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My Search for Warren Harding
Rodney Elliot Wiener, a young historian intent on writing a shockingly intimate book about America's twenty-ninth president, must persuade Harding's senile and reclusive one-time mistress to share her memories and memorabilia
277 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1983
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 208 reviews
April 3, 2025
This is an out-of-print book. It used to be harder tracking such things down. Then I realized there are places to go for them. I found a copy of this through 3rd-party selling at Amazon.
Robert Plunket has apparently stopped writing novels, and more's the pity. He made his debut with this and, while it doesn't quite reach the delirious heights of his delightfully sophomoric sophomore effort, 'Love Junkie', it's still quite fast-moving, chaotic and clever.
~that is, starting around chapter 3 or 4. Which is what separates it from 'Love Junkie'. 'LJ' has a somewhat damaged, needy and obsessed protagonist who pretty much advertises herself as such (to us, anyway) on page one. 'My Search...' has more of a simmer. That's because its narrator is not as off-the-wall. He's an opportunist. So his story takes a little time getting started as he sets up his opportunity.
Plunket either has a keen eye for things ridiculous about humanity - or a firm distaste for them. It's hard to tell. At any rate, he's not prevented from being very funny about the lower depths of self-involvement.
It is not easy happening upon genuinely witty novels. Plunket makes what he writes seem effortless. And it reads like a steady stream of stand-up; a rare treat from a novelist.
Robert Plunket has apparently stopped writing novels, and more's the pity. He made his debut with this and, while it doesn't quite reach the delirious heights of his delightfully sophomoric sophomore effort, 'Love Junkie', it's still quite fast-moving, chaotic and clever.
~that is, starting around chapter 3 or 4. Which is what separates it from 'Love Junkie'. 'LJ' has a somewhat damaged, needy and obsessed protagonist who pretty much advertises herself as such (to us, anyway) on page one. 'My Search...' has more of a simmer. That's because its narrator is not as off-the-wall. He's an opportunist. So his story takes a little time getting started as he sets up his opportunity.
Plunket either has a keen eye for things ridiculous about humanity - or a firm distaste for them. It's hard to tell. At any rate, he's not prevented from being very funny about the lower depths of self-involvement.
It is not easy happening upon genuinely witty novels. Plunket makes what he writes seem effortless. And it reads like a steady stream of stand-up; a rare treat from a novelist.
November 19, 2023
I read this book after the actor Bob Odenkirk lauded it on Twitter as one of the funniest books he’d read. I was further set up for big laughs by the praise blurbs and introduction by Danzy Senna, stating that Larry David keeps multiple copies of the book and insisted everybody involved with Seinfeld read it.
The book is satirical and it has a lacerating, mean, conniving protagonist, and there are a couple of laughs, but overall it was sad.
Robert Plunket first published this story in 1983 about a wannabe historian trying to get his mitts on letters President Warren Harding wrote to his mistress. It takes place in the 1970s and is very much a book of that time.
It certainly is madcap, but I just didn’t laugh. I admire the writing though and I admire many of the things that Danzy Senna mentions in the introduction (but I suggest you don’t read it until you’ve finished the book; like many such intros, it contains spoilers).
The book is satirical and it has a lacerating, mean, conniving protagonist, and there are a couple of laughs, but overall it was sad.
Robert Plunket first published this story in 1983 about a wannabe historian trying to get his mitts on letters President Warren Harding wrote to his mistress. It takes place in the 1970s and is very much a book of that time.
It certainly is madcap, but I just didn’t laugh. I admire the writing though and I admire many of the things that Danzy Senna mentions in the introduction (but I suggest you don’t read it until you’ve finished the book; like many such intros, it contains spoilers).
October 7, 2025
Propongo la siguiente clasificación del humor en las novelas:
- CRUDO [La metamorfosis, de Kafka]
- POCO HECHO [La Regenta, de Leopoldo Alas Clarín]
- AL PUNTO [Orgullo y Prejuicio, de Austen]
- HECHO [Mi familia y otros animales, de Gerald Durrell]
- MUY HECHO [La conjura de los necios, John Kennedy Toole]
- CHURRUSCADO [Sin noticias de Gurb, de Eduardo Mendoza]
Por la información que me había llegado antes de empezar la lectura, pensaba que el humor de Los papeles de Harding estaría entre hecho y muy hecho. Pero no. Diría que su humor está al punto: algún comentario sarcástico del narrador protagonista que aterriza muy bien y dos o tres escenas bastante cómicas (no más). Ni rastro de esa obsesión por entregar un chiste en cada párrafo que hace cargantes y fallidas muchas de las novelas del género.
El tipo de humor me recuerda al de Fraiser pero un tanto escorado hacia la crueldad, la misoginia, el racismo y la homofobia. Hijo de su tiempo.
- CRUDO [La metamorfosis, de Kafka]
- POCO HECHO [La Regenta, de Leopoldo Alas Clarín]
- AL PUNTO [Orgullo y Prejuicio, de Austen]
- HECHO [Mi familia y otros animales, de Gerald Durrell]
- MUY HECHO [La conjura de los necios, John Kennedy Toole]
- CHURRUSCADO [Sin noticias de Gurb, de Eduardo Mendoza]
Por la información que me había llegado antes de empezar la lectura, pensaba que el humor de Los papeles de Harding estaría entre hecho y muy hecho. Pero no. Diría que su humor está al punto: algún comentario sarcástico del narrador protagonista que aterriza muy bien y dos o tres escenas bastante cómicas (no más). Ni rastro de esa obsesión por entregar un chiste en cada párrafo que hace cargantes y fallidas muchas de las novelas del género.
El tipo de humor me recuerda al de Fraiser pero un tanto escorado hacia la crueldad, la misoginia, el racismo y la homofobia. Hijo de su tiempo.
September 30, 2016
I don't know when I read this book. More than a decade ago, I'm sure. I don't remember why I read it or how I came to have a copy of it. To my knowledge, none of my friends have ever read it. I never read a review of it or had it recommended in print or word of mouth or a burning bush or anything. And there is no particular reason that I'm reviewing it now. Nothing reminded me of it. Warren Harding has not been in the news lately. (The preceding sentence has the interesting property of almost always being true. It was more or less true even in the early 1920s and has steadily become more accurate). But here I am reviewing it now. Such is the way my brain works, if you call that working.
