Lux Lotus

On Madame Bovary

I've been up for about twenty minutes, and in that time, I've arranged three vases of cabbage roses, holding up surprisingly well after four or five days, drowsy and redolent of fresh air and near-spring, ordered one jacquard dress and one silk gown, and moved a couple of things so that it will be easy to have two chairs delivered this morning. They're from the same period as Madame Bovary, which I'll offer my thoughts on tonight, alongside Michael Cunningham, Pulitzer Prize-winning author of The Hours, at Time Out New York's book club at McNally Jackson in SoHo. Do come, and let's discuss greyhounds and balls, and seductive lovers, and living in the country, and mistakes, desire, and wanting to be free.

On Charm

I've just returned from a now-traditional dinner party devoted to cassoulet. My seat-mate tonight reminded me that last year, the one where we met, I breezed in, "in a silk dress, and a fur" –– and a turban, I added –– "with an enormous box of macarons just before anyone had heard of them, and a car waiting outside." This year reminded me of a line from Dariaux's Entertaining with Elegance, about the hostess who gives one party so extraordinary that she dines out on it the rest of the  year. While our lady of this evening is known for her regular sparkling affairs, the round of armagnac introduced by the Times "Drink" columnist, who wrote her column this week on the same subject, made the best one yet.

How to Be Simpatico

My friend Jesse at Head Butler says some nice things about me, and then a lot more about Beatrice Wood. Today's must-read.

Windowlicker

My favorite pair of chandelier earrings were bought for me by an old boyfriend during a two-week trek through the jungle in Mexico. They aren't particularly fancy, and we were done dating by then, but I was mesmerized from first sight that such a thing came from such a place. They dazzle me still. I'm not allowed to put up any chandeliers in this apartment, so I take them with me.

[18th C. Spanish Girandole Earrings, $3,250 at Three Graces]

Windowlicker is from the French for browsing: faire du lèche-vitrine.

Two New, Short Interviews

The Chimerist today runs an annotated screenshot of my iPad. Last week I discussed event planning for Book Boroughing.

Postcard from the Penthouse

A couple of weeks ago, at the Hotel on Rivington, my brother and my sister between us. Tonight, we're hanging out, cooking dinner.

On Replies

I am verrrrry tired, and so myriad questions that men propose may have to wait. Contemplating, in the last day or so: do I want to go to Paris, and do I want a twenty-foot strand of pink pearls?

On Destinations

I'm on a plane flying cross-country. I normally eschew in-flight wireless, and I'm supposed to be reading two books for work, anyway, but I've been out of the office in New York for a few days working on the West Coast and so I have a great deal to do to catch up. I've accepted an invitation to speak to an assembly of Chinese senior executives in publishing at Pace University in April, provided I can find a date when I won't be in London (I'm going for a party, but I'm not sure yet if I'll leave a week early to attend the Book Fair). In twelve hours, I'll be having breakfast at Balthazar with South Asia-based journalist Dan Morrison, who's written The Black Nile. I'll have Tuesday and Wednesday nights off, and then I'll look at what else I can pare back in my upcoming schedule. I definitely could use another week on the beach.

On Elegance (for the Rumpus)

Roxane Gay, a brilliant and incisive critic and essayist whose work I admire and respect immensely, and who is now the essays editor for the Rumpus –– an incredible publication born out of passion and desire to create something new by Stephen Elliott –– asked me to share my thoughts on "comporting yourself with elegance in the modern age," with the caveat that it had to be a more personal piece than I would write. People have been asking me to write a memoir for fifteen years (and I'm 32). This may be it.

Postcards From the Happy Valley

Yesterday I spent the day in Ojai and environs, where I was able to visit Beatrice Wood's home, a cherished dream come true. It put me in such a mellow mood that I traipsed over a bluff, through prickly terrain –– waiting until seated to extend my palm, with a thorn in it, for extraction –– in kitten heels and bare legs on the way back, in order to enjoy a stunning view of the Pacific, filled with dolphins and every bit as lovely as promised.