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The Rules Do Not Apply
Goodreads Choice Award
Nominee for Best Memoir & Autobiography (2017)A gorgeous, darkly humorous memoir about a woman overcoming dramatic loss and finding reinvention—for readers of Cheryl Strayed and Joan Didion
When thirty-eight-year-old New Yorker writer Ariel Levy left for a reporting trip to Mongolia in 2012, she was pregnant, married, financially secure, and successful on her own terms. A month later, none of that was true.
Levy picks you up and hurls you through the story of how she built an unconventional life and then watched it fall apart with astonishing speed. Like much of her generation, she was raised to resist traditional rules—about work, about love, and about womanhood.
“I wanted what we all want: everything. We want a mate who feels like family and a lover who is exotic, surprising. We want to be youthful adventurers and middle-aged mothers. We want intimacy and autonomy, safety and stimulation, reassurance and novelty, coziness and thrills. But we can’t have it all.”
In this profound and beautiful memoir, Levy chronicles the adventure and heartbreak of being “a woman who is free to do whatever she chooses.” Her own story of resilience becomes an unforgettable portrait of the shifting forces in our culture, of what has changed—and of what is eternal.
When thirty-eight-year-old New Yorker writer Ariel Levy left for a reporting trip to Mongolia in 2012, she was pregnant, married, financially secure, and successful on her own terms. A month later, none of that was true.
Levy picks you up and hurls you through the story of how she built an unconventional life and then watched it fall apart with astonishing speed. Like much of her generation, she was raised to resist traditional rules—about work, about love, and about womanhood.
“I wanted what we all want: everything. We want a mate who feels like family and a lover who is exotic, surprising. We want to be youthful adventurers and middle-aged mothers. We want intimacy and autonomy, safety and stimulation, reassurance and novelty, coziness and thrills. But we can’t have it all.”
In this profound and beautiful memoir, Levy chronicles the adventure and heartbreak of being “a woman who is free to do whatever she chooses.” Her own story of resilience becomes an unforgettable portrait of the shifting forces in our culture, of what has changed—and of what is eternal.
207 pages, Hardcover
First published March 14, 2017
About the author
Ariel Levy
9 books699 followersAriel Levy is a staff writer at The New Yorker magazine, where she has written about the swimmer Diana Nyad, the Supreme Court plaintiff Edith Windsor, the former Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, and the drug ayahuasca. She was the editor of The Best American Essays 2015. Her personal story "Thanksgiving in Mongolia" won a National Magazine Award for Essays and Criticism and is the basis for her book, The Rules Do Not Apply.
Her work has appeared in The Washington Post, The New Yorker, Vogue, Slate, Men's Journal and Blender. Levy was named one of the "Forty Under 40" most influential out individuals in the June/July 2009 issue of The Advocate.
Her work has appeared in The Washington Post, The New Yorker, Vogue, Slate, Men's Journal and Blender. Levy was named one of the "Forty Under 40" most influential out individuals in the June/July 2009 issue of The Advocate.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 3,025 reviews
April 18, 2017
Hmm. The writing on a sentence level is exquisite. Levy's vocabulary is just superb. This is an interesting book. Levy demonstrates self awareness and is willing to put herself on the page in uncomfortable but compelling ways. The end of the book is a mess. The last few chapters are just baffling given the strength of what precedes them.
There is also this awkward strain of unexamined white girl privilege throughout. Now, is such examination mandatory? Of course not. But whew. The lack of it is pronounced.
Still enjoyed this. The writing is just that good.
There is also this awkward strain of unexamined white girl privilege throughout. Now, is such examination mandatory? Of course not. But whew. The lack of it is pronounced.
Still enjoyed this. The writing is just that good.
February 16, 2020
I'm just going to talk openly about what happens in the memoir because it seems as though it's mostly all out there as is, and so I don't want people yelling at me about spoilers. The literal summary provided makes even the miscarriage clear. Ariel Levy was thirty eight when she got pregnant, before which she had been ambivalent about having a child. Ariel wanted a child but she also wanted to pursue her ambitions in journalism and create a financially stable life for herself. Her desire to live outside of traditional expectations led to a life of travel and enjoyment. Yet one can not have everything, all choices have trade offs, and waiting so long to get pregnant meant Ariel eventually ended up having no children. This was only one of the many choices that lead to the implosion of the life she had created with her spouse Lucy, trade offs that eventually did not sustain the relationship, like Ariel's denial about Lucy's drinking. Ariel explores what it means to have freedom and the constant grappling she deals with when she chooses to do things based on her desires.
I only gave this book three stars because the writing was good and I understand what the author was trying to do. It's just that the memoir felt badly put together. In the beginning when she's in Africa and hints at ruining her life by talking to an old lover it is really distracting because after that she goes back in time and I had trouble for a while making out what she was talking about and what the time line of things were. Also it just didn't feel like things fit together, she writes about her childhood and meeting Lucy and her mentor but for some reason I wasn't sure what I was supposed to understand when I put all of that together. I know that human beings aren't neat narrative packages but I can't stand the way memoirs always do this. No one is interesting enough that I want to read about their life honestly, unless there are larger points being made.
It's really sad that her child died, and it was an awful thing that she had him in the bathroom. I even empathize with how much it must have hurt to have to end her relationship with Lucy. I know life is messy but it's not really something I want to read about. And at the end she just lists daydreams about where her life might go next. Ariel mentions that she loves to journal and maybe the appropriate place for all of this was in a journal. It didn't really reveal anything new for me. Like wow choices come with trade offs. The most interesting stuff might have been her discussion of how hetronormative gender roles play out in her own relationship but it also just made me dislike her because she keeps talking about how it's Lucy's job to take care of her. Maybe if Ariel just stopped thinking about herself for once then her relationship wouldn't have imploded. You can't put pressure on your spouse to provide, cheat on them while they try to build their company, be in denial about their addiction, and then turn around and leave them when you miscarry and they are in rehab. Did she really think that would work out.
I don't dislike Ariel and I don't think shes a bad person. We all make regrettable decisions. It's just hard to feel sorry for her when she could've stopped most of the problems from arising with Lucy. I honestly did really feel awful about the whole pregnancy thing though. That was one of the only things that I didn't feel like were on her. She had waited too long to have a child yes, but it's hard as a women to decide to have kids when it can limit ones autonomy so enormously. Anyway Ariel is a really great writer but I didn't get anything out of this memoir but that might not be on her really, I usually always end up disliking memoirs. I do try though.
I only gave this book three stars because the writing was good and I understand what the author was trying to do. It's just that the memoir felt badly put together. In the beginning when she's in Africa and hints at ruining her life by talking to an old lover it is really distracting because after that she goes back in time and I had trouble for a while making out what she was talking about and what the time line of things were. Also it just didn't feel like things fit together, she writes about her childhood and meeting Lucy and her mentor but for some reason I wasn't sure what I was supposed to understand when I put all of that together. I know that human beings aren't neat narrative packages but I can't stand the way memoirs always do this. No one is interesting enough that I want to read about their life honestly, unless there are larger points being made.
It's really sad that her child died, and it was an awful thing that she had him in the bathroom. I even empathize with how much it must have hurt to have to end her relationship with Lucy. I know life is messy but it's not really something I want to read about. And at the end she just lists daydreams about where her life might go next. Ariel mentions that she loves to journal and maybe the appropriate place for all of this was in a journal. It didn't really reveal anything new for me. Like wow choices come with trade offs. The most interesting stuff might have been her discussion of how hetronormative gender roles play out in her own relationship but it also just made me dislike her because she keeps talking about how it's Lucy's job to take care of her. Maybe if Ariel just stopped thinking about herself for once then her relationship wouldn't have imploded. You can't put pressure on your spouse to provide, cheat on them while they try to build their company, be in denial about their addiction, and then turn around and leave them when you miscarry and they are in rehab. Did she really think that would work out.
I don't dislike Ariel and I don't think shes a bad person. We all make regrettable decisions. It's just hard to feel sorry for her when she could've stopped most of the problems from arising with Lucy. I honestly did really feel awful about the whole pregnancy thing though. That was one of the only things that I didn't feel like were on her. She had waited too long to have a child yes, but it's hard as a women to decide to have kids when it can limit ones autonomy so enormously. Anyway Ariel is a really great writer but I didn't get anything out of this memoir but that might not be on her really, I usually always end up disliking memoirs. I do try though.
March 30, 2017
The literary memoir "The Rules Do Not Apply" is all about a privileged white woman who has led a charmed life. The author has been raised to assume she has control over all aspects of her life because nothing traumatic has ever happened to her, or anyone in her family, and she has had a successful writing career, according to plan. She has grown up believing she should "have it all" in life, and she actively pursues that goal throughout childhood and into her adulthood.
Author Ariel Levy assumes that this message of "having control" and "having it all" in life was a lesson of feminism. At age 38, the author uses medical intervention to become pregnant for the first time, but suffers a miscarriage five months into her pregnancy. Due to this tragedy, Ms. Levy suddenly realizes life is uncontrollable, and is a terminal event for all of us (she figures out that we all have to die). She also realizes that she does not have control over life, and she is now forced to accept that she cannot "have it all." Ms. Levy blames her lack of control, and her inability to "have it all" on feminism. Her memoir touts the belief that feminism has failed her.
It is difficult to type a review when my skull is full of such utter loathing for a book. I don't hate the author for sharing what she has suffered; I hate that Ariel Levy chose to universalize her experience as representative of ALL women, and then blame the vagaries of life on feminism. As if feminism were responsible for the placental abruption that caused her miscarriage. As if feminism were responsible for her spouse being an alcoholic, or the cause of the author's adultery. As if feminism were responsible for alcoholism and adultery ending the author's marriage.
News flash, Ms. Levy: PRIVILEGE and ENTITLEMENT teach the lessons that life is always within your control, and that you deserve to "have it all."
FEMINISM teaches: that those who possess any kind of female genitalia or feminine gender are human beings, and that ALL human beings deserve equal access to dignity, legal rights, opportunities, experiences, education, and love.
Here are some examples of how Ms. Levy (who was born in 1974) universalizes her privileged experience as a central theme of her memoir.
"We [Ms. Levy and her female friends] lived in a world where we had control of so much. If we didn't want to carry groceries up the steps, we ordered them online and waited in our sweatpants on the fourth floor for a man from Asia or Latin America to come panting up, encumbered with our cat litter and organic bananas. [...] Anything seemed possible if you had ingenuity, money, and tenacity." (page 10)
"We were raised to think we could do what we wanted -- we were free to be you and me! And many of our parents' revolutionary dreams had actually come true. [...] You could be female and have an engrossing career and you didn't have to be a wife or mother (although, let's face it, it still seemed advisable: Spinsterhood never exactly lost its taint). Sometimes our parents were dazzled by the sense of possibility they'd bestowed upon us. Other times, they were aghast to recognize their own entitlement, staring back at them magnified in the mirror of their offspring."
The "we" in that passage on page 10 and 11 walks a fine line between referring to "Ms. Levy and her friends" and a "we" that stands in for "all women of the author's generation."
Here is a place in the text in which the "we" most clearly refers to "all women of the author's generation" and doesn't limit itself to Ms. Levy and her friends alone:
"Women of my generation were given the lavish gift of our own agency by feminism -- a belief that we could decide for ourselves how we would live, what would become of us." (page 69)
Ms. Levy makes it clear she has no idea what feminism stands for -- because feminism most certainly does NOT say you can determine your own fate. Feminism says all people should have the right to make their own choices -- feminism doesn't promise that life will deliver that choice.
But the delusion gets even worse. Here is a passage in which Ms. Levy is comparing herself to her mother, and then universalizing her own desires as the desires of ALL women (not just as the desires of herself and her small group of friends) --
"I wanted what she [my mother] had wanted, what we all want: everything. We want a mate who feels like family and a lover who is exotic, surprising. We want to be youthful adventurers and middle-aged mothers. We want intimacy and autonomy, safety and stimulation, reassurance and novelty, coziness and thrills." (page 90)
I started gnashing my teeth when I read that. Because I am a woman and I do NOT want to be a middle-aged mother. I have NEVER wanted to have a child. Not when I was a child myself, and not as a woman who is now 36 years old.