(Ok, There is a reason. I've taken a break from smoking pot. Which means, consequently, that video games are far less interesting, hence more reading and the reviewing of fairly obscure books read years ago. Also: I remember my dreams. Dreams are so weird, right!? I recommend temporarily forgoing the herb if you don't remember how weird they are, but I digress. Although I digress less now than I used to.)
I remember being pleasantly surprised. It's not that I had low expectations. I had no expectations. As outlined above, I had no idea what to expect, but I didn't expect to laugh as much as I did, which was a lot. The characters were vivid and entertainingly odd. The plot moved steadily along, though I cannot, at this point, remember much of it. Mostly I thought "That was quite a good book. Shame that not very many people have ever heard of it."
This is, of course, a must-read for all serious scholars of our 29th President. No seriously, both of you should definitely check it out. Oh and everyone else who likes a good, funny, well-crafted story. You might like it too.
(Ok, There is a reason. I've taken a break from smoking pot. Which means, consequently, that video games are far less interesting, hence more reading and the reviewing of fairly obscure books read years ago. Also: I remember my dreams. Dreams are so weird, right!? I recommend temporarily forgoing the herb if you don't remember how weird they are, but I digress. Although I digress less now than I used to.)
I remember being pleasantly surprised. It's not that I had low expectations. I had no expectations. As outlined above, I had no idea what to expect, but I didn't expect to laugh as much as I did, which was a lot. The characters were vivid and entertainingly odd. The plot moved steadily along, though I cannot, at this point, remember much of it. Mostly I thought "That was quite a good book. Shame that not very many people have ever heard of it."
This is, of course, a must-read for all serious scholars of our 29th President. No seriously, both of you should definitely check it out. Oh and everyone else who likes a good, funny, well-crafted story. You might like it too.
November 10, 2025
«Su mujer y su amante fueron su presidencia. Ellas la crearon, ellas le dieron forma, ellas le otorgaron su textura y su dimensión. Y ellas le pusieron fin.»
Breve pero accidentado, el mandato del republicano Warren G. Harding fue un período de la democracia estadounidense marcado por varios escándalos de corrupción y una tumultuosa vida sentimental cuya versión biografiada se convirtió en un bestseller distribuido de puerta en puerta de forma clandestina. Publicada por primera vez en 1983, Los papeles de Harding, del norteamericano Robert Plunket (Greenville 1945), se adentra de lleno en este infame capítulo de la historia yankee para regalarnos una novela inclasificable, a medio camino entre la comedia de enredo y el reportaje periodístico, sobre un aspirante a escritor que investiga el paradero de la amante de Harding con el objetivo de conseguir el testimonio definitivo del romance más jugoso del siglo.
Así, tras tirar de contactos en el corazón de la industria cinematográfica a través de su amiga Eve Biersdorf, el joven académico Elliot Weiner se instala en la decadente mansión de Rebekah Kinney con la esperanza de engatusar a la vieja y echarle el guante a la colección de fotografías, cartas eróticas y demás memorabilia que documentarían su apasionado idilio con el presidente Harding, así como la existencia de una hija no reconocida, Jonica, cuyas colosales dimensiones físicas y particular sentido de la moda constituyen una fuente inagotable de chascarrillos más bien deplorables por parte de Weiner.
Y es que el personaje central de la novela de Plunket, arquetipo del egocentrismo patoso y la ambición sin escrúpulos, supone el encanto más deliciosamente repulsivo de una novela delirante que sorprende en su absoluto desprecio por la cortesía y las normas del decoro. Elliot Weiner es un protagonista patético, obsesivo y movido por un arribismo supino que no dudará en recurrir a las artimañas más rocambolescas —aunque implique ligarse a individuos que parecen descartes de First Dates— para tratar de lograr un objetivo que se le escurre de las manos de formas absolutamente hilarantes.
Sulfúrica, trepidante y ofensiva a unos niveles que te obligan de vez en cuando echarte las manos a la cabeza, Los papeles de Harding es una histriónica comedia anclada profundamente en el esplendor de la era dorada de Hollywood que, en la novela de Plunket, muestra su cara más vacua y decrépita. Viejas glorias de la pantalla, aspirantes a rutilante estrella y actrices de éxito reconvertidas en locutoras del cotilleo más miserable se dan cita en una obra heterodoxa y muy divertida que, desde la más fehaciente falta de censura, nos recuerda lo refrescante y aliviador que puede llegar a ser indignarse por las patochadas irreverentes de un personaje ficticio.
Alternando una fascinante reconstrucción historiográfica de la vida de Warren Harding —que, francamente, ojalá hubiera ocupado más espacio en la novela— con las andanzas de Elliot Weiner recorriendo yates de lujo, fiestas estrepitosas, salas de urgencias y los antros más nauseabundos de la costa oeste estadounidense, Los papeles de Harding entreteje una historia de amor y estupor que parece una competición a contrarreloj por ver cuál de sus participantes da más vergüenza ajena. Crónica del declive de la sociedad norteamericana y manifestación de su hipocresía moral, Los papeles de Harding puede leerse también como una aproximación insinuante a los vericuetos del deseo homosexual, más sugerente que explícita, donde la atracción descarrila poco después de ponerse en marcha. Con un desarrollo imprevisible y un final sencillamente descacharrante, la novela más emblemática de Robert Plunket supone una interesante reivindicación del desenfreno narrativo más corrosivo, una apología del trasnocheo etílico y la incorreción política capaz de dejarte, como quien se despierta junto a un desconocido tras una buena juerga, totalmente traspuesto.
Enlace: https://generacionreader.blogspot.com...
Breve pero accidentado, el mandato del republicano Warren G. Harding fue un período de la democracia estadounidense marcado por varios escándalos de corrupción y una tumultuosa vida sentimental cuya versión biografiada se convirtió en un bestseller distribuido de puerta en puerta de forma clandestina. Publicada por primera vez en 1983, Los papeles de Harding, del norteamericano Robert Plunket (Greenville 1945), se adentra de lleno en este infame capítulo de la historia yankee para regalarnos una novela inclasificable, a medio camino entre la comedia de enredo y el reportaje periodístico, sobre un aspirante a escritor que investiga el paradero de la amante de Harding con el objetivo de conseguir el testimonio definitivo del romance más jugoso del siglo.
