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Eve Babitz

Slow Days, Fast Company

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There was a time when no one burned hotter than Eve Babitz. Possessing skin that radiated “its own kind of moral laws,” spectacular teeth, and a figure that was the stuff of legend, she seduced seemingly everyone who was anyone in Los Angeles for a long stretch of the 1960s and '70s. But there was one man who proved elusive, and so Babitz did what she did best, she wrote him a book. She also pulled off a remarkable sleight of hand: Slow Days, Fast Company far exceeds its mash-note premise. It is a full-fledged and full-bodied evocation of a bygone Southern California. In ten sun-baked, Santa Ana wind–swept sketches, Babitz re-creates a Los Angeles of movie stars distraught over their success; socialites on three-day drug binges, evading their East Coast banking husbands; soap-opera actors worried that tomorrow's script will kill them off; Italian femme fatales even more fatal than she is. And she even leaves L.A. sometimes, spending an afternoon at the house of…
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  • dianahar citeretfor 2 år siden
    It must have been marvelous when the century was young and things impressed themselves in such blatant vivid brilliance that an approaching fire under a starry sky could illuminate, even to a Crimean actress, this sense of “place”—that there was nothing to be wanted from material things, nothing to be saved.
  • dianahar citeretfor 2 år siden
    That’s the trouble with Hollywood; the things that don’t exist are likely to kill you if you threaten them.
  • dianahar citeretfor 2 år siden
    “It’s something from inside,” Carl said. “She’s so thin. It’s as though she’s caving in; her rib cage is like a bird’s. She’s still gorgeous. She was wearing some kind of faded-rose suede suit that really must have been beautiful. But when I thought about her afterward, I couldn’t figure out why she did it anymore. Why she did it at all.”

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