The New Yorker staff writer, with a substantial library of antic texts to his credit (Tepper Isn’t Going Out, 2002, etc.), writes an affecting eulogy to his late wife.
Alice figured in Trillin’s work all through the years as a smart, reliable and straightforward woman, an independent thinker with an attraction to difficult topics. “She believed in the principle of enoughness,” writes her husband, explaining it as the principle that no one needs more than enough of anything. Alice violated her own rule by being inordinately pretty, a gratuitous advantage she didn’t mind possessing. She was a busy college teacher, TV producer, cancer survivor, friend and more: a wife, mother, example and muse. “Bud” Trillin met Alice at a publisher’s party. A capable author in her own right, she possessed well-tempered sensibilities that made her a valuable reviewer of his drafts. In this disarming memoir, the author celebrates Alice’s life without minimizing the pain he has felt since losing her. Death parted them, but not entirely. If Trillin is remembered years from now, Alice will be too.
A small book that betokens a deep, undimmed affection.