Así, tras tirar de contactos en el corazón de la industria cinematográfica a través de su amiga Eve Biersdorf, el joven académico Elliot Weiner se instala en la decadente mansión de Rebekah Kinney con la esperanza de engatusar a la vieja y echarle el guante a la colección de fotografías, cartas eróticas y demás memorabilia que documentarían su apasionado idilio con el presidente Harding, así como la existencia de una hija no reconocida, Jonica, cuyas colosales dimensiones físicas y particular sentido de la moda constituyen una fuente inagotable de chascarrillos más bien deplorables por parte de Weiner.
Y es que el personaje central de la novela de Plunket, arquetipo del egocentrismo patoso y la ambición sin escrúpulos, supone el encanto más deliciosamente repulsivo de una novela delirante que sorprende en su absoluto desprecio por la cortesía y las normas del decoro. Elliot Weiner es un protagonista patético, obsesivo y movido por un arribismo supino que no dudará en recurrir a las artimañas más rocambolescas —aunque implique ligarse a individuos que parecen descartes de First Dates— para tratar de lograr un objetivo que se le escurre de las manos de formas absolutamente hilarantes.
Sulfúrica, trepidante y ofensiva a unos niveles que te obligan de vez en cuando echarte las manos a la cabeza, Los papeles de Harding es una histriónica comedia anclada profundamente en el esplendor de la era dorada de Hollywood que, en la novela de Plunket, muestra su cara más vacua y decrépita. Viejas glorias de la pantalla, aspirantes a rutilante estrella y actrices de éxito reconvertidas en locutoras del cotilleo más miserable se dan cita en una obra heterodoxa y muy divertida que, desde la más fehaciente falta de censura, nos recuerda lo refrescante y aliviador que puede llegar a ser indignarse por las patochadas irreverentes de un personaje ficticio.
Alternando una fascinante reconstrucción historiográfica de la vida de Warren Harding —que, francamente, ojalá hubiera ocupado más espacio en la novela— con las andanzas de Elliot Weiner recorriendo yates de lujo, fiestas estrepitosas, salas de urgencias y los antros más nauseabundos de la costa oeste estadounidense, Los papeles de Harding entreteje una historia de amor y estupor que parece una competición a contrarreloj por ver cuál de sus participantes da más vergüenza ajena. Crónica del declive de la sociedad norteamericana y manifestación de su hipocresía moral, Los papeles de Harding puede leerse también como una aproximación insinuante a los vericuetos del deseo homosexual, más sugerente que explícita, donde la atracción descarrila poco después de ponerse en marcha. Con un desarrollo imprevisible y un final sencillamente descacharrante, la novela más emblemática de Robert Plunket supone una interesante reivindicación del desenfreno narrativo más corrosivo, una apología del trasnocheo etílico y la incorreción política capaz de dejarte, como quien se despierta junto a un desconocido tras una buena juerga, totalmente traspuesto.
Enlace: https://generacionreader.blogspot.com...
July 8, 2008
A great summertime read, if you can find it. It's out of print, but not in high demand, which means only the most conniving confidence men will try to gouge you for a copy. I found the hardcover of it for about $5 at the Strand last year, and finally got to reading it, after a friend said it was one of the funniest books he'd ever read. I don't know if it's that, but it's a sort of tragicomic caper that I'd put on par with TC Boyle's "Budding Prospects" (which I read last year - they are also both authors' first novels), with the noted exception that the protagonists of these 2 books are complete opposites: In "Warren Harding," Elliot Weiner is an aspiring historian, and Harvard graduate trying to make his mark by tracking down Warren Harding's supposed mistress, now, supposedly, living in Los Angeles. I won't say more about the plot, but it's good, and it's funny, and not so LA-centric that it will alienate readers (though we have the less-than-admirable task of cringing at supposedly astronomical 1983 rent prices, salaries, et al). It is entirely nerve-wracking at times, and Weiner is a completely unlikeable, WASPy, well... Harvard man. get your head around that, and you'll have a lot of fun with this book. Survivors of white guilt might have a tougher time with some of Weiner's less-than-PC look at the modern world, but when taken in context, he's extremely well-written, compelling and strangely likeable. Also, the last chapter or so is all nail-biting frustration (the comedic equivalent of: "DON'T GO INTO THE BASEMENT!"-style horror). I enjoyed it greatly. So thanks, Graham, and to everyone else: Check it out! I even uploaded the cover so you'd be able to recognize it on a shelf... as long as it's faced out...
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May 28, 2008I first read this book in the early 80s and thought is was unbearably, wonderfully hilarious. I was curious to see what the younger me found so appealing, so I re-read it. At first I thought, yikes, it's a book-length compendium of fat-girl jokes. But the jokes got funnier and funnier (and more politically incorrect) and I was again completely seduced by it. LOVE this book. Could not be written today -- too carefree in its contempt. But very very funny.
May 1, 2024
the only way i can think to describe this book is that it gives me the same feeling as reading a reddit aita post. do i think it’s “good”? no. do i enjoy reading it in a nosy, schadenfreude way? absolutely.
aita for lying to a woman and her grandmother about who i am so i can rent their pool house and try to steal the grandmother’s old love letters from president warren harding? i’m also dating the woman to try to get the letters (even though i find her disgusting) if that makes a difference.
aita for lying to a woman and her grandmother about who i am so i can rent their pool house and try to steal the grandmother’s old love letters from president warren harding? i’m also dating the woman to try to get the letters (even though i find her disgusting) if that makes a difference.
August 12, 2025
Kinda all over the place, which I mean as a compliment, as a slight detraction, and a sign of declining mental faculties due to staying up too late to finish reading it
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March 29, 2024DNF :/ too many f-slurs for me when i already was eh about it
January 1, 2024
There are reprehensible narrators, and then there is Plunket’s miserably cruel, racist, fatphobic, homophobic, closeted Elliot Weiner. It’s a comic novel with a singular voice and a great premise: Weiner is a snob and a scholar who leaves the East Coast for Hollywood, where he endeavors to seduce the granddaughter of Warren Harding’s mistress to access the president’s pornographic love letters. Nevertheless, I’m still not sure how this woman born in the 1980s managed to finish this novel—the narrator is just too much for me, as I suppose a 45 year old caricature of a bigot would be. Calling this novel “of its time” feels like an understatement.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
February 5, 2020
Solid middle ground territory. I forget where I even ran across the recommendation for this novel, but it was purported to be uproariously funny. It was marginally funny. Certainly better than just okay but never bordering on grand or among my favorites. Too often I lost the overall plot of the book (trying to get illicit papers about the former President Warren G. Harding) because the character just didn’t seem that intent on getting it done. So it tended to meander and told humorous anecdotes instead. Not a bad read (although it was poorly edited) but nothing incredible either.