Feminism lets me know that it's OKAY to make that choice for myself. That I am NO LESS a woman just because I do not want to give birth, and have never wanted to be a mother.
But here is the passage in the book in which it is clear how insulated in her privilege Ms. Levy truly is: when she writes of fleeing her home after finding her spouse (Lucy) has been drinking. The realization that Lucy has been lying all along about her drinking problem precipitates the end of their marriage, and Ms. Levy makes the choice to leave their "island house" immediately --
"I got the keys from Lucy and told her it was time to take a nap -- she fell asleep quickly in our bed. Then I found the kittens and my computer, and got in the Jeep, sweat rolling down the back of my neck, the insides of my thighs. I drove past the mariners' shops in Greenport and the stalwart farms and corny wineries of the North Fork. I looked at the people -- from Guatemala, from Mexico -- working in the fields, the sun pounding down on them indifferently. I wondered if everything that pained me would seem ridiculous to those women, or if some of our problems were the same. The cats roamed between the backseat and the passenger's side in front, pushing their faces toward the air conditioner." (page 119)
That is all the attention those "people/women" receive in this text -- a passing thought smashed between the mention of Ms. Levy's kittens.
But let me point out something important here -- a level of racism that is subtle, insidious, and completely at odds with feminism. Ms. Levy is using a casual shorthand to give her readers a visual on these workers, stating they are "from Guatemala, from Mexico" -- even though she doesn't know anything about these field workers beyond what she can see from her vehicle window. She is traveling across Long Island, back to her home in Manhattan, and making assumptions based on a glance.
In reality, Ms. Levy doesn't know WHERE "those women" are from -- and I have a big news flash for the author -- field workers can be U.S. citizens, born and raised on American soil. Field workers in the United States might have been born and raised ANYWHERE. And I would bet at least some of "those women" working the fields are Ms. Levy's age, fellow members of Ms. Levy's generation, and could have grown up in the state of New York along with her.
And you see what Ms. Levy does? She tells the reader "those women" have dark skin, dark hair, and they look foreign. She tells the reader "those women" don't look American. Because they're "from" a foreign country -- even though all she truly knows about them is what she can see with her eyes.
She did the same thing to the people she hired to deliver her groceries -- when she used the phrase "a man from Asia or Latin America" to describe a delivery person -- based on nothing more than what she can see with her eyes. As if a yellow-skinned or brown-skinned delivery person cannot be born in the United States, or England, or France, or anywhere that is not a developing or communist nation.
The entire memoir is like this: it's the tale of a white woman of privilege who is so insulated in her levels of entitlement, she believes she speaks for "all" women when she cannot even recognize that her class and race have completely Othered the non-white women around her, to say nothing of the women of her own class and race who have never felt entitled to "having it all," or the women who have always understood that life is a terminal event that is not completely under their control.
It's important to note that Ms. Levy tries to equalize herself with the women working in the fields by pointing out that she is sweating along with them. Ms. Levy, with her air conditioner struggling to cool down the inside of her Jeep, is sweating the same way those field workers are sweating in the indifferent sun. As if their suffering is equalized, in the same way she is suggesting that alcoholism, and the consequences of alcoholism, aren't limited to a particular nationality, class, or race. Not only does she Other "those women," but she strives to put their suffering on the same scale as hers.
This memoir taught me that there are accomplished literary elites in the world who would rather blame their problems on feminism than white privilege.
"The Rules Do Not Apply" features Hemingway-esque prose and a severe lack of depth. This memoir is not about universal womanhood, but all the ways entitlement can weaken and debilitate those who are insulated from the hardships of life by their place of birth, skin color, and wealth.
Author Ariel Levy assumes that this message of "having control" and "having it all" in life was a lesson of feminism. At age 38, the author uses medical intervention to become pregnant for the first time, but suffers a miscarriage five months into her pregnancy. Due to this tragedy, Ms. Levy suddenly realizes life is uncontrollable, and is a terminal event for all of us (she figures out that we all have to die). She also realizes that she does not have control over life, and she is now forced to accept that she cannot "have it all." Ms. Levy blames her lack of control, and her inability to "have it all" on feminism. Her memoir touts the belief that feminism has failed her.
It is difficult to type a review when my skull is full of such utter loathing for a book. I don't hate the author for sharing what she has suffered; I hate that Ariel Levy chose to universalize her experience as representative of ALL women, and then blame the vagaries of life on feminism. As if feminism were responsible for the placental abruption that caused her miscarriage. As if feminism were responsible for her spouse being an alcoholic, or the cause of the author's adultery. As if feminism were responsible for alcoholism and adultery ending the author's marriage.
News flash, Ms. Levy: PRIVILEGE and ENTITLEMENT teach the lessons that life is always within your control, and that you deserve to "have it all."
FEMINISM teaches: that those who possess any kind of female genitalia or feminine gender are human beings, and that ALL human beings deserve equal access to dignity, legal rights, opportunities, experiences, education, and love.
Here are some examples of how Ms. Levy (who was born in 1974) universalizes her privileged experience as a central theme of her memoir.
"We [Ms. Levy and her female friends] lived in a world where we had control of so much. If we didn't want to carry groceries up the steps, we ordered them online and waited in our sweatpants on the fourth floor for a man from Asia or Latin America to come panting up, encumbered with our cat litter and organic bananas. [...] Anything seemed possible if you had ingenuity, money, and tenacity." (page 10)
"We were raised to think we could do what we wanted -- we were free to be you and me! And many of our parents' revolutionary dreams had actually come true. [...] You could be female and have an engrossing career and you didn't have to be a wife or mother (although, let's face it, it still seemed advisable: Spinsterhood never exactly lost its taint). Sometimes our parents were dazzled by the sense of possibility they'd bestowed upon us. Other times, they were aghast to recognize their own entitlement, staring back at them magnified in the mirror of their offspring."
The "we" in that passage on page 10 and 11 walks a fine line between referring to "Ms. Levy and her friends" and a "we" that stands in for "all women of the author's generation."
Here is a place in the text in which the "we" most clearly refers to "all women of the author's generation" and doesn't limit itself to Ms. Levy and her friends alone:
"Women of my generation were given the lavish gift of our own agency by feminism -- a belief that we could decide for ourselves how we would live, what would become of us." (page 69)
Ms. Levy makes it clear she has no idea what feminism stands for -- because feminism most certainly does NOT say you can determine your own fate. Feminism says all people should have the right to make their own choices -- feminism doesn't promise that life will deliver that choice.
But the delusion gets even worse. Here is a passage in which Ms. Levy is comparing herself to her mother, and then universalizing her own desires as the desires of ALL women (not just as the desires of herself and her small group of friends) --
"I wanted what she [my mother] had wanted, what we all want: everything. We want a mate who feels like family and a lover who is exotic, surprising. We want to be youthful adventurers and middle-aged mothers. We want intimacy and autonomy, safety and stimulation, reassurance and novelty, coziness and thrills." (page 90)
I started gnashing my teeth when I read that. Because I am a woman and I do NOT want to be a middle-aged mother. I have NEVER wanted to have a child. Not when I was a child myself, and not as a woman who is now 36 years old.
Feminism lets me know that it's OKAY to make that choice for myself. That I am NO LESS a woman just because I do not want to give birth, and have never wanted to be a mother.
But here is the passage in the book in which it is clear how insulated in her privilege Ms. Levy truly is: when she writes of fleeing her home after finding her spouse (Lucy) has been drinking. The realization that Lucy has been lying all along about her drinking problem precipitates the end of their marriage, and Ms. Levy makes the choice to leave their "island house" immediately --
"I got the keys from Lucy and told her it was time to take a nap -- she fell asleep quickly in our bed. Then I found the kittens and my computer, and got in the Jeep, sweat rolling down the back of my neck, the insides of my thighs. I drove past the mariners' shops in Greenport and the stalwart farms and corny wineries of the North Fork. I looked at the people -- from Guatemala, from Mexico -- working in the fields, the sun pounding down on them indifferently. I wondered if everything that pained me would seem ridiculous to those women, or if some of our problems were the same. The cats roamed between the backseat and the passenger's side in front, pushing their faces toward the air conditioner." (page 119)
That is all the attention those "people/women" receive in this text -- a passing thought smashed between the mention of Ms. Levy's kittens.
But let me point out something important here -- a level of racism that is subtle, insidious, and completely at odds with feminism. Ms. Levy is using a casual shorthand to give her readers a visual on these workers, stating they are "from Guatemala, from Mexico" -- even though she doesn't know anything about these field workers beyond what she can see from her vehicle window. She is traveling across Long Island, back to her home in Manhattan, and making assumptions based on a glance.
In reality, Ms. Levy doesn't know WHERE "those women" are from -- and I have a big news flash for the author -- field workers can be U.S. citizens, born and raised on American soil. Field workers in the United States might have been born and raised ANYWHERE. And I would bet at least some of "those women" working the fields are Ms. Levy's age, fellow members of Ms. Levy's generation, and could have grown up in the state of New York along with her.
And you see what Ms. Levy does? She tells the reader "those women" have dark skin, dark hair, and they look foreign. She tells the reader "those women" don't look American. Because they're "from" a foreign country -- even though all she truly knows about them is what she can see with her eyes.
She did the same thing to the people she hired to deliver her groceries -- when she used the phrase "a man from Asia or Latin America" to describe a delivery person -- based on nothing more than what she can see with her eyes. As if a yellow-skinned or brown-skinned delivery person cannot be born in the United States, or England, or France, or anywhere that is not a developing or communist nation.
The entire memoir is like this: it's the tale of a white woman of privilege who is so insulated in her levels of entitlement, she believes she speaks for "all" women when she cannot even recognize that her class and race have completely Othered the non-white women around her, to say nothing of the women of her own class and race who have never felt entitled to "having it all," or the women who have always understood that life is a terminal event that is not completely under their control.
It's important to note that Ms. Levy tries to equalize herself with the women working in the fields by pointing out that she is sweating along with them. Ms. Levy, with her air conditioner struggling to cool down the inside of her Jeep, is sweating the same way those field workers are sweating in the indifferent sun. As if their suffering is equalized, in the same way she is suggesting that alcoholism, and the consequences of alcoholism, aren't limited to a particular nationality, class, or race. Not only does she Other "those women," but she strives to put their suffering on the same scale as hers.
This memoir taught me that there are accomplished literary elites in the world who would rather blame their problems on feminism than white privilege.
"The Rules Do Not Apply" features Hemingway-esque prose and a severe lack of depth. This memoir is not about universal womanhood, but all the ways entitlement can weaken and debilitate those who are insulated from the hardships of life by their place of birth, skin color, and wealth.
November 17, 2017
Who is this Ariel Levy, anyway? It’s always a risk to read a memoir by someone you’ve never heard of, or who isn’t a blogger with lots of creds. I’ve been burnt before. But this is definitely a keeper. Levy, at 38, had it all, and was dazed with happiness as she looked forward into the future. And then Poof! It’s gone. In a nanosecond her life turned to hell.
Levy is an excellent writer. When I read that she worked for The New Yorker, I figured her writing would be exceptional, and it is. The story has good bones: both the sentence structure and vocabulary are sophisticated, the language is beauteous, and the pacing is good. There’s even suspense—at times I felt like I was reading a novel. And like in a novel, she starts with telling us that a big terrible thing happened to her, and then she doesn’t tell us exactly what it was until way later in the story. (The big terrible thing is that she lost her child, her spouse, and her house—no spoiler here; she tells us this within the first few pages.) So the whole time, I was on pins and needles, wondering how she ended up with all the important things in her life gone. The in-between story—a little about her parents, her climb to success, her marriage, her bad choices, her writing assignments—is fascinating. (One assignment, about an intersex runner in South Africa, is particularly interesting.) It’s heartbreaking to realize that this is not a made-up story, that a real person felt real pain. It also shows that bad things and real pain happen whether you’ve had a good, easy life or not.
Levy is a journalist. Journalists sometimes only supply the facts and tell dry, unemotional stories. That is not the deal here. She’s very self-aware. She analyzes her actions and feelings, constantly reflecting on what she did and shouldn’t have done. Before her tragedy, she was cocky and proud that she was living a successful, unconventional life. After the tragedy, she was devastated. She conveys her emotional state well; I felt sorry for her, and even more so because she didn’t beg me to.
