A Salon.com reader on Sloane Crosley’s essay The best laid plans:

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Ugh. Boring and trifling

The point of this twee twaddle is Sloane Crosley is a pretty young thing who works as a publicist for a major publisher and knows how to work connections, but, surprise, when she’s not flacking or reviewing she’s got very little to say. If this collection of wispy non-events is any evidence, her book must be a nearly obscene example of a comfortable privileged life inflated to book length.

She takes SEVEN paragraphs to describe a failed eight word pickup line in a library.

I’m sure executive types find her ability to spin wittily about banal experiences refreshing, but if I’m going to read self-obsessed anecdotes, I want a hot mess like Elizabeth Wurtzel. This makes Prozac Nation seem like freaking Balzac. Sloane is the anti-Wurtzel – trying to seem dynamic in her complete lack of shading. It’s excruciating.

And that’s probably why she’s got a book – on Riverhead, no less, which really seems enamored of the bankable white girls. Of course she’s smarter than Margaret Seltzer and writes about stuff which is beyond verification. What evidence can there be of not hooking up with a guy in a library?

Except there’s her claim to have a spatial learning disability. Gawker has expressed doubt about this though it’s all speculation: http://gawker.com/news/diagnoses/whats-really-wrong-with-sloane-crosley-327295.php

Funny how she doesn’t mention it in this essay.

Source.

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Sloane Crosley’s writing makes me sleepy.

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I’m happy that she has a book deal and that she’s known as a charming, popular book publicist but her Voice essays put me to sleep.

Why?

Too damn twee, cute and bland. And her essay on her ass attracting the attention of non-white men?

An excerpt:

If I said even now (in front of a man or woman of any race for that matter) that I think I have a big butt, they encourage me to deny it. “You have a great ass,” they say. Which, ahem, isn’t the issue in question. And all that protesting, all that mutually exclusive commentary about how big versus how appealing, leads a 5-5 pallid girl to wonder: What is it, exactly, about the ass right now?

For the love of Buddha, why do girls named Sloane feel so cool to go there like its a brand new discovery? I should applaud her nerve for getting a check for writing about such a tired topic but I’m not there today.

Why is the fact that she’s dumb enough to get locked out her apartment twice in one day warrant a Voice essay? Because it happened to her cute, charming ass? And we all need cute, charming ooops I’m a lucky little fuck up stories in our lives?

Tallulah refuses.

But I do wish her all the luck with the book and all those cool blurbs!