July 4, 2023
Calling this book funny is weird! The main character is an irredeemable asshole who just constantly fat-shames another character. I know it’s supposed to be satirical but I found it pretty loathsome.
July 28, 2023
I was excited to read this book, originally published in 1992, because of all the reviews saying it was the funniest book they ever read. And all the cool people seem to be rediscovering it. Sad to say, I am not one of the cool people.
June 24, 2023
not really very good
This is not a great book. It has bits of humor but it is mostly just dumbly contrived. It seems like a script for a low grade B movie for teenagers.
This is not a great book. It has bits of humor but it is mostly just dumbly contrived. It seems like a script for a low grade B movie for teenagers.
October 13, 2023
This is the worst book I've ever read.
June 24, 2024
Word of warning. This book's protagonist hates everyone and spends the entire book making snarky comments about men, women, the upper classes, the lower classes, grad students, Puerto Ricans, gay people, fat people, people from the South, people from NYC, people from LA, feminists, Republicans, the elderly...you name it and he has a bitchy comment about it. It appears the majority of one star reviews are from people upset with his negativity. If you struggle reading character's thoughts that differ from your own, do not read this book. You have been warned.
Personally, I found the book funny. Humor is so subjective and what I find funny you may find dull as dishwater. If you find the quotes below amusing then you should check out the book.
Pam is thirty-five, somewhat older than myself. She's terrified she's going to end up one of those women you see all the time in the Village, dressed in a black turtleneck with a lot of Navajo jewelry, hair in a bun, attending meetings about social change. And quite frankly, so am I.
She was a good student, an excellent pianist, and after recovery from a recurring bout of ringworm, a budding beauty.
She blamed her lack of success on prejudice against midwesterners, though others attributed it to a slight speech defect (she clipped her consonants; this was later corrected), plus the fact that she was woefully untalented. Emily Frobisher, who knew her at the time, said years later, "Rebekah was a terrible actress. Whenever she started to act, her eyes bulged out so bad you thought they were going to pop out and land in the front row."
The man next to me moved his stool a little closer. He was tall and thin, with a lie-down crew cut and a beaten look. He was wearing a leisure suit, a raspberry plaid, with some peculiar stains on the front. Axle grease, they looked like. I got the feeling he was out on a day pass from somewhere.
Bert would have loved Pete's den. Here, the decorator had truly let his imagination run wild. He had created a Bavarian fantasy, a perfect little Bierstube complete with all sorts of Gemütlich touches: rows and rows of beer steins, a stuffed rabbit over the mantel, and some leather furniture so masculine I was surprised to hear there was a decorator involved. It was here, Eve told me, Pete loved to sit and read scripts, listening to some Studentenfest music on the stereo in the company of his German shepherds, Heidi and Panzer. This canine duo was so vicious they had to be locked in the cellar before anybody was allowed to answer the door.
it was that mindless chatter that you'd use to comfort somebody whose family was wiped out in a flood.
Whenever Sharon screams - she screams all the time, man--I yell, 'You hear that, you cops? You know what that sound is? That's me your mother!" He ate a mint. "You got a girlfriend?" I was so mesmerized by Osvaldo's adventures that I wondered if Pam would even qualify under his definition of the term. God knows we never pulled any parking lot stunts. Neither of us even had a car. Although I do remember once we were going at it on the terrace of her aunt's apartment on Central Park West. However, I rolled over on a brick and scraped my shoulder, so we had to call it quits. And a good thing, too, since her aunt got about five minutes later and went right to the terrace to see if the bird feeder needed refilling. Imagine doing something like that at one in the morning. It really threw us for a loop.
If you had told me two months ago that a phone call from an eighty-four-year-old with a free parking space would cause me to enter into a euphoric state unequaled since the day I received an unexpected tax of $1,400, I would have thought it highly unlikely.
Ned took his new job with all the seriousness of an stringing beads.
I'm one of those people who tend to get very nervous if something is about to happen. It doesn't have to be earth shattering; I'm incapacitated waiting for the carpet installers to come over. So you can imagine how I felt anticipating my date with Jonica.
"Yoo hoo, a voice behind me called out. I turned to see Jonica descending the stairs. She was dressed like a little English boy: a vest, knickers, a little tweed cap. Well, there was one problem solved. With her in that getup, nobody would give me a second glance. Besides, I couldn't change to my tweed jacket now. We'd look like father and son.
Then, all of a sudden, people started streaming in like they'd just got off a bus. Women mostly, with severe haircuts and aviator glasses. It hit me what an important moment in feminist fashion it was when Gloria Steinem dropped by her optician's and said, "T'll take those."
I knew right away I wasn't going to like the play. No plot, no jokes, and God knows, no stars. Just eight ugly girls whining about rejection. Well, I'll say this for them- they looked like experts on the subject.
It was like overhearing gossip about yourself: agonizing, but you wouldn't leave even if the house were on fire.
Jonicas father may have been no Errol Flynn, but he was in a lot better shape than old Dr. Pratt, who kept a walker parked next to his chair and had such bad liver spots he looked like a Dalmatian.
Jonica's wedding picture, taken seconds after the ceremony at one of those quickie chapels in Las Vegas. Vernon was what they call a "tough ." He had homemade tattoos on the back of his hands, swastikas mostly ("Nazi signs," Jonica called them), and a narcissistic scowl on his face. Jonica looked happy and terrified at the same time, like she expected to get killed on the honeymoon but had decided it was worth it.
Alice Amber, one of those women who must "put on her face" each morning, has been negligent about this chore today; she got as far as her eyes and then abandoned the task altogether, hoping, no doubt, that no one would notice. But notice they do; how could it be otherwise when, at twenty paces, she resembles nothing so much as a wizened racoon.
