Consider Death

... and life. That’s what this book makes you do. It also makes you see your neck in a whole new light....

From StarMag, 29th July, 2007

Review by DAPHNE LEE

I FEEL BAD ABOUT MY NECK: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman
by Nora Ephron
Publisher: Knopf, 137 pages
(ISBN: 978-0307264558)

COINCIDENTALLY, the day after I finish reading this book, Nora Ephron appears on Oprah Primetime to talk about it and discuss (alongside Diahann Carroll and Geena Davis) ageing (or, really, anti-ageing).

What I find interesting is that Ephron answers questions (from Oprah and members of the audience) by “quoting” almost verbatim from the book. It doesn’t sound like she’s quoting, though. You’d only know if you’ve read it.

I am disappointed because I thought she’d have more up her sleeve than that. I mean, this is the woman who wrote When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, and Heartburn (to name a few modern masterpieces) for goodness’ sake. Still, although I’ve heard it all before, I laugh. The woman has perfect comic timing.

Heartburn, by the way, is a novel based on Ephron’s divorce from Carl Bernstein (the Washington Post journalist who, with Bob Woodward, broke the Watergate presidential scandal in the 1970s). Just months away from delivering their second son, Ephron (Rachel in the book) finds out that her husband is having an affair. It’s heartbreaking, but Ephron manages to make you laugh about it. What’s funniest (both ha-ha as well as bizarre) is how a seemingly intelligent man like Bernstein could have (if you believe Ephron) behaved like a complete ass.

Anyway, if you’ve ever had to deal with a donkey in man’s clothing, Heartburn is a must-read. The movie, starring Jack Nicholson and Meryl Streep, is also pretty good.

Back to I Feel Bad About My Neck and Other Thoughts on Being a Woman. I do not feel bad about my neck, but I’m certainly not over the moon about various other body parts. This book is, of course, not about necks per se. It’s about how we women are never happy with the way we look. However, Ephron herself has problems with her neck. She appears on Oprah with a scarf wound round it and, watching her, I wonder the whole time what on earth she is hiding.

We know about necks, though. We’ve noticed wattles on our grandmas and grandpas. I feel bad about my thick waist and have done so ever since I had one, which is practically forever. But I have never considered my neck. This is probably because I don’t have a problem neck. Ephron writes that one of her biggest regrets is “that I didn’t spend my youth staring lovingly at my neck. It never crossed my mind that I would be nostalgic about a part of my body that I took completely for granted.”

I guess I should start staring lovingly at my neck from now on.

Ephron’s neck is just one chapter in this collection of essays about the trials and tribulations of being a woman of a “certain age”. She writes about hating her purse, about her life as a serial monogamist, about maintenance (or “Pathetic Attempts to Turn Back the Clock”), about falling in love (with an apartment), about falling out of love (with Bill Clinton), about the joy of reading (my favourite chapter – surprise, surprise).

There’s a list of all the things she wishes she’d known as a younger woman: nothing on it surprised me, which probably means I am no longer a young woman.

The book ends with thoughts on death. I have re-read this chapter a couple of times. It’s very funny and extremely moving, and just a tiny bit depressing. It would probably be much more depressing if you were in your 60s and above, or if you were ill.

Death seems unreal when you’re young. It might even seem glamorous. Or romantic. The older you grow, the more you realise that death is the least of your worries. Dying is the real problem. If only we could all slip away peacefully in our sleep, fully moisturised and wearing our best silk nighties. Oh, the horror of a painful death. A long, lingering, conscious and painful death. Incontinent. Ga-ga. Drooling.

And so, you close the book in a thoughtful mood. You consider death. You consider being happy about your nice neck. You think that no matter how ridiculous you look in a bikini now, you might later regret not ever having worn one. You consider death. You feel happy that you are not dead and not dying. You consider life. You count your blessings. Including your neck.