In my Insurance Law class this evening the professor began the class with an exercise wherein we all recalled current events and then searched for ways the events related to insurance. So many celebrities died this summer! Perhaps they just hit the ejection seat before the swine flu fear pandemic drives the rest of us crazy.
Dominick Dunne passed today. I grew up intimately familiar with Dunne’s writing because I read Vanity Fair compulsively after a breathtaking 1996 article called The Last Opium Den (now a book!) captured my attention and kept me loyal to the magazine.
Dunne wrote primarily about lifestyle. He joined F. Scott Fitzgerald’s genre, inspiring voyeurs’ fantasies of a quintessentially American aristocratic style.
More personally, Dunne wrote one of the most memorable pieces tattooed on my brain from those formative years. I’ve blogged about it before — Dunne’s account of his brother’s marriage to Joan Didion. I’m sure this is far from Dominick’s own favorite pieces of his portfolio. But this article has stuck with me for years, and has informed my search for how love is supposed to feel.