We stand by the bar and survey the crowd. We don't have much to say; small talk seems inappropriate during such an intense experience. Eve warns us when a particularly famous person is walking by by making a sound I find hard to describe, a sort of frantic keening noise similar to what my parents' dog does when she has been forbidden to bark but nevertheless remains extremely agitated.
By this time, it has dawned on me that there are two types of people at the party: the glamorous celebrities and the four of us. Greetings from Carol Burnett notwithstanding, Eve's real place on the Beverly Hills social ladder has become blindingly clear. It is down toward the bottom and slightly off to the side. The obsequious way she defers to Eydie Gormé at the crudité bowl clinches things.
For what seemed like hours Vernon and I answered Jonica's painfully mumbled questions about little Warren and Mrs. Kinney, making it sound like not only had they totally adjusted to Jonica's absence but they were giving each other such strength and that the Reader's Digest was interested in serial rights. This topic finally exhausted, I snuck a peek at my watch. We had been there three minutes.
A yellow school bus pulled up and dislodged a braying contingent of the shaky-legged elderly, all of them wanting to know where the nearest bathroom was.
We helped ourselves to the tacos Howard Kesselbaum had brought. Tacos! That's how in touch he was with the elderly. Have you ever watched an old person trying to eat a taco? They'd have an easier time landing a DC-10.
Howard Kesselbaum, hands in his pockets and leaning so close to the mike he looked like he was going to start sipping water from it,
The French people were examining Sweet 'n Low packets, trying to figure out what they were. I guess they don't have those in France, thought. No wonder they lost the war.
Personally, I found the book funny. Humor is so subjective and what I find funny you may find dull as dishwater. If you find the quotes below amusing then you should check out the book.
Pam is thirty-five, somewhat older than myself. She's terrified she's going to end up one of those women you see all the time in the Village, dressed in a black turtleneck with a lot of Navajo jewelry, hair in a bun, attending meetings about social change. And quite frankly, so am I.
She was a good student, an excellent pianist, and after recovery from a recurring bout of ringworm, a budding beauty.
She blamed her lack of success on prejudice against midwesterners, though others attributed it to a slight speech defect (she clipped her consonants; this was later corrected), plus the fact that she was woefully untalented. Emily Frobisher, who knew her at the time, said years later, "Rebekah was a terrible actress. Whenever she started to act, her eyes bulged out so bad you thought they were going to pop out and land in the front row."
The man next to me moved his stool a little closer. He was tall and thin, with a lie-down crew cut and a beaten look. He was wearing a leisure suit, a raspberry plaid, with some peculiar stains on the front. Axle grease, they looked like. I got the feeling he was out on a day pass from somewhere.
Bert would have loved Pete's den. Here, the decorator had truly let his imagination run wild. He had created a Bavarian fantasy, a perfect little Bierstube complete with all sorts of Gemütlich touches: rows and rows of beer steins, a stuffed rabbit over the mantel, and some leather furniture so masculine I was surprised to hear there was a decorator involved. It was here, Eve told me, Pete loved to sit and read scripts, listening to some Studentenfest music on the stereo in the company of his German shepherds, Heidi and Panzer. This canine duo was so vicious they had to be locked in the cellar before anybody was allowed to answer the door.
it was that mindless chatter that you'd use to comfort somebody whose family was wiped out in a flood.
Whenever Sharon screams - she screams all the time, man--I yell, 'You hear that, you cops? You know what that sound is? That's me your mother!" He ate a mint. "You got a girlfriend?" I was so mesmerized by Osvaldo's adventures that I wondered if Pam would even qualify under his definition of the term. God knows we never pulled any parking lot stunts. Neither of us even had a car. Although I do remember once we were going at it on the terrace of her aunt's apartment on Central Park West. However, I rolled over on a brick and scraped my shoulder, so we had to call it quits. And a good thing, too, since her aunt got about five minutes later and went right to the terrace to see if the bird feeder needed refilling. Imagine doing something like that at one in the morning. It really threw us for a loop.
If you had told me two months ago that a phone call from an eighty-four-year-old with a free parking space would cause me to enter into a euphoric state unequaled since the day I received an unexpected tax of $1,400, I would have thought it highly unlikely.
Ned took his new job with all the seriousness of an stringing beads.
I'm one of those people who tend to get very nervous if something is about to happen. It doesn't have to be earth shattering; I'm incapacitated waiting for the carpet installers to come over. So you can imagine how I felt anticipating my date with Jonica.
"Yoo hoo, a voice behind me called out. I turned to see Jonica descending the stairs. She was dressed like a little English boy: a vest, knickers, a little tweed cap. Well, there was one problem solved. With her in that getup, nobody would give me a second glance. Besides, I couldn't change to my tweed jacket now. We'd look like father and son.
Then, all of a sudden, people started streaming in like they'd just got off a bus. Women mostly, with severe haircuts and aviator glasses. It hit me what an important moment in feminist fashion it was when Gloria Steinem dropped by her optician's and said, "T'll take those."
I knew right away I wasn't going to like the play. No plot, no jokes, and God knows, no stars. Just eight ugly girls whining about rejection. Well, I'll say this for them- they looked like experts on the subject.
It was like overhearing gossip about yourself: agonizing, but you wouldn't leave even if the house were on fire.
Jonicas father may have been no Errol Flynn, but he was in a lot better shape than old Dr. Pratt, who kept a walker parked next to his chair and had such bad liver spots he looked like a Dalmatian.
Jonica's wedding picture, taken seconds after the ceremony at one of those quickie chapels in Las Vegas. Vernon was what they call a "tough ." He had homemade tattoos on the back of his hands, swastikas mostly ("Nazi signs," Jonica called them), and a narcissistic scowl on his face. Jonica looked happy and terrified at the same time, like she expected to get killed on the honeymoon but had decided it was worth it.
Alice Amber, one of those women who must "put on her face" each morning, has been negligent about this chore today; she got as far as her eyes and then abandoned the task altogether, hoping, no doubt, that no one would notice. But notice they do; how could it be otherwise when, at twenty paces, she resembles nothing so much as a wizened racoon.
We stand by the bar and survey the crowd. We don't have much to say; small talk seems inappropriate during such an intense experience. Eve warns us when a particularly famous person is walking by by making a sound I find hard to describe, a sort of frantic keening noise similar to what my parents' dog does when she has been forbidden to bark but nevertheless remains extremely agitated.
