Womanfully"" (swallow hard) the first female reporter celebrates the other ""gallant"" (repeat that one twenty times at least women in her pantheon -- from Mother Cabrini to Rachel Carson to Judy Garland with her ""pink-gold Radiance [sic] . . . like Shelley"" to Bess Truman -- these appearing the most frequently from chapter to chapter in the author's' fulsome and forgetful fashion. Well, intermittently and recurrently in between there's Emily Post and Pearl Buck ""our most distinguished American woman novelist. . .beyond question"" and Anne Lindbergh ""the greatest living American woman"" and Dorothy, here Dottie, Parker and Billie Dove and Margaret Mitchell and, of course, Papa who may not have been a woman but he sure set the goals. At one point, almost like Jeane Dixon she ""saw Dick Nixon as a quarterback having a bad season."" At another with the same gift of prophecy ""Jacqueline Susann and I agreed that day by day in every way we grow mysteriouser and mysterious to us, until some days we disappear altogether.