Here is what she says about her grief:
“I am thunderstruck by feeling at odd times, and then I find myself gripping the kitchen counter, a subway pole, a friend’s body, so I won’t fall over. I don’t mean that figuratively. My sorrow is so intense it often feels like it will flatten me.”
And she has lots of other gems (not related to grief). I’m controlling myself and only showing you a few. This is very hard.
“Writing is communicating with an unknown intimate who is always available, the way the faithful can turn to God.”
“There is nothing I love more than traveling to a place where I know nobody, and where everything will be a surprise, and then writing about it. It’s like having a new lover—even the parts you aren’t crazy about have the crackling fascination of the unfamiliar.”
“To become a mother, I feared, was to relinquish your status as the protagonist of your own life.”
“Daring to think that the rules do not apply is the mark of a visionary. It’s also a symptom of narcissism.”
What sticks in my mind the most (besides the horrific event itself) is the guilt she felt. She will forever be tormented by the question of whether what happened was her fault. (I wonder the same thing about her, though I try not to.) No amount of success, no distractions, no new relationships, will work to rid her of that feeling.
A weird and only sort-of-funny thing happened while I was reading this, and it drove home the idea that I make assumptions, sometimes false, based on how society has trained me. I was sure I had read at the beginning of Levy’s story that she had lost her husband. (I also assumed she lost him and her baby in a car wreck or some other kind of wreck. Don’t ask me why.) In the middle of the story, we learn that she married a woman. I kept thinking that she must have remarried a man later. When is the husband going to enter the story? The book is almost half over and there’s no sign of him! So she has to divorce her wife and remarry pretty quick here if she’s going to finish her story. I went back and reread the beginning few pages. Guess what. She had never said “husband!” She had said “spouse.” I had assumed she had been married to a man! Wow! Shows me a thing or two!
So, it tells you something when you see that the Complaint Board is missing. Yep, I loved this book. And the icing on the cake is that Levy knew my favorite writer of funny, Nora Ephron (although she mentions her only in passing). I’ll for sure be checking out other books and articles by Levy. She’s one smart writer.
Thanks to NetGalley for the advance copy.
Levy is an excellent writer. When I read that she worked for The New Yorker, I figured her writing would be exceptional, and it is. The story has good bones: both the sentence structure and vocabulary are sophisticated, the language is beauteous, and the pacing is good. There’s even suspense—at times I felt like I was reading a novel. And like in a novel, she starts with telling us that a big terrible thing happened to her, and then she doesn’t tell us exactly what it was until way later in the story. (The big terrible thing is that she lost her child, her spouse, and her house—no spoiler here; she tells us this within the first few pages.) So the whole time, I was on pins and needles, wondering how she ended up with all the important things in her life gone. The in-between story—a little about her parents, her climb to success, her marriage, her bad choices, her writing assignments—is fascinating. (One assignment, about an intersex runner in South Africa, is particularly interesting.) It’s heartbreaking to realize that this is not a made-up story, that a real person felt real pain. It also shows that bad things and real pain happen whether you’ve had a good, easy life or not.
Levy is a journalist. Journalists sometimes only supply the facts and tell dry, unemotional stories. That is not the deal here. She’s very self-aware. She analyzes her actions and feelings, constantly reflecting on what she did and shouldn’t have done. Before her tragedy, she was cocky and proud that she was living a successful, unconventional life. After the tragedy, she was devastated. She conveys her emotional state well; I felt sorry for her, and even more so because she didn’t beg me to.
Here is what she says about her grief:
“I am thunderstruck by feeling at odd times, and then I find myself gripping the kitchen counter, a subway pole, a friend’s body, so I won’t fall over. I don’t mean that figuratively. My sorrow is so intense it often feels like it will flatten me.”
And she has lots of other gems (not related to grief). I’m controlling myself and only showing you a few. This is very hard.
“Writing is communicating with an unknown intimate who is always available, the way the faithful can turn to God.”
“There is nothing I love more than traveling to a place where I know nobody, and where everything will be a surprise, and then writing about it. It’s like having a new lover—even the parts you aren’t crazy about have the crackling fascination of the unfamiliar.”
“To become a mother, I feared, was to relinquish your status as the protagonist of your own life.”
“Daring to think that the rules do not apply is the mark of a visionary. It’s also a symptom of narcissism.”
What sticks in my mind the most (besides the horrific event itself) is the guilt she felt. She will forever be tormented by the question of whether what happened was her fault. (I wonder the same thing about her, though I try not to.) No amount of success, no distractions, no new relationships, will work to rid her of that feeling.
A weird and only sort-of-funny thing happened while I was reading this, and it drove home the idea that I make assumptions, sometimes false, based on how society has trained me. I was sure I had read at the beginning of Levy’s story that she had lost her husband. (I also assumed she lost him and her baby in a car wreck or some other kind of wreck. Don’t ask me why.) In the middle of the story, we learn that she married a woman. I kept thinking that she must have remarried a man later. When is the husband going to enter the story? The book is almost half over and there’s no sign of him! So she has to divorce her wife and remarry pretty quick here if she’s going to finish her story. I went back and reread the beginning few pages. Guess what. She had never said “husband!” She had said “spouse.” I had assumed she had been married to a man! Wow! Shows me a thing or two!
So, it tells you something when you see that the Complaint Board is missing. Yep, I loved this book. And the icing on the cake is that Levy knew my favorite writer of funny, Nora Ephron (although she mentions her only in passing). I’ll for sure be checking out other books and articles by Levy. She’s one smart writer.
Thanks to NetGalley for the advance copy.
March 27, 2017
I didn’t know anything about Ariel Levy – who is a writer with The New Yorker -- but the description of her memoir sounded interesting. Well, it turns out that I would probably be happy to read anything by Levy and I need to look for some of her other writings. Her memoir deals with terrible personal losses she suffered a few years ago. She talks about her childhood, her early years as a writer and her history of relationships. This background is presented as a build up to the events that turned her world upside down. There is nothing unusual about a memoir focused on loss and grief. But what I liked about Levy’s writing is her unvarnished candidness. She grew up with an uncanny self-confidence that has clearly served her well as a journalist and in the ways she has navigated the world since childhood. While her confidence no doubt came from her upbringing and social position, she nevertheless has an unusual innate sense of who she is and what she wants. A few years ago, life knocked her down, taught her that no one is immune to loss – it turns out some of life’s inevitabilities do apply to everyone. She appears to be using her memoir as an opportunity to re-evaluate what she thought she knew about herself and the world. Still, at the end of the day, her writing is bold and what shines through and what I really liked about this book remain her strong voice and confidence. I’m not sure I would recommend this so much because of the story Levy has to tell, but more because of how she tells her story. Thank you to Netgalley and the publisher for an opportunity to read an advance copy.
May 24, 2017
This memoir got a lot of hype, some of which is justified.
Ariel Levy has some strong passages in the book, but parts of it felt padded and unfocused. The Rules Do Not Apply is an extension of an article Levy wrote in The New Yorker on a horrible miscarriage she suffered while reporting in Mongolia. The story of the miscarriage is heartbreaking, along with her grief when she later lost her spouse, Lucy.
"For the first time I can remember, I cannot locate my competent self — one more missing person. In the last few months, I have lost my son, my spouse, and my house. Every morning I wake up and for a few seconds I'm disoriented, confused as to why I feel grief seeping into my body, and then I remember what has become of my life. I am thunderstruck by feeling at odd times, and then I find myself gripping the kitchen counter, a subway pole, a friend's body, so I won't fall over. I don't mean that figuratively. My sorrow is so intense it often feels like it will flatten me."
The first part of this book is the strongest, and I enjoyed reading how Levy became a writer and reporter. However, this memoir is also frustrating in that she makes several bad relationship decisions, and it made me want to put the book down and give her a tough-love lecture. And Levy comes across as cold toward Lucy, who was dealing with an alcohol addiction. The last section of the book is especially unfocused — everything after the details of her miscarriage were kind of a rambling mess.
And about that miscarriage scene... it was so gory that it was brutal to read. I've noticed a terrible trend in the media world of pushing everything to extremes, especially scenes of violence and trauma. I see this in the movies we watch, in TV shows and on the news, and also in the shocking personal essays that are posted online and spare no bloody detail. I've wondered if this is all a result of internet algorithms, with the most horrific stories getting the most clicks, so publishing companies assume everyone wants to see more horror. But I don't. I'll be fine if I never again read another awful miscarriage scene.
I generally enjoy memoirs, and in the end, I'm glad I read this and I will remember Levy's story for a while. I would recommend The Rules Do Not Apply to readers who like emotional memoirs. Just be braced for some painful scenes.
Favorite Quotes
"Until recently, I lived in a world where lost things could always be replaced. But it has been made overwhelmingly clear to me now that anything you think is yours by right can vanish, and what you can do about that is nothing at all. The future I thought I was meticulously crafting for years has disappeared, and with it have gone my ideas about the kind of life I'd imagined I was due. People have been telling me since I was a little girl that I was too fervent, too forceful, too much. I thought I had harnessed the power of my own strength and greed and love in a life that could contain it. But it has exploded."
"Daring to think that the rules do not apply is the mark of a visionary. It's also a symptom of narcissism."
"The fear of ending up like [my grandma], cutting coupons in a one-room efficiency surrounded by strangers, made me vigilant like my parents, anxious that the poverty of our ancestors was always just one wrong move away."
"I wanted ... what we all want: everything. We want a mate who feels like family and a lover who is exotic, surprising. We want to be youthful adventurers and middle-aged mothers. We want intimacy and autonomy, safety and stimulation, reassurance and novelty, coziness and thrills. But we can't have it all."
"In a strange way, I am comforted by the truth. Death comes for us. You may get ten minutes on this earth or you may get eighty years but nobody gets out alive. Accepting this rule gives me a funny flicker of peace."
Ariel Levy has some strong passages in the book, but parts of it felt padded and unfocused. The Rules Do Not Apply is an extension of an article Levy wrote in The New Yorker on a horrible miscarriage she suffered while reporting in Mongolia. The story of the miscarriage is heartbreaking, along with her grief when she later lost her spouse, Lucy.
"For the first time I can remember, I cannot locate my competent self — one more missing person. In the last few months, I have lost my son, my spouse, and my house. Every morning I wake up and for a few seconds I'm disoriented, confused as to why I feel grief seeping into my body, and then I remember what has become of my life. I am thunderstruck by feeling at odd times, and then I find myself gripping the kitchen counter, a subway pole, a friend's body, so I won't fall over. I don't mean that figuratively. My sorrow is so intense it often feels like it will flatten me."
The first part of this book is the strongest, and I enjoyed reading how Levy became a writer and reporter. However, this memoir is also frustrating in that she makes several bad relationship decisions, and it made me want to put the book down and give her a tough-love lecture. And Levy comes across as cold toward Lucy, who was dealing with an alcohol addiction. The last section of the book is especially unfocused — everything after the details of her miscarriage were kind of a rambling mess.
And about that miscarriage scene... it was so gory that it was brutal to read. I've noticed a terrible trend in the media world of pushing everything to extremes, especially scenes of violence and trauma. I see this in the movies we watch, in TV shows and on the news, and also in the shocking personal essays that are posted online and spare no bloody detail. I've wondered if this is all a result of internet algorithms, with the most horrific stories getting the most clicks, so publishing companies assume everyone wants to see more horror. But I don't. I'll be fine if I never again read another awful miscarriage scene.
I generally enjoy memoirs, and in the end, I'm glad I read this and I will remember Levy's story for a while. I would recommend The Rules Do Not Apply to readers who like emotional memoirs. Just be braced for some painful scenes.
Favorite Quotes
"Until recently, I lived in a world where lost things could always be replaced. But it has been made overwhelmingly clear to me now that anything you think is yours by right can vanish, and what you can do about that is nothing at all. The future I thought I was meticulously crafting for years has disappeared, and with it have gone my ideas about the kind of life I'd imagined I was due. People have been telling me since I was a little girl that I was too fervent, too forceful, too much. I thought I had harnessed the power of my own strength and greed and love in a life that could contain it. But it has exploded."