By this time, it has dawned on me that there are two types of people at the party: the glamorous celebrities and the four of us. Greetings from Carol Burnett notwithstanding, Eve's real place on the Beverly Hills social ladder has become blindingly clear. It is down toward the bottom and slightly off to the side. The obsequious way she defers to Eydie Gormé at the crudité bowl clinches things.
For what seemed like hours Vernon and I answered Jonica's painfully mumbled questions about little Warren and Mrs. Kinney, making it sound like not only had they totally adjusted to Jonica's absence but they were giving each other such strength and that the Reader's Digest was interested in serial rights. This topic finally exhausted, I snuck a peek at my watch. We had been there three minutes.
A yellow school bus pulled up and dislodged a braying contingent of the shaky-legged elderly, all of them wanting to know where the nearest bathroom was.
We helped ourselves to the tacos Howard Kesselbaum had brought. Tacos! That's how in touch he was with the elderly. Have you ever watched an old person trying to eat a taco? They'd have an easier time landing a DC-10.
Howard Kesselbaum, hands in his pockets and leaning so close to the mike he looked like he was going to start sipping water from it,
The French people were examining Sweet 'n Low packets, trying to figure out what they were. I guess they don't have those in France, thought. No wonder they lost the war.
October 24, 2025
Nota: 5 sobre 5
Premisa:
Elliot tiene un objetivo clarísimo en la vida: hacerse con las cartas eróticas que tiene guardadas la antigua amante del ya fallecido presidente Harding, ya que podrían ser clave en su futuro académico y profesional. No habrá obstáculo que se le resista. Le acompañaremos en su alocada cruzada, comprobando que no hay circunstancia rocambolesca que no se cruce en su camino.
Opinión:
Solo tuve que leer "una sátira corrosiva y sin tapujos" en la contracubierta del libro para saber que era para mí. ¿Una novela que utiliza el humor gamberro al por mayor? No necesito mayor reclamo, independientemente de la época del año, de mi estado de ánimo o del último título que haya tenido entre mis manos. El humor es medicina y posible estilo de vida, aunque cueste mantener un equilibrio con él.
Plunket construye un protagonista mezquino, rencoroso, egoísta y avaricioso. Una joya de la especie humana que reúne casi todas nuestras potenciales bajezas. Irremediablemente, es espejo de muchas conductas y formas de pensar que observamos o protagonizamos en nuestro día a día. Su objetivo es tan surrealista y rocambolesco que tiñe, ya solo con su existencia, de comicidad la trama.
El desarrollo potencia su hilaridad mediante situaciones de lo más inconvenientes y disparatadas. Elliot va conociendo a personajes variopintos, que propician una sátira y crítica social punzante, pero dirigida de forma sutil y gamberra. Un sentido del humor de lo más macarra, absurdo e inteligente. He de decir que temí que llegase al histrionismo y perdiese así efecto y potencia, pero mis miedos no llegaron a materializarse en ningún momento. Y mira que es difícil no hacerlo con una trama tan alocada.
He de mencionar su equilibrio en el ritmo narrativo y el interés que despierta en el lector, ya que en ningún momento pierde la fuerza, sino todo lo contrario. El final, por consiguiente, es un frenesí de casualidades y despropósitos que pone el broche perfecto a un relato que presume de equilibrismo. Consigue enarbolar un sentido del humor ácido y sangrante que ha mejorado significativamente cada uno de los días en que he entrado en contacto con él.
No sé si se la podría recomendar a todo el mundo, porque el sentido del humor es siempre muy personal (a la vez que revelador). Pero solo os puedo decir que no recuerdo haberme reído más con ningún otro libro en la vida. Así que se ha ganado un puesto bien merecido en la estantería más protegida de mi casa.
Premisa:
Elliot tiene un objetivo clarísimo en la vida: hacerse con las cartas eróticas que tiene guardadas la antigua amante del ya fallecido presidente Harding, ya que podrían ser clave en su futuro académico y profesional. No habrá obstáculo que se le resista. Le acompañaremos en su alocada cruzada, comprobando que no hay circunstancia rocambolesca que no se cruce en su camino.
Opinión:
Solo tuve que leer "una sátira corrosiva y sin tapujos" en la contracubierta del libro para saber que era para mí. ¿Una novela que utiliza el humor gamberro al por mayor? No necesito mayor reclamo, independientemente de la época del año, de mi estado de ánimo o del último título que haya tenido entre mis manos. El humor es medicina y posible estilo de vida, aunque cueste mantener un equilibrio con él.
Plunket construye un protagonista mezquino, rencoroso, egoísta y avaricioso. Una joya de la especie humana que reúne casi todas nuestras potenciales bajezas. Irremediablemente, es espejo de muchas conductas y formas de pensar que observamos o protagonizamos en nuestro día a día. Su objetivo es tan surrealista y rocambolesco que tiñe, ya solo con su existencia, de comicidad la trama.
El desarrollo potencia su hilaridad mediante situaciones de lo más inconvenientes y disparatadas. Elliot va conociendo a personajes variopintos, que propician una sátira y crítica social punzante, pero dirigida de forma sutil y gamberra. Un sentido del humor de lo más macarra, absurdo e inteligente. He de decir que temí que llegase al histrionismo y perdiese así efecto y potencia, pero mis miedos no llegaron a materializarse en ningún momento. Y mira que es difícil no hacerlo con una trama tan alocada.
He de mencionar su equilibrio en el ritmo narrativo y el interés que despierta en el lector, ya que en ningún momento pierde la fuerza, sino todo lo contrario. El final, por consiguiente, es un frenesí de casualidades y despropósitos que pone el broche perfecto a un relato que presume de equilibrismo. Consigue enarbolar un sentido del humor ácido y sangrante que ha mejorado significativamente cada uno de los días en que he entrado en contacto con él.
No sé si se la podría recomendar a todo el mundo, porque el sentido del humor es siempre muy personal (a la vez que revelador). Pero solo os puedo decir que no recuerdo haberme reído más con ningún otro libro en la vida. Así que se ha ganado un puesto bien merecido en la estantería más protegida de mi casa.
