I've begun Karen Abbott's biography of Gypsy Rose Lee. While this project isn't high intellectual fodder, I am intrigued by self-made, intelligent women who cultivate sexualized identities on their way to the tops of their profession. Such duality is displayed in a fabulous picture of Lee wearing a teddy and balancing a typewriter in her lap, tapping out short stories and a novel between sets. Clearly, contemporary entertainers like Madonna and Lady Gaga owe a debt to forerunners like Lee, who used a larger-than-life marketing scheme to sell her goods.
While I'm always in favor of cutesy titles, this one is laborious: American Rose: A Nation Laid Bare: The Life and Times of Gypsy Rose Lee. So far, the writing style is as ponderous as the multiple subtitles. However, Lee's mother is deliciously horrifying as easily the worst stage mother ever.
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