Because what kind of schmuck leaves a wife that's seven months pregnant with their second child because he's having an affair?! Carl Bernstein, that's who. So thanks Carl, you've managed to be a real-life villain that's so awful he’s actually unbelievable, and now I have to take you off my journalism heroes list.
The fictionalized story of Rachel and Mark, who appear to have it all before Mark falls in love with a giraffe-like woman, veers between Washington and New York in the early 1980s. Since Heartburn is roughly my age, certain elements feel dated: there’s a laissez-faire approach to affairs, sex and marriage that seem evocative of the “Me Me Me” attitude of the 1980s. There’s also a disconcerting attitude toward the children involved. It’s refreshing to know that the socialite mothers of the past were not as obsessed with their children as they appear to be today, but both toddler Sam and Rachel’s baby-on-the-way seem less like actual concerns than by-products that compound Rachel’s misery. When Rachel is musing on the adventures Mark and she experienced with their best friends, you wonder where they stashed their young child while eating this gourmet food in Italy. And you wonder why my generation is so messed up - it's because of parents like this. (This is not, it should be noted, true of my parents, married for 37 years and always putting their kids first. Hi Mom!)
Still, Heartburn is, at times, laugh out loud funny. No surprise that there’s a fairly angry surge of bitterness throughout that may not be everybody’s cup of tea. But it’s short and easy to read, and there's a movie version! Plus, if you’ve been dumped recently, you may find it helpful. After all, you may be alone, but chances are you aren’t seven months pregnant.