July 15, 2024
This is, at times, an unbearably madcap book. Rodney Elliot Wiener is a former zoo-publicist turned college professor who specializes in "gossip history", particularly the affairs of the one-time president, Warren Harding. In this parodic remake of The Aspern Papers, Weiner is trying to obtain the hidden love letters of Harding from the now eighty-year-old secret mistress. He rents a poolhouse at her Hollywood home, starts dating her obtuse and needy granddaughter and spends his daytime desultorily strategizing about how to purloin her trove of letters. The plot is sheer comedy of errors, as Weiner's attempts to ingratiate himself with the old lady and get into her house inevitably lead to mishaps and misadventures (such as the police inspecting the contents of his garbage to find copies of BDSM magazines...) There is nothing likable about Weiner: this first-person account is full of racist, homophobic, misogynistic, fat-shaming tirades. He is petty, judgmental, cunning and manipulative, a fame-hungry, celebrity-seeking narcissist who's either going to expose one of the biggest affairs of political history or write a cookbook. Except for money and professional glory, his only genuine passions seem to be dinner-parties and Morris dancing.
Maybe Weiner is gay. In his foreword to the first edition, Robert Plunket explains that he finally understood Henry James' The Aspern Papers when he realized that the protagonist was gay and that all his relationships with the female characters were one of a gay men. Is Weiner gay too? He is certainly an inscrutable misanthrope. He surrounds himself with women and he seems to prefer catty banter over romantic intimacy—sex is just a messy means to an end. In his introduction, Danzy Senna welcomes the guile and the bitchiness of the book. So much of gay literature presents good and noble gay men, sympathetic victims, sentimental stories of tragedy and tenderness —the genre of Gay Sincerity Fiction—but My Search for Warren Harding gives a truly hatable villain, a closeted peevish man who loves gossip, revels in cynicism and is thoroughly selfish.
It's a bonkers, uncensored, Gonzo comedy. Sometimes painful to read, sometimes a little too contrived.
Maybe Weiner is gay. In his foreword to the first edition, Robert Plunket explains that he finally understood Henry James' The Aspern Papers when he realized that the protagonist was gay and that all his relationships with the female characters were one of a gay men. Is Weiner gay too? He is certainly an inscrutable misanthrope. He surrounds himself with women and he seems to prefer catty banter over romantic intimacy—sex is just a messy means to an end. In his introduction, Danzy Senna welcomes the guile and the bitchiness of the book. So much of gay literature presents good and noble gay men, sympathetic victims, sentimental stories of tragedy and tenderness —the genre of Gay Sincerity Fiction—but My Search for Warren Harding gives a truly hatable villain, a closeted peevish man who loves gossip, revels in cynicism and is thoroughly selfish.
It's a bonkers, uncensored, Gonzo comedy. Sometimes painful to read, sometimes a little too contrived.
January 17, 2025
I laughed loud at some points. It just didn’t add up to much at the end.
April 13, 2024
Now this is what satire is all about. In spite of a few cringe-inducing passages that haven’t aged so well, Plunket creates a world that inebriates the reader and elicited some genuine laughs from me.
In many ways this book feels like a relic of its time — comparing Harding to Reagan and Elliot calling up TWA to book a plane ticket admittedly aren’t the most relatable. Yet in other ways “My Search” feels deeply relatable, capturing a world torn between social extremes that doesn’t feel too different from today.
I hope the 2023 republication brings “My Search” the attention it so clearly deserves, as Robert Plunket’s one hit wonder does not deserve to be cast along the literary wayside.
In many ways this book feels like a relic of its time — comparing Harding to Reagan and Elliot calling up TWA to book a plane ticket admittedly aren’t the most relatable. Yet in other ways “My Search” feels deeply relatable, capturing a world torn between social extremes that doesn’t feel too different from today.
I hope the 2023 republication brings “My Search” the attention it so clearly deserves, as Robert Plunket’s one hit wonder does not deserve to be cast along the literary wayside.
July 17, 2023
"My Search for Warren Harding" by Robert Plunkett, entails a humorous quest to uncover a lesser-known aspect of former President Warren Harding's life. The book's witty observations, clever remarks, and dry, self-deprecating humor reminds me of Larry David's comedic style. The book is believed to have inspired him. Plunkett's ability to find humor in unexpected places is unique. Fans of Seinfeld will appreciate that the book contains a scene that is said to have inspired Elaine Benes' wild dance style.
January 9, 2025
so, so so so so good.
i often avoid books that have been marketed on humor but the subject matter-illicit presidency-and the backflap description of the main character sold me. and the book was funny! funny in the best way-it wasn't full of jokes or [constant] nods to 70s/80s pop culture but was fully cemented in the particular psychosis of elliot in which everything he says, from the reader's point of view, makes him the butt of the joke. and it was perfect.
i often avoid books that have been marketed on humor but the subject matter-illicit presidency-and the backflap description of the main character sold me. and the book was funny! funny in the best way-it wasn't full of jokes or [constant] nods to 70s/80s pop culture but was fully cemented in the particular psychosis of elliot in which everything he says, from the reader's point of view, makes him the butt of the joke. and it was perfect.
July 27, 2024
Took me more than a year because I literally lost the book, but this is one of the funniest novels I've ever read. Stick it on the shelf beside Confederacy of Dunces and see if they start chatting
April 7, 2025
Funny, I never realized how effective peasant wisdom can be.
-p67
Robert Plunket’s novel was completely unknown to me until recently, when a New York publisher revived and re-issued this work that had been out of print for decades.
Apparently, Plunket has led a fascinating life (spanning much of North, Central, and South America), and he had recently retired from being a local Florida newspaper gossip columnist when the book was re-released in 2023.
“But enough about me. Let’s talk about you for a while. What do you think of my tits?”
-p75
The revival is a welcome one, to this reader. The first-person protagonist is an arrogant, irascible, hilarious, non-PC (by 1983 or today’s standards) intellectual. He catches wind of a possible mistress to 29th POTUS Warren G. Harding, and is determined to use subterfuge to find this elderly woman’s cache of letters so that he can write a book on the torrid love life of one of our (apparently) worst Presidents. What follows is a laid-back, caper-like series of shenanigans with Elliot, our crude and occasionally cruel main character.
I laughed out loud lots. I found the trip worthwhile, and our narrator was an observant, mean little snob who isn’t wrong about everything he wryly comments on. The novel is punchy and fun, so you should probably check it out.
