All About...Eve

"Too L.A." by Eve Babitz, edited by Lili Anolik

I like her other books, but this is my favorite Eve Babitz book. About a week ago, I finished reading John Le Carré’s A Perfect Spy, a book of his letters, and right after that, I went straight to Too L.A.: Letters Never Sent (But Some Were). There is no connection between the two writers, except for their shared talent for expressing and showing their individual worlds through their correspondence. I met Eve a few times, and mostly at openings and once at the Grinstein’s home, who had legendary parties for artists. I first met her when I was a teenager, and I think the last time I saw her was at the Grinstein party. Incredibly attractive, she came up to me, knowing that I was the son of artist Wallace Berman. She was curious, and I felt like a piece of merchandise on display as I sensed her brain weighing whether it was worth checking me out more. There was something sexual in the encounter, but not coming from me. She finally, after ten minutes or so, decided to pass me by, and she went somewhere else at the party.

The big surprise in the book for me is when she states on page 89 that “Wallace’s wife was a dyke (which she was),” Knowing my mother Shirley for almost seventy years, this came as a surprise. She never suggested anything of the sort to me, nor did I ever hear it from friends or family. Why Eve arrived at that conclusion remains a mystery. My mom wasn’t homophobic, and if she were a lesbian, she would have told me years ago, so why, or how, Eve comes up with this thought is a bit of a mystery. Still, this didn’t turn me off reading the book, which is fascinating.

What Babitz did well was document the psyche of Los Angeles during the 1960s and early 70s. The artist landscape, especially in the Ferus Gallery world, was very ‘male’ orientated with surfing, motorbikes, and a lot of fun to hang out with. The contrast of her ‘fun’ life among her friends and even enemies is interesting, with the thought that her Godfather was Stravinsky, which seems unbelievable to me, but alas, very true. There is this odd competition with Joan Didion, a friend of sorts, but I get the impression that Eve resents her for her success or her stature as a writer. Which is odd, because Babitz, I think, is an overall more interesting writer, and she’s not as literary as Didion, but when she writes about things she knows, first-hand, her work is exceptional.

Her letters to friends, enemies, and perhaps to herself are profound in most cases, but get tiresome when she dumps on an ex-boyfriend here and there. But even that, her skill as a correspondent is very effective. She is very precise in her complaints and is ultra-aware of her social surroundings. As mentioned, I finished Le Carré’s collection of letters, and he, too, is a skillful prose stylist, which shows up in his letters, and although Eve and John are worlds apart, it is an interesting juxtaposition reading these books side-by-side. Both can articulate their feelings like masters in that field.

It’s wonderful that the New York Review of Books (NYRB) is reissuing her older titles and publishing this book of letters. Lili Anolik’s footnotes to the letters are equally fascinating. I think Too L.A. will be considered a classic book on the Los Angeles film and art world of its time, but it also has a sadness that stings. My history in Los Angeles is the same people but another narrative, and it’s good to have different voices. Very Los Angeles, in that sense.