I’ve been in love with people and ideas in several cities and learned that the lovers I’ve loved and the ideas I’ve embraced depended on where I was, how cold it was, and what I had to do to be able to stand it.

Are you a growing or grown up young woman? Do you like to have sex, sip tequila, take cocaine, gossip with girlfriends, and listen to classic rock? Do you love California, the cozy ambiance of rainfall, and the feeling when a nice man calls you pretty? Have you been described as a “knockout”? How many men have you slept with? Does it matter?

If any of these queries piques your interest, boy, do I have a book for you: Slow Days, Fast Company, written by the literary queen of Southern California — not Joan Didion, but the misunderstood, reckless feminist Eve Babitz. A woman who recognized her social capital early on, waiting for the school bus on her family’s front lawn as men in convertibles drove by, slowly scanning her newly bloomed body.

Eve Babitz’s Eternal Aura Of Attraction

Babitz knew the truth to becoming a writer was more than reading and writing — it was about having a life. Growing up as a pretty little girl in Los Angeles, she went on to write about her social scene in the city — full of liaisons — telling stories that made other women feel less alone in their flings of youth. She shed light into rooms whose doors were thought to be permanently closed by the patriarchy.

Feminist virtues subtly shine through each essay in the slim book, but they’re often overlooked due to antiquated critics canonizing Babitz as a hedonistic party girl without enough grit, skill, or steadiness to become Great.

On the contrary — I see her as so much more. A child of Henry James. A cool, classic rock chick who spent warm summer nights at the Troubadour listening to Jackson Browne, The Eagles, Buffalo Springfield. A bombshell beauty whom men flocked to for more than the incredible breasts she bore on her chest — she was witty, smart, fun, open, and oh so interesting with a Rolodex full of famous friends — always in for an affable evening of LSD, tequila, and inch-thick piles of coke — that is, until she made the fateful trek to rehab in the ’80s.

Writing about life just after it’s happened is much like making a martini from vodka’s prerogative: sliding down a cool silver shaker, wildly tossed around inside, before being poured into a perfect glass for serving.

Who Is She?

Babitz is a child of Southern California, Hollywood, Los Angeles — I believe she’d be OK with any of those places if you forgot which one was right and had to make a guess — just never mix it up with San Francisco. She did not like San Francisco. While she shares a similar vibe to the beatnik babies, Babitz has her own distinct qualities that set her apart — mostly due to the city she loved: LA.

Lessons I Walked Away With

We all want to read writers who sound or think like us. It’s exciting to see our lives — full of flaws, lust, despair, disgust — validated in print, especially when it comes to our dating lives — made public by someone as cool as she. Here’s some tips, tricks, words:

1. Try acting like the man in the relationship. Forget to call. Be an ass. Give it a go.
2. Find a male friend to attend parties with. (He can be gay.)
3. Life is better with cream cheese on toast. To love your body for its thought-to-be flaws is a radical act — it’s the embodiment of true beauty.
4. Always smile. The most beautiful people are those whose faces are free from worry, concern, or insecurity. Pleasure is a lure.
5. Never, never, never cancel plans with a girlfriend to see a man. Unless he invites you both to his home for champagne and cocaine.
6. Patience is a virtue — never let him feel you sweat by the phone.
7. Be open to anything, all the time. Say yes to dates with men who make you feel good, no matter their age. (And in Babitz’s case, no matter their marital status.)
8. Money does not make him the right man. It can turn even the loveliest women into plain suburbanites.
9. When trying a new food, hike, movie — make sure you trust the person who recommended it. Ex: Never tried caviar? Wait till a rich friend gives you a good scoop, and skip the cheap stuff at your young lover’s holiday party.
10. Create a fabulous social life. Call friends often — share them with other friends. Discuss parties, gossip.

To literary birds: the best essays read like gossip.

1. Fill your pages with racy details, place your audience in the story. Let them see, feel, hear, smell the smog rise from the oily, warm, driveway.
2. Make your stories sing. Give them rhythm. Write quickly. Get your thoughts down and then go back to edit.
3. Harp on scenes that your audience can relate to. Include juicy anecdotes.
4. Don’t try to mimic The Times. You are a literary journalist. Think like those at The New Yorker or The National Review of Books.

Some Quotes

On Love:

Shawn lumped all love together and was drawn to whatever burned hottest, which is usually me. — from “Sirocco”

On Life As A Woman:

Being places alone makes you think. Being there with someone makes you hounded by details, like what time the other person wants to leave; details that drain the energy when you are trying to discover the core of the event. — from “Sirocco”

And for the very first time in my life, I began to deep-down know that even though I was not as thin as George Harrison, it was going to be all right. In fact, it might even be funny. — from “Rain”

There is something fascinating about a woman’s face when they’re not falling apart because of their imperfections and self-loathing. Pleasure is a lure. — from “Rain”

On Suburbia:

There was no energy in those women beyond their children or their particular geography. There was no energy for humor or wit, and I wondered at my friends in LA who were always brimming over with spare words and bright phrases. — from “Bakersfield”

[In Emerald Bay] I didn’t really mind that everyone was so sadly hideous and Nixony, since it sort of isolated me and Shawn on our own little island. — from “Emerald Bay”

On Drugs:

[On Quaaludes] You’ll end up dancing and having a wonderful time in a very relaxed way, a way so relaxed that you forget to drink, and the next morning you wake up and you’ve actually lost a couple of pounds and gained some exercise. — from “Rain”

[On Heroin] Having something that both kills and is illegal is too tempting when you’ve suddenly got everything but the prince especially if you’re an American. If they made it legal and you could just buy it, perhaps women would discover heroin isn’t what they need either.

‘She doesn’t take cocaine,’ Sara said. (Too high-class to take cocaine, eh? I said to myself. That is aristocratic in this day and age.) — from “Bad Day At Palm Springs”