Jesus, what people in California think is important.
-p96
-p67
Robert Plunket’s novel was completely unknown to me until recently, when a New York publisher revived and re-issued this work that had been out of print for decades.
Apparently, Plunket has led a fascinating life (spanning much of North, Central, and South America), and he had recently retired from being a local Florida newspaper gossip columnist when the book was re-released in 2023.
“But enough about me. Let’s talk about you for a while. What do you think of my tits?”
-p75
The revival is a welcome one, to this reader. The first-person protagonist is an arrogant, irascible, hilarious, non-PC (by 1983 or today’s standards) intellectual. He catches wind of a possible mistress to 29th POTUS Warren G. Harding, and is determined to use subterfuge to find this elderly woman’s cache of letters so that he can write a book on the torrid love life of one of our (apparently) worst Presidents. What follows is a laid-back, caper-like series of shenanigans with Elliot, our crude and occasionally cruel main character.
I laughed out loud lots. I found the trip worthwhile, and our narrator was an observant, mean little snob who isn’t wrong about everything he wryly comments on. The novel is punchy and fun, so you should probably check it out.
Jesus, what people in California think is important.
-p96
June 22, 2023
My jury is still out on this, but just on the strength of its being a very close rewrite of James' The Aspern Papers in modern terms (a bit the way the film Clueles was a 'rewrite' of Austen's Emma maybe) I just had had to read this. As such, it's funny enough, and Warren Harding is of course a weird enough president to offer some amusement simply by unraveling the gossip about him.
The book pales in actual comparison with James, of course (as which author's books wouldn't), it's all a bit loose and rambling, it sometimes has the tone of someone riffing at a party more than of a serious novelist trying to make a point. In fact, I'm fairly sure Plunket wasn't trying to make much of a point.
And there is the other connection that, when I was alerted to it in the foreword, makes this an interesting book to me: foreshadowings of a tv show that never tried to make a point, that was, actually, 'a show about nothing'. If Danzy Senna's foreword is to be believed, 'Rumor has it that Larry David was such a fan of the novel he kept copies of it available in the Seinfeld writing room and told his writers to imitate the tone.' That certainly makes some kind of sense.
The book pales in actual comparison with James, of course (as which author's books wouldn't), it's all a bit loose and rambling, it sometimes has the tone of someone riffing at a party more than of a serious novelist trying to make a point. In fact, I'm fairly sure Plunket wasn't trying to make much of a point.
And there is the other connection that, when I was alerted to it in the foreword, makes this an interesting book to me: foreshadowings of a tv show that never tried to make a point, that was, actually, 'a show about nothing'. If Danzy Senna's foreword is to be believed, 'Rumor has it that Larry David was such a fan of the novel he kept copies of it available in the Seinfeld writing room and told his writers to imitate the tone.' That certainly makes some kind of sense.
May 11, 2024
I enjoyed reading this book. It's fun. The premise is amusingly obscure and sets up the narrator, an aspiring historian who has picked maybe the worst way to become rich and famous, to act as a sort of bizzaro Jack Burden à la All The King's Men and describe the characters and their failings. It's insightful and often funny, like if David Attenborough smoked cheap weed and people watched in the unglamorous parts of Hollywood (which I believe is actually all of Hollywood).
There are some elements that have aged very poorly. There are dozens of uses of a gay slur that jump off of the page and it's actually important to the plot but also played for unfortunate humor that one of the characters is significantly overweight. These two features, especially the fat jokes, cost this book a star for me. It's good enough, however, that I still enjoyed reading it, but I'll be VERY cautious to recommend it to anyone.
There are some elements that have aged very poorly. There are dozens of uses of a gay slur that jump off of the page and it's actually important to the plot but also played for unfortunate humor that one of the characters is significantly overweight. These two features, especially the fat jokes, cost this book a star for me. It's good enough, however, that I still enjoyed reading it, but I'll be VERY cautious to recommend it to anyone.
September 16, 2024
What an absolutely strange book! "My Search for Warren Harding" was unavailable for years and has only recently been reprinted.
Plot: The completely unlikeable and closeted protagonist is trying to write a book about Warren Harding and wants to get the secret love letters from his old mistress. To do this, he lies, cheats, steals, and sleeps his way into a family that he thinks is trash. He is incapable of self-reflection and is a monster.
Also...this book was compelling and I couldn't but it down! The writing was fantastic and I finished it in a very short amount of time. I recommend this highly but be warned, it is unlike anything you've ever read. It's kind of like the reverse "Confederacy of Dunces."
Plot: The completely unlikeable and closeted protagonist is trying to write a book about Warren Harding and wants to get the secret love letters from his old mistress. To do this, he lies, cheats, steals, and sleeps his way into a family that he thinks is trash. He is incapable of self-reflection and is a monster.
Also...this book was compelling and I couldn't but it down! The writing was fantastic and I finished it in a very short amount of time. I recommend this highly but be warned, it is unlike anything you've ever read. It's kind of like the reverse "Confederacy of Dunces."
February 28, 2025
Quick thoughts: More quality chuckles than any of the “comic novels” I’ve read- Portis, Crumley, otoole, Semple, etc. Delightfully mean, with some incredible turns of phrase. Wonderful critiques of Los Angeles that ring true today. I live not far from the neighborhood he moves into and his descriptions were enjoyably familiar. In the final 1/3rd the plot disintegrates under Plunkets admirable commitment to tangential, multiple page bits and the explorations of new characters (Vernon). Part of the joy of this type of book is riding along w the author as that tension between what they think is funny/fascinating vs the demands of landing a plot arises. In this case the former takes precedence, and I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything else. Overall as fun and hilarious as promised
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April 17, 2025Don’t know if I’d label this a laugh riot exactly, but it is a (darkly) amusing portrait of America’s endearing-enervating towers of detritus treated with apt comic prose (“We ran in like a team of comic bank robbers, colliding with each other and all talking at once.”) Protagonist is the kind of character who you can really only read about with relish when he’s getting stretched on the metaphorical rack, and the book is largely that, although a part of me can’t help but wish there was maybe even more of it. Something appealingly ironic about the way some of the contemporary ‘70s-‘80s references now come across as more obscure than the faux-presidential lore-combing.
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