"Daring to think that the rules do not apply is the mark of a visionary. It's also a symptom of narcissism."
"The fear of ending up like [my grandma], cutting coupons in a one-room efficiency surrounded by strangers, made me vigilant like my parents, anxious that the poverty of our ancestors was always just one wrong move away."
"I wanted ... what we all want: everything. We want a mate who feels like family and a lover who is exotic, surprising. We want to be youthful adventurers and middle-aged mothers. We want intimacy and autonomy, safety and stimulation, reassurance and novelty, coziness and thrills. But we can't have it all."
"In a strange way, I am comforted by the truth. Death comes for us. You may get ten minutes on this earth or you may get eighty years but nobody gets out alive. Accepting this rule gives me a funny flicker of peace."
January 10, 2018
To talk about this book, I have to also talk about memoirs and my relationship with them in general. This book challenged me and my ideas of memoirs, especially those written by women. I have talked about my enjoyment of memoirs elsewhere so it is safe to say that it is a type of book I gravitate to and read a lot of.
Ariel Levy’s memoir is a memoir about loss: the loss of her child, her spouse, and her house. She talks in absolute honesty of that loss and of the person she was beforehand, a person who thought that ‘the rules do not apply’. Living an unconventional life mostly governed by what she wants rather than her surroundings, she stands before a massive pile of broken pieces, having to rebuild not only her life but also her understanding of it. So far, there are plenty o similarities to any number of brilliant memoirs I have read in the last few years, but there is a crucial difference, I think: Ariel Levy does not apologize for the person she is, with all her flaws and edges. This is not a memoir about growth through loss, because why should it be? I adore this, somehow. I adore how unapologetically herself she is, even if that person is probably not somebody I would be friends with. And why should that be a criteria to judge a literary work on to begin with? I think, and a brief look through reviews seems to agree with me, that often female narrators (in fiction) and female authors (in non-fiction) are somehow judged on likability. As if that has any influence whatsoever on the literay merit. As if the way she deals with her (horrific) loss is in any shape or form up for debate. This is her life and her book and her way of framing the story. (This is something I also find to be the case in Lidia Yuknavitch’s writing as well as in Maggie Nelson’s writing, both authors I enjoy immensely and who are also criticized occationally for making things all about them.)
I found this memoir intensely readable, very gripping, and super thought-provoking. Ariel Levy’s writing is impeccable, her structure (both within a sentence as well as in the complete book) works absolutely wonderful, and her voice is perfect. The made me realize that I need to stop thinking about the likability of an author; it made me question my assumptions about the genre. I am so very glad to have read this.
First sentences: “Do you ever talk to yourself? I do it all the time.”
You can find this review and other thoughts on books (and relevantly: memoirs) on my blog https://ihavethoughtsonbooks.wordpres...
Ariel Levy’s memoir is a memoir about loss: the loss of her child, her spouse, and her house. She talks in absolute honesty of that loss and of the person she was beforehand, a person who thought that ‘the rules do not apply’. Living an unconventional life mostly governed by what she wants rather than her surroundings, she stands before a massive pile of broken pieces, having to rebuild not only her life but also her understanding of it. So far, there are plenty o similarities to any number of brilliant memoirs I have read in the last few years, but there is a crucial difference, I think: Ariel Levy does not apologize for the person she is, with all her flaws and edges. This is not a memoir about growth through loss, because why should it be? I adore this, somehow. I adore how unapologetically herself she is, even if that person is probably not somebody I would be friends with. And why should that be a criteria to judge a literary work on to begin with? I think, and a brief look through reviews seems to agree with me, that often female narrators (in fiction) and female authors (in non-fiction) are somehow judged on likability. As if that has any influence whatsoever on the literay merit. As if the way she deals with her (horrific) loss is in any shape or form up for debate. This is her life and her book and her way of framing the story. (This is something I also find to be the case in Lidia Yuknavitch’s writing as well as in Maggie Nelson’s writing, both authors I enjoy immensely and who are also criticized occationally for making things all about them.)
I found this memoir intensely readable, very gripping, and super thought-provoking. Ariel Levy’s writing is impeccable, her structure (both within a sentence as well as in the complete book) works absolutely wonderful, and her voice is perfect. The made me realize that I need to stop thinking about the likability of an author; it made me question my assumptions about the genre. I am so very glad to have read this.
First sentences: “Do you ever talk to yourself? I do it all the time.”
You can find this review and other thoughts on books (and relevantly: memoirs) on my blog https://ihavethoughtsonbooks.wordpres...
April 11, 2017
Ariel Levy always believed she could be a writer. Her mother told her it was a good idea, a normal thing for a pre-teen to aspire to, something for a teen to aim for. She was in her late teens when she wrote for New York magazine about a bar in Queens where enormously heavy women danced for men, and presumably women. The women wore brightly colored clothes, high heels, and sequins for anyone who lusted for heavy. It made the women feel desired.
Levy was allowed to grow up thinking that sexuality was not always obvious; that one might, in fact, be in love or lust with someone not one’s spouse. One might even consider all the world to be possible partners, not just someone of one’s age and race and perhaps not even of the opposite sex. If some might think that would add to the complexity of decision-making—who would take one’s virginity and when—to Levy it made things easier. Decisions about who to sleep with wasn’t difficult. It was easy to undo. One could just change one’s mind.
I grow anxious with so many options, and have difficulty embracing such a cultivated sophistication about the possibility of lust for everyone I meet. Levy’s descriptions of her sexual life and gender fluidity gave me the feeling of viewing a Diane Arbus photograph: fantastic, queer, different, other. I think I may have convinced myself that gay and trans love and sex was like straight love and sex, only with different partners, but listening to Levy makes me reassess. I find I don’t really want to know. Please don’t tell me more. It makes me uncomfortable. Do I need to know to be fair?
When Levy writes some kind of magic happens. I heard an excerpt of her memoir very late one night on the radio. She told us about the death of her infant while she visited Mongolia. The story made me feel sick, but it was as fascinating as it was grotesque: I couldn’t not listen. I think of her traveling around the world, picking people to marry. The man she chose after she lost her baby she describes as having no family left at all, his parents dead, his wife divorced, his children in college, and his country, South Africa, in the throes of a government change. He was living and working in Ulan Bator.
That kind of rootlessness is something very edgy, and not comforting. Only people that are forced would choose that space. Who goes into something always looking for the back door? Isn���t that a way to fail trying?
Ariel Levy is a terrific writer, but I can't say I really like reading her. The exact way she describes how we discover alcoholism in someone close to us, how it feels new, constantly surprising, and always denied made me feel foolish for having been taken in so many times, just like that. It is just all so hard to believe. We just don’t understand, the way it presents. It looks like something else. We want to believe the lies—what a mess it will make—until one day the mess is already a fact and impossible to avoid. It just makes us feel so stupid. Human failure. The ways we sabotage ourselves. And all the time, it is worse for the alcoholic. Because it will never go away.
This woman is too much, just like she says in the beginning of this memoir. She thinks the world is there just for her, and she will use it up. She will use herself up. She will use us up. When her spouse admits to alcoholism, Levy feels betrayed. Yes, but, we protest, it is worse for the spouse. She is the one who can’t get out of the hole. We learn, almost as an afterthought, that her mother has had a double mastectomy. Levy intellectualizes it all as if the bad things that happen are targeting her.
Levy's struggle leaves me feeling like I went through much of it, too. Chris Abani writes fiction the way this woman writes nonfiction. I listened to the audio of this, produced by Penguin Random House and read by the author. Levy has an expressive voice and is able to put emphases in the work where she wants to push us a bit. She is something quite outside my experience.
Levy was allowed to grow up thinking that sexuality was not always obvious; that one might, in fact, be in love or lust with someone not one’s spouse. One might even consider all the world to be possible partners, not just someone of one’s age and race and perhaps not even of the opposite sex. If some might think that would add to the complexity of decision-making—who would take one’s virginity and when—to Levy it made things easier. Decisions about who to sleep with wasn’t difficult. It was easy to undo. One could just change one’s mind.
I grow anxious with so many options, and have difficulty embracing such a cultivated sophistication about the possibility of lust for everyone I meet. Levy’s descriptions of her sexual life and gender fluidity gave me the feeling of viewing a Diane Arbus photograph: fantastic, queer, different, other. I think I may have convinced myself that gay and trans love and sex was like straight love and sex, only with different partners, but listening to Levy makes me reassess. I find I don’t really want to know. Please don’t tell me more. It makes me uncomfortable. Do I need to know to be fair?
When Levy writes some kind of magic happens. I heard an excerpt of her memoir very late one night on the radio. She told us about the death of her infant while she visited Mongolia. The story made me feel sick, but it was as fascinating as it was grotesque: I couldn’t not listen. I think of her traveling around the world, picking people to marry. The man she chose after she lost her baby she describes as having no family left at all, his parents dead, his wife divorced, his children in college, and his country, South Africa, in the throes of a government change. He was living and working in Ulan Bator.
That kind of rootlessness is something very edgy, and not comforting. Only people that are forced would choose that space. Who goes into something always looking for the back door? Isn���t that a way to fail trying?
Ariel Levy is a terrific writer, but I can't say I really like reading her. The exact way she describes how we discover alcoholism in someone close to us, how it feels new, constantly surprising, and always denied made me feel foolish for having been taken in so many times, just like that. It is just all so hard to believe. We just don’t understand, the way it presents. It looks like something else. We want to believe the lies—what a mess it will make—until one day the mess is already a fact and impossible to avoid. It just makes us feel so stupid. Human failure. The ways we sabotage ourselves. And all the time, it is worse for the alcoholic. Because it will never go away.
This woman is too much, just like she says in the beginning of this memoir. She thinks the world is there just for her, and she will use it up. She will use herself up. She will use us up. When her spouse admits to alcoholism, Levy feels betrayed. Yes, but, we protest, it is worse for the spouse. She is the one who can’t get out of the hole. We learn, almost as an afterthought, that her mother has had a double mastectomy. Levy intellectualizes it all as if the bad things that happen are targeting her.
Levy's struggle leaves me feeling like I went through much of it, too. Chris Abani writes fiction the way this woman writes nonfiction. I listened to the audio of this, produced by Penguin Random House and read by the author. Levy has an expressive voice and is able to put emphases in the work where she wants to push us a bit. She is something quite outside my experience.
May 12, 2017
I rarely sit down with a book only to look up hours later and realize I've consumed it in its entirety. Such was the case with The Rules Do Not Apply! It was recommended on a Podcast, and I knew nothing else going into it besides the fact that it was a memoir. Though achingly depressing, and self-deprecating, it's a beautifully written book, full of honesty, hope, humor and self-awareness. I procrastinated in filing my taxes, so I finished the last pages of it in the waiting room of a Jackson Hewitt office. I had tears running down my cheeks, and maybe I did sob a few times. Truth be told, I didn't care! I am so glad I read this. Sometimes I worry that I'm not in the right place in my life to read about other people's grief, but I'm realizing that I don't always give myself or authors enough credit. Reading about how others cope with their situations is so cathartic. Levy has challenged me to stop being a whimp and pull other acclaimed grief memoirs off my shelf, like The Still Point of the Turning World and An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination.
March 9, 2017
It's tough to rate a grief memoir without feeling like you're making a personal comment about the author or her experiences, so I feel a need to qualify my choice of three stars... I'm very impressed with the author's writing skills and empathize with the grief she felt over her miscarriage and her spouse's alcoholism. But based on the Goodreads star descriptions I think this is solidly an "I liked it" book, without reaching the level of "really liked" or "amazing." This isn't a book that will turn me into a proselytizer, and "urgency with which I would recommend it to other readers" is one of my internal benchmarks for elevating a book to the four-star level.
The writing is eloquent and evocative, and I enjoyed many of Ariel Levy's feminist cultural analyses, and her depictions of the heady days of Manhattan in the 90s. There were several parts of the memoir, though, that seemed to lack the level of rigorous self-awareness I expected of Levy: she's quick to turn her keen insights and sharp critiques on other people, but less so when it comes to scrutinizing her own actions and psychology. I guess I wanted a bit more, particularly when she was engaged in the second of her ongoing adulterous affairs. The indignation I felt from certain characters who struggled to conceive children in their late 30s and early 40s seemed to contain an interesting kernel of entitlement around the notion of "having it all" that perhaps warranted deeper exploration.
