Elaine Showalter and Christopher Benfey

Dear Elaine,

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Thanks for your London update. I actually can imagine the Flaubert parody, at least the interior-decorating bit. My wife and I are remodeling a 1893 Victorian in Amherst, Mass. One of our builders asked me if I'd ever seen The Money Pit. "No," I answered, "why do you ask?" My favorite restoration comedy is Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House, in which all fears of adultery and bad taste are overcome when Mr. B. thinks up the right jingle for selling ham. Watching CNN yesterday I learned that a new "asbestos-eating robot" will go to work in Washington, D.C., pipes today. Isn't that a nifty idea, something that Martha Stewart (our own Emma Bovary) might offer at Kmart? I could certainly use one in our basement.

Any signs in London that this was the 4th of July weekend? Probably not. But the U.S. papers made a big deal of the American victories at Wimbledon on Independence Day. Today's Times has a bunch of Wimbledon aftermath stuff, including an editorial raving about Pete Sampras and mentioning that Lindsay Davenport better watch out for young up-and-comers like Alexandra Stevenson. Did the London press get into the who's-her-father debate swirling around Stevenson? It made the front page of both the New York Times and the Boston Globe on Saturday. The Times headline: "Tennis Cinderella's Father Has a Name: Julius Erving." Doesn't that headline conflate two or three fairy tales, including Rumpelstiltskin? Harvey Araton's column in the Times sports pages today takes the London press to task for ignoring the Women's World Cup. "I know England isn't represented, but they tell me this is the Mecca of soccer." Yeah, you tell 'em, Harvey!

Your news about the new editor of the Independent, a "toothy, eccentric ... '70s personality, known for ... wild and crazy clothes" reminded me of Austin Powers, our own little British invasion this summer.

And the Bolshoi in London? Maybe it's the heat (96 in the shade today), but I got a kick out of Jennifer Dunning's line in her review of the Kirov: "One will not soon forget, for instance, the slightly fugitive right foot in Ms. Sologub's unearthly sautés passés or hopping jumps backward." No, indeed one won't.

Cheers,
Chris

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