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"Sally Milz is a sketch writer for The Night Owls, the late night live comedy show that airs each Saturday. With a couple of heartbreaks under her belt, she's long abandoned the search for love, settling instead for the occasional hook-up, career success, and a close relationship with her stepfather to round out a satisfying life. But when Sally's friend and fellow writer Danny Horst begins dating Annabel, a glamorous actress who guest-hosted the show, he joins the not-so-exclusive group of talented but average-looking and even dorky men at the show-and in society at large-who've gotten romantically involved with incredibly beautiful and accomplished women. Sally channels her annoyance into a sketch called the Danny Horst Rule, poking fun at this phenomenon while underscoring how unlikely it is that the reverse would ever happen for a woman. Enter Noah Brewster, a pop music sensation with a reputation for dating models, who signed on as both host and musical guest for this week's show. Dazzled by his charms, Sally hits it off with Noah instantly, and as they collaborate on one sketch after another, she begins to wonder if there might actually be sparks flying. But this isn't a romantic comedy-it's real life. And in real life, someone like him would never date someone like her . . . right?"--… (altro)
I loved this book so much. It fits nicely in my reading niche: emotionally astute, witty, feminist undertones, a writer’s inner monologue—including all the usual neuroses. Reading this felt both familiar and fresh, felt like I was both in a place I’ve been and a place I want to be.
The structure is organized into three different acts, and I equally enjoyed all three sections: The first third takes place almost entirely in The Night Owls building in NYC where it felt like Sally, the narrator and later-night TV sketch writer, was a Liz Lemon facsimile in her own 30 Rock, working a regular week of preparing for the week’s late-night show. The second part of the book was all email correspondences between Sally and Noah, the famous musician and former guest host of TNO (the SNL-type show). I always love the inclusion of letters or emails; it eliminates all fillers, leaving you with just the relationship development. The last third takes place between LA and KC at the beginning of the COVID-shutdown—a surreal moment in recent history that allows for a surreal moment in Sally’s life.
If you like stories of writers who overthink things like the unexplainable rules of attraction, this may be the book for you. I personally couldn’t put it down (which is hard when there aren’t really chapters but more like 3 acts and you just want to get to the next chapter before stopping). This was a five-star read for me, meaning there’s nothing I’d change about it. ( )
story is perceptive, funny and engaging from start to finish. the author approaches the discomfort and awkwardness of new relationships with a kind of maturity that has raised the bar for contemporary romances for me. so much so that i dont even care that there was basically 0 spice and i never say that. ( )
Curis Sittenfeld isn't my favorite author--too crass for my tastes--but I did like this book, especially part one. Getting a glimpse into the life of a comedy writer was fascinating. ( )
Comedy writer Sally Milz is curious why gorgeous female celebrities date average dudes, but hot dudes don’t date average girls. On the popular late night sketch show she writes for, several funny but fugly dudes have pulled major leading lady and pop sensation superstars, while single-by-choice with a steady hookup Sally can’t find a cute nice guy in NYC. When pop superstar Noah Brewster is the musical guest AND featured performer, he brings a sketch draft that she copyedits in a brilliant and fascinating scene that greatly improves his draft and gives insight into how to craft a piece of writing and deliver feedback. It’s clear to the reader they have chemistry, but Sally, who swore off romantic relationships after an ambivalent divorce and disappointing encounter with a co-worker, doesn’t even recognize she has a crush at first… and then is stunned to feel jealousy when he partners with someone else in a sketch. Long-dormant feelings are reawakening, she panics and sabatoges, not willing to let herself believe Noah might actually like her. And that’s all just in chapter one, which is half of the book.
Chapter two opens almost two years later, four months into pandemic lockdown. In a fit of loneliness and still rueing the unresolved tension between them, Noah reaches out, Sally responds, and a few weeks of witty banter and flirting with timestamps at all hours become an email correspondence that is also a snapshot of the early pandemic. They get real, and the section ends with them agreeing Sally (back home in the midwest with her stepfather and his dog) will drive out to California to reconnect. Will they make the leap from friends to lovers and break the cycle of hot guys only dating hot girls?
