Two Pippas

I read a book with a protagonist named Pippa (a nickname, it would seem, for Philippa). Now I’m reading The Private Lives of Pippa Lee, by Rebecca Miller, and it’s beautiful. I wasn’t too fond of the movie made of Miller’s first book, Personal Velocity, so I skipped that book; now I want to go back and read it.

In the meantime, I’m enjoying Miller’s precise language, wisdom about feelings, and central character (Pippa, obvy), someone who feels simultaneously familiar and new. There’s a film coming out of Pippa Lee, too. I’m worried it’ll be maudlin and self-important, like the first movie but unlike the second book.

Side note: Miller is apparently both the daughter of Arthur Miller and the wife of Daniel Day-Lewis. Whoah, Nelly.

I think I won’t name the title of the first “Pippa” book I read last week, because me no likey. And the author seems like a lovely person in her promotional material and website, etc. So why draw her book to your attention, only to non-recommend it? Especially considering that my sphere of influence is second only to Oprah’s.

Oprah’s TOENAIL.

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