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Diary of an Emotional Idiot by Maggie Estep

Kate Sullivan

Published on March 26, 1997

Harmony Books

"I hate her." "I'd fuck 'er." Such was the banter, no doubt typical, between myself and a male friend while flipping through Diary of an Emotional Idiot, the debut novel from New York spoken-word star Maggie Estep. Being a young woman, and a pretty one, Estep is not just a new writer--she's a face, her sensuous pout playing a starring role on the book's cover. She's also a pair of legs, displayed prominently in the New York Times' "Style" section. And thanks to MTV--which has featured her numerous times--the look, the voice, the lifestyle and the satellite dish have conspired to make a new product, somewhere between "writer," "actor," "model," and "rock star."

Despite all these reasons to hate her, after reading Estep's book, I can't. Timeless brilliance this is not--it's more like talking to a crazy girlfriend on the phone for three hours, occasionally laughing so hard you wet yourself. Estep's alter ego Zoe explains her life, from neglected toddler to baby-punk burnout to broke-down Lower East Side junkie to sober, chain-smoking scribbler. Along the way she loses her virginity to a slow-burning horse thief, a huge letdown, and then exchanges fluids and heartbeats with a string of men and a couple women. Estep's got a penchant for Capitalizing Words to Make Them Funny and inventing names for people, like Itty-Bitty Backpack Chick and Eye Guy. The book's supposedly about Zoe's inability to have a healthy relationship (she's Repulsed by Intimacy), but it's really a love song to humanity: Emaciated sexy garbagemen, sweet guys who put down the needle and pick up the Ben & Jerry's, grandparents who take you to Cats. No wonder Estep's real-life rock band is called I Love Everybody--and the more screwed up, the better. It doesn't go far below the surface or attempt to plumb the inner void that most of us--artists and addicts especially--wrestle with. But if the book has a message, it's probably something like, "Embrace the Awkward." Which, Estep's legs and lips notwithstanding, seems to me the very antithesis of MTV.



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