This smart, funny novel addresses beauty standards, feminism, science, politics, social justice, fame, and trauma in a contemporary and believable way. The fast pace, riveting details, and dramatic tension of a potential opposites attract love match was unputdownable–I tore through Romantic Comedy on my day off this week–and if you love Saturday Night Live, this novel has the feel of an insider glimpse into how the sausage gets made.
I received a free advance reader’s review copy of #RomanticComedy from #NetGalley.
Predictable but I enjoyed the ride. Loved the section of emails especially. My only complaint was that there was very little of life together outside the pandemic. ( )
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For beloved and funny C
Incipit
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You should not, I've read many times, reach for your phone first thing in the morning—the news, social media, and emails all disrupt the natural stages of waking and create stress—which is how I'll preface the fact that when I reached for my phone first thing one morning and learned that Danny Horst and Annabel Lily were dating, I was furious.
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He smiled his big smile at us, and I wondered if his teeth were real or veneers.
"Okay, I need your advice," Danny said. "Annabel is freaking out because she just found out our signs are incompatible. Belly's a Pisces and I'm a Sagittarius." "Oh my God," I said. "I can't even believe you've lasted this long."
My resentment about their relationship and the sketch I'd just pitched notwithstanding, I found Danny's unbridled love for Annabel sweet. Their sincerity and spontaneity and sheer optimism all seemed so misguided, so destined to fail, that how could anyone, including a cynic like me, not root for them?
It was shortly after Trump's inauguration, as our democracy started to unravel, that Danny took to calling me Chuckles. This was short for chuckle slut, which was the term for women who slept with comedians, and Danny bestowed the nickname after I told him I'd never once slept with a comedian.
every day, things were said at TNO, often on camera, that would have constituted sexual harassment in any other workplace except the current White House.
I still often recalled an observation made by a writer name Elise with whom I'd overlapped for my first two years, which was that when we nonfamous people talked to famous people, we wanted the encounter to be finished as soon as possible so that we could go describe it to our nonfamous friends.
"For sure, this is my dream job," I said. "Even with the baked-in sexism, even when I'd barely slept. I just can't imagine a job where I laugh more, or the people are more talented and hard-working. And to get paid to make fun of stuff that deserves to be made fun of and have this huge platform—what more could a misanthrope from Missouri wish for?" He laughed. "Are you a misanthrope from Missouri?" "Yes and yes." "I feel that way about my music—like, This counts as a job? Sometimes I get scared that someone is going to tell me the jig is up. I fooled everyone for a couple decades, but now they've realized I'm a fraud." "What's the fraudulent part? That you don't really know how to play guitar?" He laughed. "That could be a sketch, actually," I said. "With you just sort of wiggling your fingers on the strings." "Actually," he repeated. "See? You do say it a lot. But no, the fraudulence is being rewarded for something I'd gladly do for free. You'd have to be super, super entitled to experience that and never second-guess yourself or at least be amazed by my luck." "The thing I worry about is overstaying my welcome," I said. "There's supposedly a TNO curse where if you stay too long, you get stale here and you miss the boat on the next stage of your career."
He hadn't wanted to be romantically involved with a person with whom he shared a sense of humor, whereas I hadn't been able to imagine anything better. Or maybe he'd just thought I wasn't pretty. Either way, his aversion had made me question my view of the world, my own beliefs about what attracted two people, to such an extreme degree that I'd given up on romantic partnership completely.
When I saw him from behind as I walked toward the stage—he again wore a light T-shirt and black jeans—I felt a stomach-churning, pulse-quickening swooniness that I was so unaccustomed to I almost didn't recognize it. But I did recognize it, just barely. It was the kind of attraction I'd felt in middle and high school, a full-body, brain-dominating excited terror.
"I'm pretty sure their relationship is real to him." "Oh come on—as if there's a clear distinction between real and fake for any of us. Aren't we all performing the role of ourselves?"
as I listened to him sing and watched him play guitar, I felt the respect I often felt at TNO for people who not only knew how to do things I couldn't but who were so good at those things that they made them look easy.
If at times his attention to detail seemed ludicrous—he'd decree that a potted plant in a sketch should be moved from the right side of a desk to the left—the counterargument was that he was Nigel Petersen, and the rest of us were not.
In the seconds before a cast member went on, when they were surrounded by a makeup artist, a hair stylist, and someone from wardrobe all making last adjustments, the clusters always reminded me of when the mice and birds in the original Cinderella movie dressed her for the ball.
