The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas

Tedious and tedious and tedious. Sometimes reading this book felt like reading random pages of a (very popular) teen girl's diary. “I saw so-and-so and he is working on a new painting and Gertrude Stein was amused by him.” “I saw so-and-so and he is writing a new novel and he bored Gertrude Stein.” Yes, on and on and on. Every celebrity of her age visited Stein, I think. The book felt a like an thinly-disguised attempt to pump up the renown of Gertrude Stein herself. And the writing was unbearably tedious.

But, at the same time, some of the little stories were fun to read about. After all, Stein and Toklas hosted Hemingway. And Fitzgerald. And Picasso. Talked to them. Laughed with them. Ate with them. Argued with them.

Tedious. But oddly mesmerizing.