I found the preface a bit misleading, and I think in a way that undermined the entire book for me. She writes about friends who come over, "They wanted to meet the baby. He's dead, I had to tell them." She writes she "didn't have the heart to tell them" about her spouse, and that she's been newly confronted with the reality that "anything you think is yours by right can vanish." She writes of having to sell her house. So, silly me, I read this preface and understood the baby to be a living, breathing infant whom people might conceivably be able to meet. I thought she was going to lose her home, her spouse, and her child during one catastrophic trip to Mongolia. I didn't realize that the "loss" of her spouse was not due to a death, but to the author's choice to disengage from her partner when it became clear that her partner's struggle for sobriety would be a long, uphill battle with no guaranteed outcome. The dead son she describes had never been born, which of course I would have known if I'd read the copy, but somehow missed in the opening preface....
This is a personal problem, but I found myself objecting to the author's need to sensationalize her loss and put it in such mythic terms ("Am I in an Italian opera? A Greek tragedy?"). She's not unique in experiencing loss and disappointment, and she's not a victim, though at times she seems not to realize that. The scene in Mongolia when she miscarries is heartbreaking, and of course the loss is horrific--I guess I just felt like it was horrific enough on its own terms without her needing to dramatize it. It is an effective tactic, I suppose, in impressing the reader with the extent of her own grief and putting it in terms the reader can perhaps more fully appreciate. But tragic though it is, a miscarriage is really not the same as losing a living baby you've carried to term and given birth to. (I feel callous and horrible and self-loathing for writing that, and I'm sorry, but it's not the same.) The home in question was actually her summer home, which, though devastating to Levy, is not exactly an epic tragedy... Well, I feel like a complete bitch now.
Memoirs often have a tendency to sensationalize events that really aren't that extraordinary: she had a miscarriage and is going through a divorce. It's introduced in such sensational terms that I spent most of the book wondering what possible confluence of events could have resulted in three devastating losses heaped on one another, but it's not really like that. I would have found the loss of her pregnancy and dissolution of her marriage and end of the life she'd been building heartbreaking even without the extreme introduction. Her reaction to those events felt a bit myopic. She never mentions how common it is to miscarry--according to March of Dimes, as many as 50% of all pregnancies result in miscarriage (15-25% of recognized pregnancies)--or to divorce (about 50% of marriages end in divorce), or to lose your home (according to NHP, some 70% of Americans fear losing their home). I felt like she had an opportunity to broaden the scope and speak to the more universal aspects of her experiences, but I guess it's too raw and too personal for her to go there yet.
I really did enjoy this book and my heart goes out to Levy--I hope she finds what she's looking for and manages to get everything she wants out of life.
The writing is eloquent and evocative, and I enjoyed many of Ariel Levy's feminist cultural analyses, and her depictions of the heady days of Manhattan in the 90s. There were several parts of the memoir, though, that seemed to lack the level of rigorous self-awareness I expected of Levy: she's quick to turn her keen insights and sharp critiques on other people, but less so when it comes to scrutinizing her own actions and psychology. I guess I wanted a bit more, particularly when she was engaged in the second of her ongoing adulterous affairs. The indignation I felt from certain characters who struggled to conceive children in their late 30s and early 40s seemed to contain an interesting kernel of entitlement around the notion of "having it all" that perhaps warranted deeper exploration.
I found the preface a bit misleading, and I think in a way that undermined the entire book for me. She writes about friends who come over, "They wanted to meet the baby. He's dead, I had to tell them." She writes she "didn't have the heart to tell them" about her spouse, and that she's been newly confronted with the reality that "anything you think is yours by right can vanish." She writes of having to sell her house. So, silly me, I read this preface and understood the baby to be a living, breathing infant whom people might conceivably be able to meet. I thought she was going to lose her home, her spouse, and her child during one catastrophic trip to Mongolia. I didn't realize that the "loss" of her spouse was not due to a death, but to the author's choice to disengage from her partner when it became clear that her partner's struggle for sobriety would be a long, uphill battle with no guaranteed outcome. The dead son she describes had never been born, which of course I would have known if I'd read the copy, but somehow missed in the opening preface....
This is a personal problem, but I found myself objecting to the author's need to sensationalize her loss and put it in such mythic terms ("Am I in an Italian opera? A Greek tragedy?"). She's not unique in experiencing loss and disappointment, and she's not a victim, though at times she seems not to realize that. The scene in Mongolia when she miscarries is heartbreaking, and of course the loss is horrific--I guess I just felt like it was horrific enough on its own terms without her needing to dramatize it. It is an effective tactic, I suppose, in impressing the reader with the extent of her own grief and putting it in terms the reader can perhaps more fully appreciate. But tragic though it is, a miscarriage is really not the same as losing a living baby you've carried to term and given birth to. (I feel callous and horrible and self-loathing for writing that, and I'm sorry, but it's not the same.) The home in question was actually her summer home, which, though devastating to Levy, is not exactly an epic tragedy... Well, I feel like a complete bitch now.
Memoirs often have a tendency to sensationalize events that really aren't that extraordinary: she had a miscarriage and is going through a divorce. It's introduced in such sensational terms that I spent most of the book wondering what possible confluence of events could have resulted in three devastating losses heaped on one another, but it's not really like that. I would have found the loss of her pregnancy and dissolution of her marriage and end of the life she'd been building heartbreaking even without the extreme introduction. Her reaction to those events felt a bit myopic. She never mentions how common it is to miscarry--according to March of Dimes, as many as 50% of all pregnancies result in miscarriage (15-25% of recognized pregnancies)--or to divorce (about 50% of marriages end in divorce), or to lose your home (according to NHP, some 70% of Americans fear losing their home). I felt like she had an opportunity to broaden the scope and speak to the more universal aspects of her experiences, but I guess it's too raw and too personal for her to go there yet.
I really did enjoy this book and my heart goes out to Levy--I hope she finds what she's looking for and manages to get everything she wants out of life.
April 1, 2017
I had read such mixed reviews of this one that I almost didn't read it, but I'm glad I did. Where other people saw an unlikable writer, I only saw honesty, about relationships, deciding what kind of life you are going to have, etc. I sat and read it cover to cover.
One example:
"I wanted what she had wanted, what we all want: everything. We want a mate who feels like family and a lover who is exotic, surprising. We want to be youthful adventurers and middle-aged mothers. We want intimacy and autonomy, safety and stimulation, reassurance and novelty, coziness and thrills. But we can't have it all."
Fair warning, there is a traumatic miscarriage depicted in these pages. I appreciated knowing that going into it.
Thanks to the publisher for providing a copy through NetGalley.
One example:
"I wanted what she had wanted, what we all want: everything. We want a mate who feels like family and a lover who is exotic, surprising. We want to be youthful adventurers and middle-aged mothers. We want intimacy and autonomy, safety and stimulation, reassurance and novelty, coziness and thrills. But we can't have it all."
Fair warning, there is a traumatic miscarriage depicted in these pages. I appreciated knowing that going into it.
Thanks to the publisher for providing a copy through NetGalley.
February 14, 2017
2.5*
I won this book in a giveaway and was really pumped to read it. Memoirs are hard to rate, I don't want to come off as judging the author personally. Ariel is good at writing without a doubt, but her storytelling was all over the place to me, especially at the beginning. What happened to her was tragic and traumatizing, and those chapters were heartbreaking. But otherwise everything else felt superficial and lacking depth. I wanted more from her personally and a cohesiveness that flowed.
I won this book in a giveaway and was really pumped to read it. Memoirs are hard to rate, I don't want to come off as judging the author personally. Ariel is good at writing without a doubt, but her storytelling was all over the place to me, especially at the beginning. What happened to her was tragic and traumatizing, and those chapters were heartbreaking. But otherwise everything else felt superficial and lacking depth. I wanted more from her personally and a cohesiveness that flowed.
April 8, 2017
WARNING: Highly Opinionated Review to Follow
In my sixty years, I've learned a little about people. Not a lot, mind you, but a little. I can now separate people into two categories: Drama Queens (male and female, against all stereotypes) and Those Who Prefer Peace and Quiet. I'm afraid I fall into the later category, and, as a result, I tend to regard DQs (quite judgmentally, I'm sad to say) as people who bring their troubles on themselves: You can't seem to have those extraordinary highs without having resultant extraordinary lows. I don't tend to enjoy books written by these folks; these aren't lives I want to experience, even vicariously.
That, then, is the reason for my three star rating. Levy is a marvelous writer. Her stories are mesmerizing. I just don't happen to like to stare at road kill.
In my sixty years, I've learned a little about people. Not a lot, mind you, but a little. I can now separate people into two categories: Drama Queens (male and female, against all stereotypes) and Those Who Prefer Peace and Quiet. I'm afraid I fall into the later category, and, as a result, I tend to regard DQs (quite judgmentally, I'm sad to say) as people who bring their troubles on themselves: You can't seem to have those extraordinary highs without having resultant extraordinary lows. I don't tend to enjoy books written by these folks; these aren't lives I want to experience, even vicariously.
That, then, is the reason for my three star rating. Levy is a marvelous writer. Her stories are mesmerizing. I just don't happen to like to stare at road kill.
July 31, 2017
One hell of a memoir - visceral and beautifully written. I disliked her intensely for most of the book but that matters not a whit. I admire her unflinching candor. This is one I won't soon forget.
July 12, 2017
2.5 stars
Ariel Levy can write, and write extremely well. In fact, the book’s main strength is her writing so eloquently about grief (no spoiler: she lost a baby at 19 week’s gestation while traveling in Mongolia for work). My heart broke for her as she talks of holding her tiny son in her hands as he drew his last breath. The chapters on the loss and her overwhelming grief were the book’s strongest chapters.
The title refers to the author’s rather charmed privileged life of reaching her mid-30’s with nothing bad happening to her. She apparently thought she would always “have it all” – that���s the rule the title refers to. In her own words, she thought she could control everything and get everything she ever wanted. Not getting everything we want is a lesson most of us learn as children, not as thirty-something year olds. She lays the source for her thinking on feminism. But I would venture to guess most of the blame lies with her being part of the privileged white class and not learning basic lessons as a child. This is where I had difficulty with the story. Our experiences are so vastly different, which in itself is not a bad thing, but, I could not relate to her thought processes and very bad choices.
It’s not that bad things didn’t happen to those around her. Both her parents had bouts with cancer, yet, Levy writes “nothing really bad could happen to me in my movie, because I was the protagonist”. Events are seen only through the lens of how it affects her.
No commentary is needed on the next two quotes I’m including. I had to reread them several times because I could hardly believe what I was reading.
As she’s driving down the road with her two cats on a hot day, where she is sweaty and her cats crane toward the air conditioning vents, she makes this observation:
“I drove past the mariners' shops in Greenport and the stalwart farms and corny wineries of the North Fork. I looked at the people -- from Guatemala, from Mexico -- working in the fields, the sun pounding down on them indifferently. I wondered if everything that pained me would seem ridiculous to those women, or if some of our problems were the same.”
And this… “…we had control of so much. If we didn't want to carry groceries up the steps, we ordered them online and waited in our sweatpants on the fourth floor for a man from Asia or Latin America to come panting up, encumbered with our cat litter and organic bananas…. anything seemed possible if you had ingenuity, money, and tenacity."
I’m sorry Ms. Levy lost her baby. She mentions very early in the book about losing her baby, her spouse and her house in what I thought might have been a devastating accident or other horrific event. As someone who has lost a baby to miscarriage I know how devastating it is. But she was hardly homeless, the house she "lost" was a summer house bought with her partner, and the spouse she lost .
She writes about herself unflatteringly, but when I turned the last page, I wasn’t sure if she knew it was unflattering, or if there was much change beyond finally understanding people don't get everything they want. I don't think that "revelation" is going to come as much of a surprise to most readers.
Ariel Levy can write, and write extremely well. In fact, the book’s main strength is her writing so eloquently about grief (no spoiler: she lost a baby at 19 week’s gestation while traveling in Mongolia for work). My heart broke for her as she talks of holding her tiny son in her hands as he drew his last breath. The chapters on the loss and her overwhelming grief were the book’s strongest chapters.
