rip her own face off, but in fact she was tugging at her eyelash exten- sions under the placid gaze of the members of her board, who were seated in a corner conference room at the headquarters of the Leora Infinitas Foundation, also known as LIFt. Jen scanned the other women around the jade-and-walnut table, festooned with crystal-and-bamboo vases filled with fresh-cut gerbera daisies and flamingo lilies, selected at Leora's request for their air- filtering qualities and replaced every day, even on days when the conference room was not in use, which was most days. The other women sat in tranquil anticipation as Leora yanked with greater urgency at her right eyelid using the pincer of her thumb and forefinger, as if trying to thread a needle with her own flesh. The rain against LIFt's floor-to-ceiling windows chattered like a gathering crowd, even as the white noise that pumped in from every ceiling at LIFt--an undulating whhooooossshhhhh, an airless air-conditioning--began to hush. Jen shivered. Even a month into her tenure at LIFt, her body still misapprehended the whhooooossshhhhh as an Arctic blast that required shuddering adjustments to her internal thermostat. Leora Infinitas's lashes now lay on the tabletop before her, a squashed yet glamorous bug. Without them, Leora looked at once diminished and more beautiful. Flecks of glue balanced on her eyelids. She blinked rapidly and stared into the table, searching the lacquer for the script, the incantation, hidden below its glinting surface. "I don't like the idea of limiting ourselves," Leora finally said. "I'm a big believer in not settling for twenty-four hours in a day." Rain shattered against the windows, the applause track of a sitcom. A head nodded; a pair of lips buzzed "Mmm." A pen tapping on the table stilled itself. The flowers stood beguiled in their vases. The electrons in the air murmured to one another in grave consultation, then telepathically cabled the message to the rest of the room that Leora, in twenty-one words, had concluded her opening statements. It would be up to her braintrust to, to borrow Leora's phrasing, "advance the conversation." Whhooooossshhhhh "Whhooo is to say," intoned Donna, the board chair and one of Leora's closest friends, "that there are not twenty-five hours in a day?" "Ha, right, who decided that, anyway?" asked board member Sunny, who was also Leora's personal assistant. "We always said we'd have a start-up mentality," Leora said. She peered down at the squashed eyelash bug. Soundlessly, Sunny materialized at her side, palmed it into a cupped tissue, and evanesced back into her seat. "Start-ups never sleep," Leora continued. "Metaphorically speaking." "Totally," Sunny said, nodding with her entire head and neck, the tissue of squashed eyelash bug clasped in her hand. Totally was some- thing Sunny said a lot whenever Leora spoke. Sunny's totally was so total that it became two words. Toe tally. "But at the same time, why bother doing everything if you're not doing everything in. The right. Way," Leora asked. "Mmmmm," Sunny moaned. Donna squared her shoulders. "I think that, right now, at this moment in the young history of LIFt--and especially at this perilous moment in our global economy--our focus is focus itself," she said. Her voice was deep and stern, the vowels round and sonorous as church bells. Her hands sculpted the air. Multiple bangles on each of her wrists clinked together in a wind chime of assent. "But shining a light on certain ideas now doesn't mean that other worthy ideas are left to languish and wilt in the dark forever." Sunny was slow-motion headbanging. "We must focus on those projects that feel most immediate to us," Donna continued. "This sensation of the year two thousand and nine leaping bravely into spring after such a bitter winter--what does that feel like? Let's capture it; let's hold that moment and transform it. We can return to other, more timeless ideas later--a wellspring of creativity that will nourish us when we feel depleted from giving birth to our first idea-children. And we cannot be afraid." "I love it!" Sunny said, clenching a fist to her sternum. "Donna, you are amazing." "Karina," Leora said imperiously to LIFt's executive director, seated to her right. "What would you prioritize?" Karina, who had been raking her fingers through her hair and then twisting the strands, raking and twisting, tossed her hair over her shoulder and widened her eyes, as if absorbing the shock and import of a happy epiphany. "I'm going to second what you're saying, Leora: focus, focus, focus," she said. "The only way we can possibly limit our- selves is by taking on too much at once. We're empowering ourselves by making the choice to make choices. The newness of the foundation and the uncertainty of the historical moment--we can see them as dares. Dares to be bold, dares to make decisions and own those decisions." Jen stifled a smile