This was the problem with celebrities, that they could deploy their charisma at will, and you basked in its glow, and then they shifted it away from you and the world reverted to being cold.
I actually think this was a profound lesson about how with incomplete information, we choose our narrative.
She conveyed to me without ever saying it outright that we all have public and private selves, which also was a very important lesson.
On the phone, there was a brief silence, then Noah said, "So I think you should come visit me. And I think we should hang out and keep talking about all the things we've been talking about over email. What do you think of that?" "Okay." "Wait, do you think I'm kidding?" "Are you kidding?" "No." "I wasn't kidding, either. And as luck would have it, my schedule is pretty open now." He laughed. "So is mine."
"Usually I hate talking on the phone, but I don't hate talking on the phone to you." "I'll try not to let that go to my head."
"What's the other joke?" "This one is a little crude." "Even better." "I'm so happy that I can't wipe the smile off my penis." This time, I really, really laughed, and he said, "Seriously, the sound of you laughing—there's nothing else like it."
"I think I'm better at using rage and disappointment to fuel my creativity. Happiness makes me uneasy."
"I believe you that you're bad at dating, but you can be bad at dating and still fall in love once in a lifetime." "That logic is enticing yet very, very tenuous."
"When you put it like that, it almost makes me sound like a self-sabotaging asshat." "I'm not going to say the rule doesn't exist, but it's like Santa Claus. It's only real if you believe in it."
Through my mask, his neck smelled the he smelled on waking, some combination of being outside in the woods and bread, and I thought how in the last few weeks, the idea of him had sometimes made me nervous but the reality of him always comforted me.
I wondered if I'd always understood the song a little wrong, or possibly if I'd always understood life a little wrong.
On Tuesday, Noah's publicist released a statement announcing our marriage and suggesting that anyone who wanted to help us celebrate could do so by making a donation to a nonprofit working to elect Democratic women. "We need to offset my reentry into the ultimate heteropatriarchal institution," I'd said, and he'd laughed and replied, "As newlywed wives often tell their husbands."
Ultime parole
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There are, presumably, texts and tweets and news articles I'm missing, but in those moments none seem all that urgent.
"Sally Milz is a sketch writer for The Night Owls, the late night live comedy show that airs each Saturday. With a couple of heartbreaks under her belt, she's long abandoned the search for love, settling instead for the occasional hook-up, career success, and a close relationship with her stepfather to round out a satisfying life. But when Sally's friend and fellow writer Danny Horst begins dating Annabel, a glamorous actress who guest-hosted the show, he joins the not-so-exclusive group of talented but average-looking and even dorky men at the show-and in society at large-who've gotten romantically involved with incredibly beautiful and accomplished women. Sally channels her annoyance into a sketch called the Danny Horst Rule, poking fun at this phenomenon while underscoring how unlikely it is that the reverse would ever happen for a woman. Enter Noah Brewster, a pop music sensation with a reputation for dating models, who signed on as both host and musical guest for this week's show. Dazzled by his charms, Sally hits it off with Noah instantly, and as they collaborate on one sketch after another, she begins to wonder if there might actually be sparks flying. But this isn't a romantic comedy-it's real life. And in real life, someone like him would never date someone like her . . . right?"--
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3
The structure is organized into three different acts, and I equally enjoyed all three sections: The first third takes place almost entirely in The Night Owls building in NYC where it felt like Sally, the narrator and later-night TV sketch writer, was a Liz Lemon facsimile in her own 30 Rock, working a regular week of preparing for the week’s late-night show. The second part of the book was all email correspondences between Sally and Noah, the famous musician and former guest host of TNO (the SNL-type show). I always love the inclusion of letters or emails; it eliminates all fillers, leaving you with just the relationship development. The last third takes place between LA and KC at the beginning of the COVID-shutdown—a surreal moment in recent history that allows for a surreal moment in Sally’s life.
If you like stories of writers who overthink things like the unexplainable rules of attraction, this may be the book for you. I personally couldn’t put it down (which is hard when there aren’t really chapters but more like 3 acts and you just want to get to the next chapter before stopping). This was a five-star read for me, meaning there’s nothing I’d change about it. (