The title refers to the author’s rather charmed privileged life of reaching her mid-30’s with nothing bad happening to her. She apparently thought she would always “have it all” – that���s the rule the title refers to. In her own words, she thought she could control everything and get everything she ever wanted. Not getting everything we want is a lesson most of us learn as children, not as thirty-something year olds. She lays the source for her thinking on feminism. But I would venture to guess most of the blame lies with her being part of the privileged white class and not learning basic lessons as a child. This is where I had difficulty with the story. Our experiences are so vastly different, which in itself is not a bad thing, but, I could not relate to her thought processes and very bad choices.
It’s not that bad things didn’t happen to those around her. Both her parents had bouts with cancer, yet, Levy writes “nothing really bad could happen to me in my movie, because I was the protagonist”. Events are seen only through the lens of how it affects her.
No commentary is needed on the next two quotes I’m including. I had to reread them several times because I could hardly believe what I was reading.
As she’s driving down the road with her two cats on a hot day, where she is sweaty and her cats crane toward the air conditioning vents, she makes this observation:
“I drove past the mariners' shops in Greenport and the stalwart farms and corny wineries of the North Fork. I looked at the people -- from Guatemala, from Mexico -- working in the fields, the sun pounding down on them indifferently. I wondered if everything that pained me would seem ridiculous to those women, or if some of our problems were the same.”
And this… “…we had control of so much. If we didn't want to carry groceries up the steps, we ordered them online and waited in our sweatpants on the fourth floor for a man from Asia or Latin America to come panting up, encumbered with our cat litter and organic bananas…. anything seemed possible if you had ingenuity, money, and tenacity."
I’m sorry Ms. Levy lost her baby. She mentions very early in the book about losing her baby, her spouse and her house in what I thought might have been a devastating accident or other horrific event. As someone who has lost a baby to miscarriage I know how devastating it is. But she was hardly homeless, the house she "lost" was a summer house bought with her partner, and the spouse she lost .
She writes about herself unflatteringly, but when I turned the last page, I wasn’t sure if she knew it was unflattering, or if there was much change beyond finally understanding people don't get everything they want. I don't think that "revelation" is going to come as much of a surprise to most readers.
August 8, 2018
I did not know who Ariel Levy was prior to hearing about her book, The Rules Do Not Apply. After finishing it, I have mixed feelings. I feel there was quite a bit of hype for the book, and while parts of it were good, I don't know If I'm as into it as many other readers seem to be.
I read the book in two separate sittings and had a much easier time reading and liking the first part, even being aware of the ultimate outcome of the story (which is revealed very early on in the book). The loss she experiences is devastating and I truly felt for her.
I also felt parts of the book were skittish and randomly placed, making me question 1) why they were included and 2) the decision re: their placement within the book. Everyone makes poor decisions at some point(s) in life but it was hard for me to feel bad for "some" of the outcomes resulting from Levy's poor choices. And for clarity, I'm not saying all the bad things that happened to her in the book were the result of her poor choices.
Levy is a talented writer - Just not sure I feel this book is worth the significant hype/praise I noticed prior to reading it myself.
I read the book in two separate sittings and had a much easier time reading and liking the first part, even being aware of the ultimate outcome of the story (which is revealed very early on in the book). The loss she experiences is devastating and I truly felt for her.
I also felt parts of the book were skittish and randomly placed, making me question 1) why they were included and 2) the decision re: their placement within the book. Everyone makes poor decisions at some point(s) in life but it was hard for me to feel bad for "some" of the outcomes resulting from Levy's poor choices. And for clarity, I'm not saying all the bad things that happened to her in the book were the result of her poor choices.
Levy is a talented writer - Just not sure I feel this book is worth the significant hype/praise I noticed prior to reading it myself.
April 20, 2017
I'm in Ariel Levy's camp for life. While I thought Female Chauvinist Pigs didn't quite live up to its potential, I appreciated its thesis and Levy's engaging writing, and reading her New Yorker essays in subsequent years cemented my admiration. When I learned that The Rules Do Not Apply was based on her unforgettable essay "Thanksgiving in Mongolia," I became desperate to read it, and this book did not disappoint—I inhaled it in two days, riveted by both her story and her way of telling it. Those of you who read my reviews regularly know that I'm always on the lookout for books featuring women who reject the conventional in favor of making their own way, and The Rules Do Not Apply definitely fits that description. Levy's clear-eyed ability to look at both the tragedies and the many gifts of her life with insight and humor (and far less self-pity than I would have shown in her place) is a rare one. This memoir felt a little short, but perhaps that means we'll get another one from her before too long.
My only complaint about this book is one I've applied to other books in the past: Don't get me wrong: I don't begrudge Levy her happiness, wherever she finds it. But I just react badly when a woman writes a book that's all about her unconventional life and then ends it in such a conventional way. I mean, we've all heard this ending a billion times before. Life continues on and there is no point at which we tie everything up in a neat bow, so please, writers of memoir, consider finding some other way to end your book that recognizes this.
Still, I understand that this particular pet peeve may be mine alone, and in an objective sense it certainly doesn't detract from the overall appeal and merit of The Rules Do Not Apply. Twelve (!) years passed between the publication of Levy's first book and this one; she has clearly grown as both a person and a writer in that time, and I fervently hope the wait for her next book will be a brief one.
My only complaint about this book is one I've applied to other books in the past: Don't get me wrong: I don't begrudge Levy her happiness, wherever she finds it. But I just react badly when a woman writes a book that's all about her unconventional life and then ends it in such a conventional way. I mean, we've all heard this ending a billion times before. Life continues on and there is no point at which we tie everything up in a neat bow, so please, writers of memoir, consider finding some other way to end your book that recognizes this.
Still, I understand that this particular pet peeve may be mine alone, and in an objective sense it certainly doesn't detract from the overall appeal and merit of The Rules Do Not Apply. Twelve (!) years passed between the publication of Levy's first book and this one; she has clearly grown as both a person and a writer in that time, and I fervently hope the wait for her next book will be a brief one.
September 30, 2023
"All of us assumed we still had time for reinvention."
Grim. I read this with gritted teeth.
I can't pinpoint exactly what frustrated me with this book. Perhaps it was the tone? I simply found it hard to relate to Ariel Levy, or what she was writing about.
Undoubtedly she is a good writer, and I cannot fault this aspect of the book. But the content...the passive/aggressive whiny perpetual dissatisfaction with her life I found frustrating.
"I was making rules, and changing them, and not always following them myself."
Life is a mix of the choices you make, and the cards that you are dealt. Nobody "has it all", and anyone who thinks that they do, is probably kidding themselves. More likely, there are different levels of contentment.
The sense I had from this book is of someone who is constantly in a state of flux, always questioning where she is in life, always wanting something more, something different. Bah humbug.
I have an incredible amount of sympathy for her at the loss of her son. Absolutely I do. But the remainder of the story is more unnecessary angst for no good reason.
"I thought I could be like a French man with a mistress in a movie...that I could step outside of my life for a few gleaming hours from time to time and then return to it, without consequence...."
To be honest, if this has not been a Bookclub choice (not my pick!), this would have ended up on my DNF shelf.
Grim. I read this with gritted teeth.
I can't pinpoint exactly what frustrated me with this book. Perhaps it was the tone? I simply found it hard to relate to Ariel Levy, or what she was writing about.
Undoubtedly she is a good writer, and I cannot fault this aspect of the book. But the content...the passive/aggressive whiny perpetual dissatisfaction with her life I found frustrating.
"I was making rules, and changing them, and not always following them myself."
Life is a mix of the choices you make, and the cards that you are dealt. Nobody "has it all", and anyone who thinks that they do, is probably kidding themselves. More likely, there are different levels of contentment.
The sense I had from this book is of someone who is constantly in a state of flux, always questioning where she is in life, always wanting something more, something different. Bah humbug.
I have an incredible amount of sympathy for her at the loss of her son. Absolutely I do. But the remainder of the story is more unnecessary angst for no good reason.
"I thought I could be like a French man with a mistress in a movie...that I could step outside of my life for a few gleaming hours from time to time and then return to it, without consequence...."
To be honest, if this has not been a Bookclub choice (not my pick!), this would have ended up on my DNF shelf.
August 22, 2018
5 Stars
This book is a sneaky one, the type of read you find enjoyable at the time but then find your mind drifting back to, fondly recalling and then bringing up passionately in daily conversation to the poor victim that is forced to hear you gush. The Rules Don't Apply is an autobiography of Ariel Levy and the circumstances leading up to her losing her child, spouse, and home within a month time span and the choices she made prior to, that led up to her devastation.
Ariel Levy novel I think can be best described by this quote:
“I wanted what we all want: everything. We want a mate who feels like family and a lover who is exotic, surprising. We want to be youthful adventurers and middle-aged mothers. We want intimacy and autonomy, safety and stimulation, reassurance and novelty, coziness and thrills. But we can’t have it all.”
Ariel creates a life of her own, and refuses to adhere to social norms or constructs. At the beginning she truly believes that in the story of her life nothing bad can ever happen especially if she works hard and believes she can have it all, but the sad truth is that's not the case. Needless to say Ariel Levy experiences a domino effect of loss that spirals her into a deep depression. Although not everyone experiences devastation at the level Ariel Levy has, she uses her tragedy to relay to us the universal message that part of growing up is accepting the falls and disappointments that come with life. Whether it's not ever getting that promotion, not finding your soulmate, never getting down to that perfect weight, or not being able to have kids life has a way of throwing you curve balls and although devastating at the time, it's also a thing you soon accept about life not out of despair but out of realism.
I think Rules Don't Apply is so relatable and beautifully written, the type a book you need a highlighter in hand so you can mark passages and quotes that genuinely speak to you. Its a novel that centres around loss but also strength and perseverance. Ariel Levy has lost a lot but she still has hopes, dreams and appreciation for the moments both devastating and beautiful that make up her life because at the end of the day it as simple as this; life is full of both sadness and joy and hell of a lot of mediocrity but you have to embrace it all.
This book is a sneaky one, the type of read you find enjoyable at the time but then find your mind drifting back to, fondly recalling and then bringing up passionately in daily conversation to the poor victim that is forced to hear you gush. The Rules Don't Apply is an autobiography of Ariel Levy and the circumstances leading up to her losing her child, spouse, and home within a month time span and the choices she made prior to, that led up to her devastation.
Ariel Levy novel I think can be best described by this quote:
“I wanted what we all want: everything. We want a mate who feels like family and a lover who is exotic, surprising. We want to be youthful adventurers and middle-aged mothers. We want intimacy and autonomy, safety and stimulation, reassurance and novelty, coziness and thrills. But we can’t have it all.”
Ariel creates a life of her own, and refuses to adhere to social norms or constructs. At the beginning she truly believes that in the story of her life nothing bad can ever happen especially if she works hard and believes she can have it all, but the sad truth is that's not the case. Needless to say Ariel Levy experiences a domino effect of loss that spirals her into a deep depression. Although not everyone experiences devastation at the level Ariel Levy has, she uses her tragedy to relay to us the universal message that part of growing up is accepting the falls and disappointments that come with life. Whether it's not ever getting that promotion, not finding your soulmate, never getting down to that perfect weight, or not being able to have kids life has a way of throwing you curve balls and although devastating at the time, it's also a thing you soon accept about life not out of despair but out of realism.
I think Rules Don't Apply is so relatable and beautifully written, the type a book you need a highlighter in hand so you can mark passages and quotes that genuinely speak to you. Its a novel that centres around loss but also strength and perseverance. Ariel Levy has lost a lot but she still has hopes, dreams and appreciation for the moments both devastating and beautiful that make up her life because at the end of the day it as simple as this; life is full of both sadness and joy and hell of a lot of mediocrity but you have to embrace it all.
February 21, 2020
The Rules Do Not Apply has all the ingredients of an excellent memoir. Levy leads an unconventional, interesting life and is a skilled journalist capable of crafting superb sentences.
But...I listened to his book and and felt like I was listening to a needy, self-absorbed friend who talked on and on about her bad choices, her sorrows, regrets and self-recriminations. All about her.
