The article Hollywood’s Eve is a reflection on the author’s obsession with Eve Babitz, which led to the writing of the book. The author had been captivated by Eve for nine years, delving into every detail of her life and relationships. This obsession became unhealthy and consuming, prompting the author to write the book as a way to exorcise this fixation.
The original intention of the book was to focus on L.A. history, with Eve as a central figure. However, Eve’s energy and spirit took over the narrative, leading the author to fully embrace their obsession. The writing process was a form of self-discovery and liberation from the all-consuming preoccupation with Eve.
After the publication of Hollywood’s Eve, the author felt a sense of release and was able to focus on other aspects of their life, including family and new projects. The author’s encounter with Eve’s sister Mirandi on New Year’s Day 2021 sparked a new chapter in their relationship with Eve, as Mirandi revealed the discovery of letters that reignited the author’s fascination with Eve.
The article captures the author’s journey of obsession, writing, and eventual liberation from the overpowering influence of Eve Babitz in their life.
My blood pulsed with fear and dread, matching the heavy beat of my heart. The thought of those boxes, filled with unknown contents, lingered in my mind. I waited for Mirandi to invite me to sift through them in Los Angeles, but as weeks turned into months, the request never came. I buried the boxes in the recesses of my thoughts, focusing on my daily tasks and responsibilities for nearly a year.
During that time, I stayed busy. I accomplished various projects, cared for my family, and carried on with my routine. Then, just before Christmas in 2021, Eve passed away suddenly. Her memorial service took place in January, where Mirandi approached me about visiting the Huntington Library to explore Eve’s archives, including the mysterious boxes.
A few days later, I found myself at the Huntington Library, waiting for Mirandi. Wanting to process my emotions in solitude, I arrived early. As I entered the research library, I was given protective gloves and instructions on handling delicate materials. Sitting at a table, I braced myself for the unknown as the first box was placed before me.
I reassured myself that the boxes were likely filled with trivial items, dismissing Mirandi’s excitement. However, my perspective shifted as I uncovered a letter addressed to « Dear Joan. » The realization hit me that this letter was from Joan Didion to Eve, sparking a surge of excitement within me. As I began to read the letter, I was captivated by the intimate and revealing words exchanged between these two literary icons.
The letter delved into personal reflections on life, art, and the complexities of being a woman in a male-dominated world. I was drawn into their conversation, feeling a connection to their shared struggles and triumphs. The contents of the boxes held a treasure trove of insights and revelations, sparking a newfound curiosity and appreciation for Eve’s legacy.
In that moment, surrounded by history and emotion, I realized that the boxes held more than just letters and documents—they contained a profound connection to the past and a deeper understanding of Eve’s impact on the literary world. As I delved further into the contents, I knew that this journey would not only uncover hidden truths but also illuminate the enduring power of friendship and artistry. For a significant period of time, women faced financial constraints and societal expectations that limited their opportunities. Despite your remarkable talent and writing skills, Joan, you may have been judged differently if you were taller or more imposing. Would you have been allowed to express yourself so freely if you weren’t physically unassuming? Perhaps John’s perception of you as a child-like figure has helped maintain the power dynamic in your relationship, with your self-deprecating remarks about your size further reinforcing this dynamic.
It’s disappointing that you haven’t explored the works of Virginia Woolf, as it seems you may have dismissed her as a « woman’s novelist » for foggy-minded individuals. Your preference for writing about women like Maria, who lack artistic fulfillment, rather than delving into the complexities of Woolf’s writing, reflects a bias against female authors. Art, to me, is a source of joy and salvation, unlike the vulgar and dismissive attitude towards it that you seem to espouse.
The letter I stumbled upon between you and Eve revealed a tumultuous lovers’ quarrel, filled with accusations, resentments, and a deep sense of intimacy. Your relationship with Eve seems to be a complex dance of love and frustration, with each of you trying to assert your individuality while also seeking validation from the other. The raw emotions and unfiltered honesty in that letter shed light on a side of Eve that I hadn’t seen before, challenging my previous perceptions of her.
As I delved deeper into Eve’s past through her writings and personal interactions, I realized that the Eve I thought I knew was only a surface-level representation. The letter to you, written in 1972, exposed a different side of Eve – one that was sharper, darker, and more vulnerable than the persona she projected in her later years. Her struggles with anger and unhappiness, hidden beneath a charming facade, added a layer of complexity to her character that I had failed to recognize before.
Despite the passage of time and the changes in her life, Eve’s essence remained unchanged in that letter. It captured a moment of turmoil and passion that transcended the years, reminding me of the depth and intensity of human emotions that can be buried beneath a polished exterior. As I continued to explore Eve’s story, I realized that understanding her past was essential to truly grasping the complexities of her character and the depths of her experiences. Le maintien du charme, sa mise en valeur, était pour Eve une question d’honneur, je pense. C’était encore une barrière de plus, encore un éloignement.
Je me suis levé brusquement de la table, heurtant ma chaise avec l’arrière de mes genoux, la faisant glisser. J’ai quitté la pièce, puis le bâtiment. Une fois dehors, dans l’intimité des jardins, j’ai arraché mon masque et j’ai commencé à inspirer de longues goulées d’air frais.
C’était de retour. Mon amour pour la personnalité étonnante, imprudente et totalement originale d’Eve et son talent. J’ai immédiatement su avec une certitude totale que l’histoire que j’avais prévu de raconter, pour laquelle j’avais accepté de l’argent – la promotion de Bennington de 1986 – devrait attendre. Au lieu de cela, je raconterais à nouveau l’histoire d’Eve. Sauf que cette fois, je la raconterais différemment. Mieux. Parce que je ne raconterais pas seulement l’histoire d’Eve. Je raconterais aussi l’histoire de Joan. Joan, l’opposée et le double d’Eve, complétant et révélant Eve comme Eve la complétait et la révélait. (Ce que j’ai réalisé après avoir lu la lettre : que je connaissais aussi la mauvaise Joan. Ou plutôt, que je ne connaissais que la Joan que Joan voulait que je connaisse. J’avais toujours pris Joan pour sa personne, que je n’avais jamais, jusqu’à ce moment, remarqué qu’elle était.) Et parce que je ne raconterais pas l’histoire d’Eve seule. Le récit serait un effort conjoint, Eve n’étant plus seulement mon sujet mais aussi ma collaboratrice, ma complice, mon acolyte. J’avais maintenant ses lettres, des centaines d’entre elles. Et ces morceaux de papier étranges, si intimes qu’on ne les lisait pas autant qu’on les respirait, la rendaient plus vivante que jamais, même si elle était, techniquement parlant, morte.
Elle et moi écririons ce nouveau livre ensemble.
J’ai remis les sangles de mon masque sur mes oreilles. En levant les yeux, j’ai aperçu Mirandi devant la bibliothèque. Elle me faisait signe. J’ai rendu le geste et j’ai commencé à sortir des jardins, d’abord lentement, puis rapidement, puis de plus en plus rapidement encore. Comme si je fuyais quelque chose tout en courant vers quelque chose en même temps.
C’était l’horreur de me perdre à nouveau dans Eve.
C’était l’excitation de me perdre à nouveau dans Eve.
Je ne pouvais pas m’éloigner assez vite.
J’avais hâte.
