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The Receptionist is the pithy tell-most memoir of Janet Groth, receptionist at The New Yorker from 1957-1978. The names of the famous and the fabulous have been preserved, while pseudonyms are used for the less famous and the cads. Or at least that seems to be her system. Either way, each anecdote is the sort of provocative repartee that would have you leaning in at a literati cocktail party, straining to catch every word while sneaking sideways glances around the room for glimpses of famous writers and artists from The New Yorker's illustrious past. Prepare to clutch your pearls and spill your martini as you delight in the upscale gossip that reads like it sprang from the pages of the famous magazine itself instead of from the reception desk on the eighteenth floor.
Disclaimer: I received a digital galley of this book free from the publisher from NetGalley.com. I was not obliged to write a favourable review, or even any review at all. The opinions expressed are strictly my own.