But wait - isn't that what a memoir is? All about the person writing the book? I've been thinking about this. The best memoirs invite me into the writer's life to share with them. The two memoirs I loved this year, Hunger, by Roxane Gay and Born a Crime, by Trevor Noah both did this. I felt as if Gay took me by the hand and said: Listen - I am opening myself up so you can understand, so you can learn from my pain. You can be a part of my life during this book. Noah, although not as brilliant of a writer, shared his experiences with humor and wisdom. Both of these authors were introspective and reflective about their lives and inspired me to think differently. I emerged with a deeper understanding of Gay and Noah but also with a deeper understanding of myself and the world.
That's why I love a great memoir. And this one mostly left me out.
But...I listened to his book and and felt like I was listening to a needy, self-absorbed friend who talked on and on about her bad choices, her sorrows, regrets and self-recriminations. All about her.
But wait - isn't that what a memoir is? All about the person writing the book? I've been thinking about this. The best memoirs invite me into the writer's life to share with them. The two memoirs I loved this year, Hunger, by Roxane Gay and Born a Crime, by Trevor Noah both did this. I felt as if Gay took me by the hand and said: Listen - I am opening myself up so you can understand, so you can learn from my pain. You can be a part of my life during this book. Noah, although not as brilliant of a writer, shared his experiences with humor and wisdom. Both of these authors were introspective and reflective about their lives and inspired me to think differently. I emerged with a deeper understanding of Gay and Noah but also with a deeper understanding of myself and the world.
That's why I love a great memoir. And this one mostly left me out.
April 23, 2018
The Rules Do Not Apply is a well written memoir about real life, disappointments, successes, grief and joy. Ariel Levy has a compulsion for adventure, drawn to untraditional relationships and the need to become “the kind of woman who is free to do whatever she chooses.” She was a writer, following stories of powerful women around the world, and during this time she also experienced much drama and trauma.
At 5 months pregnant Ariel agreed to take a business trip to Mongolia, a choice she later regrets. “When I got on the plane to Mongolia, I was pregnant, living with my spouse, moving to a lovely apartment and financially insulated by a wealthy man. A month later, none of that was true. Instead, i was thirty-eight, childless, alone, emotionally and monetarily unprepared to be a single mother.” Grief and sadness expressed so eloquently in this memoir yet Ariel Levy writes with a sense of hope and trust in nature. Powerful and heartbreaking, this honest memoir is infused with humor and I highly recommend it.
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At 5 months pregnant Ariel agreed to take a business trip to Mongolia, a choice she later regrets. “When I got on the plane to Mongolia, I was pregnant, living with my spouse, moving to a lovely apartment and financially insulated by a wealthy man. A month later, none of that was true. Instead, i was thirty-eight, childless, alone, emotionally and monetarily unprepared to be a single mother.” Grief and sadness expressed so eloquently in this memoir yet Ariel Levy writes with a sense of hope and trust in nature. Powerful and heartbreaking, this honest memoir is infused with humor and I highly recommend it.
Follow all my reviews ad recommendations on https://booknationbyjen.wordpress.com
May 30, 2017
I made small talk on the cold front deck of the restaurant with a curly-haired woman, and she told me about her daughters and how exhausted she was all the time, and then something turned in her head and her face looked like it wasn't sure what to do with itself. She said, "Are you the Ariel who all the bad things happened to?"
I said that I was, and wondered how many Ariels she could possibly have chosen from.
The Rules Do Not Apply is a fascinating and gritty memoir that really took me by surprise. I did not know who Ariel Levy was to be honest. I saw the book marked "to be read" off and on on my GR updates feed and went to Netgalley to see if it was available but it was not. I requested it (as a wish) and really did not know what I was in for.
What a life this woman has led. A lot of heartache and sadness. Joy too. But, it's an amazing story and she can certainly write. Really write. She has a lot of self awareness which I always find appealing. She lays it all out and at times her story is heart - cracked - wide - open - gut -wrenching and completely raw.
I highly recommend this to any and all. Had me examining my own life and some of my choices. Not a bad thing. I have not read anything else by Levy. I would welcome the opportunity to read more by her.
Thank you NetGalley and the publisher, Deckle Edge, for an opportunity to read this incredible story. What a life!
Plato is credited with the quote, "An unexamined life is not worth living." I live my life by this. It seems Ms. Levy might as well. I am not nearly as open-book with my struggles and failures. Her truth gets 5 stars from me. Not easy to do....to live your life so openly. Admiration from me is an understatement.
Again....an especially huge thank you to the publisher for granting me a wish on this one.Thank you, thank you, thank you!
I said that I was, and wondered how many Ariels she could possibly have chosen from.
The Rules Do Not Apply is a fascinating and gritty memoir that really took me by surprise. I did not know who Ariel Levy was to be honest. I saw the book marked "to be read" off and on on my GR updates feed and went to Netgalley to see if it was available but it was not. I requested it (as a wish) and really did not know what I was in for.
What a life this woman has led. A lot of heartache and sadness. Joy too. But, it's an amazing story and she can certainly write. Really write. She has a lot of self awareness which I always find appealing. She lays it all out and at times her story is heart - cracked - wide - open - gut -wrenching and completely raw.
I highly recommend this to any and all. Had me examining my own life and some of my choices. Not a bad thing. I have not read anything else by Levy. I would welcome the opportunity to read more by her.
Thank you NetGalley and the publisher, Deckle Edge, for an opportunity to read this incredible story. What a life!
Plato is credited with the quote, "An unexamined life is not worth living." I live my life by this. It seems Ms. Levy might as well. I am not nearly as open-book with my struggles and failures. Her truth gets 5 stars from me. Not easy to do....to live your life so openly. Admiration from me is an understatement.
Again....an especially huge thank you to the publisher for granting me a wish on this one.Thank you, thank you, thank you!
December 7, 2019
It's billed as a memoir, but The Rules Do Not Apply feels more like an exploration of grief, an attempt to make sense of tragedy and loss. And it reads beautifully. Levy doesn't pull any punches - she hits you right in the gut, baring her wounds in such raw fashion that the reader feels the knife. You know what you are in for from the very beginning - the first sentence rings with loss. Part of me wanted to stop immediately.
Warning, the rest of this review is mildly spoilery.
As a parent, my greatest fear is losing a child. As one of the 33% of women who have suffered miscarriages, I wasn't ready to relive that grief. I'm glad I plodded through, though, because it reminded me that while no one can truly share in the grief of a mourning mother, we truly aren't alone. Miscarriage and infant loss has always been a taboo subject, perhaps because humans want to avoid a topic that brings about feelings of profound despair. I personally find that talking about it and finding that others have been there is cathartic. Everyone grieves differently, but I'm glad that Levy chose to share hers in such a soul-bearing, beautiful way.
Thank you to the publisher and netgalley for the advanced reader's copy.
Warning, the rest of this review is mildly spoilery.
As a parent, my greatest fear is losing a child. As one of the 33% of women who have suffered miscarriages, I wasn't ready to relive that grief. I'm glad I plodded through, though, because it reminded me that while no one can truly share in the grief of a mourning mother, we truly aren't alone. Miscarriage and infant loss has always been a taboo subject, perhaps because humans want to avoid a topic that brings about feelings of profound despair. I personally find that talking about it and finding that others have been there is cathartic. Everyone grieves differently, but I'm glad that Levy chose to share hers in such a soul-bearing, beautiful way.
Thank you to the publisher and netgalley for the advanced reader's copy.
February 6, 2017
Ariel Levy is a woman who grew up knowing she could have everything. She believed in the kindness of Mother Nature, the voice of reason (if it came from her), the importance of her own worth, and the ability to make her own rules. She traversed the world seeking adventure and writing about her experiences. Sometimes, her travels took her just subway stops away, but worlds apart from her day to day life - like the time she wrote an article for New York Magazine about a nightclub for obese women in Queens, New York.
Ms. Levy "lived in a world where we had control over so much". She was a character from Marlo Thomas's world - Free to Be You and Me. And what Ms. Levy wanted was to be a respected writer, a woman not dependent on a man, and, preferably wealthy. She liked to go out and drink, and then drink some more. She put her biological clock on hold knowing that the wonders of modern fertility would be waiting for her when she was ready.
It is just when the author becomes comfortable in her marriage, her life, and her accomplishments that she realizes that life can kick you in the ass and "you control nothing". Everything you have can be lost in a nano-second and Mother Nature is a bitch. This is quite an evolution for Ms. Levy and she finds herself on the road she never saw herself taking.
Ms. Levy shares her personal life with the reader and examines issues as diverse as marriage, infidelity, alcoholism, pregnancy, loss, adventure, hermaphroditism in South Africa, and what I term gender fluidity. She does not try to portray herself as better than she is (or maybe she doesn't realize the initial picture of herself as a spoiled and narcissistic young woman that she paints). What struck me as the most important aspect of this memoir is the way the author evolved. Once she had it all and "now I was a wounded witch, wailing in the forest, undone".
I didn't like the fact that the author was knocked down. What I rooted for was that she'd pick herself up and keep going. I just knew she would. She is cantankerous, tenacious, and undiminished, even in her grief. I subscribe to The New Yorker where the author works as a staff writer. I look forward to reading more of her articles.
Ms. Levy "lived in a world where we had control over so much". She was a character from Marlo Thomas's world - Free to Be You and Me. And what Ms. Levy wanted was to be a respected writer, a woman not dependent on a man, and, preferably wealthy. She liked to go out and drink, and then drink some more. She put her biological clock on hold knowing that the wonders of modern fertility would be waiting for her when she was ready.
It is just when the author becomes comfortable in her marriage, her life, and her accomplishments that she realizes that life can kick you in the ass and "you control nothing". Everything you have can be lost in a nano-second and Mother Nature is a bitch. This is quite an evolution for Ms. Levy and she finds herself on the road she never saw herself taking.
Ms. Levy shares her personal life with the reader and examines issues as diverse as marriage, infidelity, alcoholism, pregnancy, loss, adventure, hermaphroditism in South Africa, and what I term gender fluidity. She does not try to portray herself as better than she is (or maybe she doesn't realize the initial picture of herself as a spoiled and narcissistic young woman that she paints). What struck me as the most important aspect of this memoir is the way the author evolved. Once she had it all and "now I was a wounded witch, wailing in the forest, undone".
I didn't like the fact that the author was knocked down. What I rooted for was that she'd pick herself up and keep going. I just knew she would. She is cantankerous, tenacious, and undiminished, even in her grief. I subscribe to The New Yorker where the author works as a staff writer. I look forward to reading more of her articles.
August 19, 2017
"All of my conjuring had led to only ruin and death. Now I was a wounded witch, wailing in the forest, undone."
The writing is good, though sometimes too melodramatic for me (see above). At times it seemed disingenuous and lacked real emotion.
For me to connect with a memoirist, I have to like him/her. I failed to connect with Levy.
That said, she went through a loss I cannot even fathom and I hope getting it on paper has helped her cope.
The writing is good, though sometimes too melodramatic for me (see above). At times it seemed disingenuous and lacked real emotion.
For me to connect with a memoirist, I have to like him/her. I failed to connect with Levy.
That said, she went through a loss I cannot even fathom and I hope getting it on paper has helped her cope.
April 22, 2017
I LOVED listening to this book, and devoured it in just a few sittings. It's a very raw, personal, and confessional memoir by a woman who wears her considerable flaws on her sleeve — in other words, it's exactly my cup of tea. The author does her own performance on the audiobook, adding another layer of intimacy to her story.
Ariel Levy recounts her troubled marriage, her wife's alcoholism, her own cheating, and all the twists and turns leading up to her fertility treatments and subsequent miscarriage, all with such candor that it often sucked the breath right out of me. At one point she references Nora Ephron, who famously said that "Everything is copy," and indeed, Levy has mined her deepest mistakes and regrets for the sake of a story.
The Rules Do Not Apply is a fascinating exploration of modern marriage, makeshift families, infidelity, and what it feels like to be an ambitious, adventurous woman who also feels the tug of parenthood. She's frank about the scope of her grief after her miscarriage (which many people told her was disproportionate), what it's like to be partnered with an alcoholic, and her own compulsion to have an affair. Ultimately, it's about learning you can't really control anything and surrendering to that knowledge.