and looked down at her open notebook, where she'd written board meeting notes with her fountain pen and gradually added serifs and flourishes until the letters became a row of gerbera daisies and flamingo lilies. From the first time they'd met, Jen recognized Karina as a master of the filibuster, but she hadn't yet seen Karina cast the spell on Leora--the gift of shrouding any and every topic in a fluffy word cloud of reiterative agreement until the original query was swallowed up in the woozy vapor of resounding enthusiasm for an unstated but sublime goal. Karina shook her head wonderingly and peered into a dazzling middle distance, taking in a new horizon line. "I'm really jazzed about this," she said. "I can't wait." Forty-five minutes later, as the meeting did not adjourn but rather transitioned into a discussion of Leora's daughter's Bikram instructor's ayahuasca retreats in Oaxaca, Jen's line of gerbera daisies and flamingo lilies had sprouted into a garden of vines and ivy that plumed across both open pages of her notebook, speckled with topiary animals and actual bounding cats. The stippled-sketch form of Jen's toddler goddaughter, Millie, peeked around a flowering espalier with a little fistful of poppies, a wreath of gardenias and eucalyptus atop her black curls. Jen closed the notebook, rose, and began to leave the room, but hov- ered at the head of the table beside Leora. She had resolved to hover in awkward mid-stride, resulting in a slight lurching motion that stirred up a gruesomely intact memory of balking on the pitcher's mound in Little League, with the bases loaded, on ball four. Jen had not yet been introduced to Leora, and keenly wanted to introduce herself now, but just as keenly wanted not to disrupt Leora's Oaxaca anecdote, which involved a surreally vivid dream--induced by a midnight snack of chapulines and chocolate mole--wherein a mercado stall reassembled itself as an animatronic giant and began clank-clanking toward Leora, embroidered tunics and colorful straw handbags winging down from its bionic shoulders in a confetti of symbolism. "You know, mercado, machines, merchandise, mechanical reproduction--the moment was just so rich in meaning," Leora was saying. "I don't have the machinery to deconstruct it." "Haha wow," Sunny said. Swaying on her feet, Jen tried to catch Karina's eye to plead mutely for an assist. But in each of the rapt faces around the table, Jen recognized the temporary tunnel vision that she herself had adapted and perfected in high school as an overtaxed waitress at a casual-dining franchise. She arranged a grin on her face that was intended to convey merry diffidence and backed out of the room. Looking Busy "Do you want to talk about it?" Daisy asked when Jen returned to her desk. Jen flopped theatrically into the chair behind her desk. "Wait, I have no idea why I just did that," she said. "I've been sitting for days." She stood up, then sat down again, more daintily. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Daisy said. "You only infiltrated a board meeting." Daisy was flipping through a perfect-bound, magazinelike tome titled Fur-Lined Teacup: Animals * Fashion * Feminism. The cover depicted, against a white backdrop, an impassive Russian blue cat in a trilby. "I infiltrated nothing--they just needed someone to take notes," Jen said. "And it would be my honor to talk about it. Leora broke her toe paragliding in Turks and Caicos, which her guru told her was a metaphor for a fundamental incompatibility between her jingmai and her luomai, so when the nail falls off her toe she has to wear it in a titanium locket around her neck until Mercury enters Virgo. Karina was at a party with the Russian billionaire who is building the cyborg clone of himself, and he asked her what she was going to bequeath to her brain in her will and she said 'fish oil,' and then he asked her out on a date. Donna bought a tapestry in Siem Reap and had it made into a pantsuit. Sunny has a new pizza stone." Daisy tore out a page from Fur-Lined Teacup and handed it to Jen. It depicted a llama lounging in a square gazebo, reading a book. "Is that llama wearing bifocals?" Jen asked, rubbing her fingers along the creamy, textured paper stock. "Are they all still talking about the financial apocalypse?" Daisy asked. "Of course," Jen said, handing the page back to Daisy. "All anyone ever does is talk about the financial apocalypse. Sunny is putting some money into gold. Leora said she's still considering letting a couple of her house staff go because of the financial apocalypse." "Do you think she'll let us go because of the financial apocalypse?" Daisy asked, picking up a pair of scissors. "Not if we keep looking busy," Jen said, watching as Daisy cut a careful silhouette around the bookish llama's ears. Excerpted from Break in Case of Emergency: A Novel by Jessica Winter 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.