Some people like to read about heroes and role models, and that's fine, but this is probably not the book for them. For people who enjoy reading stories where people poke around at their darkest corners, this book will scratch that itch.
Ariel Levy recounts her troubled marriage, her wife's alcoholism, her own cheating, and all the twists and turns leading up to her fertility treatments and subsequent miscarriage, all with such candor that it often sucked the breath right out of me. At one point she references Nora Ephron, who famously said that "Everything is copy," and indeed, Levy has mined her deepest mistakes and regrets for the sake of a story.
The Rules Do Not Apply is a fascinating exploration of modern marriage, makeshift families, infidelity, and what it feels like to be an ambitious, adventurous woman who also feels the tug of parenthood. She's frank about the scope of her grief after her miscarriage (which many people told her was disproportionate), what it's like to be partnered with an alcoholic, and her own compulsion to have an affair. Ultimately, it's about learning you can't really control anything and surrendering to that knowledge.
Some people like to read about heroes and role models, and that's fine, but this is probably not the book for them. For people who enjoy reading stories where people poke around at their darkest corners, this book will scratch that itch.
April 14, 2017
This book is hard to rate, because I enjoyed it but I didn't like it, if that even makes any sense. It is a memoir about a particularly difficult time in the author's life, in which she has a truly horrific miscarriage, endures the collapse of her marriage, and suffers some economic insecurity. (That's not a spoiler, by the way--it's right on the jacket flap.)
I will start with the positive and point out that Levy is a really good writer, and this is the book's greatest strength. And it made me think about things. I found myself mentally debating with her on the way home from work--granted, I don't agree with her on very much, but it's fun to wake up the gray matter now and then. And finally, that miscarriage scene--it is awful and heart-wrenching and I won't forget it any time soon. There was some truly fine writing there.
But! This wouldn't be an honest review if I didn't say it: I just don't like Ariel Levy. Not in the way she presents herself in this book, and not in her previous book Female Chauvinist Pigs. She comes across as being one of the most self-centered, spoiled, whiny, judgmental and clueless narrators I have ever had the misfortune to read about in a memoir. Yes, that's counting Elizabeth Wuertzel and Augusten Burroughs, who can also be whiny and self-centered, but at least they acknowledge it. At least they occasionally strive to do better. And they're more entertaining, to boot.
Granted, I value a warts-and-all honesty in a memoir, and we've all had our shitty moments. If I rummaged through my past and dredged out all my pettiest thoughts, secret insecurities and the occasional spectacular melt down, people probably wouldn't think I was very likable, either. But I hope I would balance it out with some sincere growth and self-reflection. Levy doesn't give us that. Instead we have moments like:
POTENTIAL SPOILERS TO FOLLOW
1. She is ambivalent when she marries her girlfriend--I wasn't exactly sure why, because she thought she wasn't gay enough for a gay marriage? It was too conformist for her adventurous self-image? Considering her hesitation, I wasn't even sure why she did get married (suspected it was so she could have a big fancy wedding, but I may be wrong). Anyway, she spends the rest of the book referring to it as her "fake marriage" and calling herself Lucy's "fake wife." And she doesn't believe in fidelity. So of course she cheats on Lucy. And then when Lucy, who is an alcoholic, is finally in rehab and getting her shit together, she leaves her because supporting her sounds like too much work. (Lucy, you are better off without her!)
2. And when she cheats, it's with an ex-girlfriend who is now transgender male. Ariel seems intensely uncomfortable with the transgender thing (something that was also apparent in her first book), and furthermore her lover is overly stalkerish and possessive (why they broke up the first time around), so why is she even with this person? Because the sex is so amazing that she's like an addict. And Lucy is just not giving her the love, attention and hot sex she needs. So it's not really her fault. And another thing that really bothers her about her lover? He's thinking of writing his memoir. How dare he, doesn't he know that writing is Ariel's thing???? (I have no words.)
3. She is resentful of anyone with more money than her, especially if they didn't have to work for it, while simultaneously wanting someone to take care of her financially. (One of her bones of contention with Lucy is that her start up business and the costs of rehab made them have to sell their vacation home, when she thought Lucy was supposed to be the "husband" who takes care of her. Again, I have no words.)
4. Oh, and her big life lesson at the end? The insight fueling the whole memoir? We don't get everything we want out of life, bad things sometimes happen for no reason and...wait for it...we're all going to die someday. Sorry, but I think I figured that one out by the time I'd hit my teens. Honestly, it surprised me when I looked at the author bio and saw the she is almost the same age as me (four years younger), because her thought processes were frequently so immature.
You know, I think there is a deeper story to tell here, and maybe Levy will arrive at it someday. Why would someone so overwhelmingly privileged feel like she got the short end of the stick? Why are there so many special snowflakes all of a sudden? How on earth could someone get to be the age of 38 and not realize that sometimes bad things happen to good (or at least not evil) people?
Why three stars then? Because to be honest, despite all my reservations, I would not hesitate to read a future book by Ms. Levy. Yeah, she's annoying, but she's just that good a writer.
I will start with the positive and point out that Levy is a really good writer, and this is the book's greatest strength. And it made me think about things. I found myself mentally debating with her on the way home from work--granted, I don't agree with her on very much, but it's fun to wake up the gray matter now and then. And finally, that miscarriage scene--it is awful and heart-wrenching and I won't forget it any time soon. There was some truly fine writing there.
But! This wouldn't be an honest review if I didn't say it: I just don't like Ariel Levy. Not in the way she presents herself in this book, and not in her previous book Female Chauvinist Pigs. She comes across as being one of the most self-centered, spoiled, whiny, judgmental and clueless narrators I have ever had the misfortune to read about in a memoir. Yes, that's counting Elizabeth Wuertzel and Augusten Burroughs, who can also be whiny and self-centered, but at least they acknowledge it. At least they occasionally strive to do better. And they're more entertaining, to boot.
Granted, I value a warts-and-all honesty in a memoir, and we've all had our shitty moments. If I rummaged through my past and dredged out all my pettiest thoughts, secret insecurities and the occasional spectacular melt down, people probably wouldn't think I was very likable, either. But I hope I would balance it out with some sincere growth and self-reflection. Levy doesn't give us that. Instead we have moments like:
POTENTIAL SPOILERS TO FOLLOW
1. She is ambivalent when she marries her girlfriend--I wasn't exactly sure why, because she thought she wasn't gay enough for a gay marriage? It was too conformist for her adventurous self-image? Considering her hesitation, I wasn't even sure why she did get married (suspected it was so she could have a big fancy wedding, but I may be wrong). Anyway, she spends the rest of the book referring to it as her "fake marriage" and calling herself Lucy's "fake wife." And she doesn't believe in fidelity. So of course she cheats on Lucy. And then when Lucy, who is an alcoholic, is finally in rehab and getting her shit together, she leaves her because supporting her sounds like too much work. (Lucy, you are better off without her!)
2. And when she cheats, it's with an ex-girlfriend who is now transgender male. Ariel seems intensely uncomfortable with the transgender thing (something that was also apparent in her first book), and furthermore her lover is overly stalkerish and possessive (why they broke up the first time around), so why is she even with this person? Because the sex is so amazing that she's like an addict. And Lucy is just not giving her the love, attention and hot sex she needs. So it's not really her fault. And another thing that really bothers her about her lover? He's thinking of writing his memoir. How dare he, doesn't he know that writing is Ariel's thing???? (I have no words.)
3. She is resentful of anyone with more money than her, especially if they didn't have to work for it, while simultaneously wanting someone to take care of her financially. (One of her bones of contention with Lucy is that her start up business and the costs of rehab made them have to sell their vacation home, when she thought Lucy was supposed to be the "husband" who takes care of her. Again, I have no words.)
4. Oh, and her big life lesson at the end? The insight fueling the whole memoir? We don't get everything we want out of life, bad things sometimes happen for no reason and...wait for it...we're all going to die someday. Sorry, but I think I figured that one out by the time I'd hit my teens. Honestly, it surprised me when I looked at the author bio and saw the she is almost the same age as me (four years younger), because her thought processes were frequently so immature.
You know, I think there is a deeper story to tell here, and maybe Levy will arrive at it someday. Why would someone so overwhelmingly privileged feel like she got the short end of the stick? Why are there so many special snowflakes all of a sudden? How on earth could someone get to be the age of 38 and not realize that sometimes bad things happen to good (or at least not evil) people?
Why three stars then? Because to be honest, despite all my reservations, I would not hesitate to read a future book by Ms. Levy. Yeah, she's annoying, but she's just that good a writer.
January 20, 2020
[7/10]
Quite a harrowing memoir at times. The first half was very strong and had some reflections on larger themes, but the book sort of lost that thread as Levy treaded into more personal territory in the latter half. Not that those specifics are bad but it became less universal and more particular to her experience with less reflections & analysis. Still, she is an amazing writer who I've enjoyed reading in The New Yorker, so glad I did finally pick this one up.
Quite a harrowing memoir at times. The first half was very strong and had some reflections on larger themes, but the book sort of lost that thread as Levy treaded into more personal territory in the latter half. Not that those specifics are bad but it became less universal and more particular to her experience with less reflections & analysis. Still, she is an amazing writer who I've enjoyed reading in The New Yorker, so glad I did finally pick this one up.
June 19, 2017
Tough book to review, a memoir is. The writing, or the person's life? Ariel Levy's writing is bold, raw and purposely in your face, which is good for magazines and books to grab you by the throat. A memoir, most, should grab you by the heart for better or worse., but Levy's also grabs your conscience. I mean she takes it out to dinner, a seedy bar after, all the drinks, all the feels, and whips it around the room. You don't know who you are by the time it's over. Having grown up with upper-middle class privilege, Ariel always expected to succeed in everything. She would work for it but she would not be denied.
A writer she is and fairly accomplished. A person, a partner, a friend; who are we to judge? Yes you say, she did put it all out there so we may have a comment or two. Fine. Millions, really, millions of woman have miscarriages and understand her grief and pain. I'm wondering how much she shared all of that with Lucy, her wife and the donor, the father, who seemed really involved. Almost everything she said about Lucy was implied as an inconvenience to Ariel. Maybe Lucy felt ostracized, maybe she needed your love and help. I feel compassion for you both, but Ariel you need to develop some compassion for others.
Writing 4.0 Story 3.5 Ending 2.5 Thank you Netgalley for granting my wish!
A writer she is and fairly accomplished. A person, a partner, a friend; who are we to judge? Yes you say, she did put it all out there so we may have a comment or two. Fine. Millions, really, millions of woman have miscarriages and understand her grief and pain. I'm wondering how much she shared all of that with Lucy, her wife and the donor, the father, who seemed really involved. Almost everything she said about Lucy was implied as an inconvenience to Ariel. Maybe Lucy felt ostracized, maybe she needed your love and help. I feel compassion for you both, but Ariel you need to develop some compassion for others.
Writing 4.0 Story 3.5 Ending 2.5 Thank you Netgalley for granting my wish!
March 25, 2017
I found "Rules Do Not Apply" moving and relatable. She does a good job of deleaneating the spectrum of sexuality, in fact probably the best I've read anywhere. She describes her feelings about people without regard, or very little, for whether they're male or female. She chooses romantic partners based on her love for them and of course that undefinable zing that makes someone attractive though her longest romantic partner was a woman.
Her odyssey in finding a life partner and starting a family is at the heart of this book though we get to go along with her to exotic places like Africa and Mongolia or where ever else she goes to chase a story to write about. Her adventures with motherhood were touching but at the end of this short
memoir I wanted to know how it all turns out but since she's probably in here army forties and can be forgiven for the cliffhanger since she's yet to live the rest of her life.
Rules is very well written, has an offbeat sense of humor, and is engaging.
Thanks to the publishers for providing an e-copy.
Her odyssey in finding a life partner and starting a family is at the heart of this book though we get to go along with her to exotic places like Africa and Mongolia or where ever else she goes to chase a story to write about. Her adventures with motherhood were touching but at the end of this short
memoir I wanted to know how it all turns out but since she's probably in here army forties and can be forgiven for the cliffhanger since she's yet to live the rest of her life.
Rules is very well written, has an offbeat sense of humor, and is engaging.
Thanks to the publishers for providing an e-copy.
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