Many years ago, my friend Erica and I were talking about our favorite books, no longer in print, that we wished we could find again.* Erica told me about The Dud Avocado, a 1958 novel by Elaine Dundy, and how when she was living in London she found a copy and fell madly in love with it. Somewhere along the line she lost the book, and still searched used bookstores for a copy in the hope she would one day find it again.
Erica's description of the book made me want to read it, so I started looking for it too. In 1995 or so, I found myself in London, and I visited those great old bookstores on Charing Cross Road, hoping to find a copy to surprise Erica with. I didn't find it, but I did pick up a flyer about a book search service. (This, of course, was before Google and Alibris would make searching for out-of-print books easy.) So when I came back to the States, I filled in the form with the information I knew about the book, and mailed it off. Some months later, I was notified that a copy of
The Dud Avocado had been found. I received the book in the mail, from England, and presented it to Erica for her birthday. She was floored and delighted and tearful, and it's still the best gift I have ever given. After she had read it again, I read it, and so did our friend
Suzanne, and we all loved it.
I was in Green Apple books last weekend, and what do I see? A pile of Dud Avocado's,
reprinted in 2007, on the remaindered table (which seemed so weird considering all the trouble it took to get a copy in 1995), so I picked up one for $7 and now I am re-reading it. It really is the most delicious book.
This is from Amazon:
The Dud Avocado follows the romantic and comedic adventures of a young American who heads overseas to conquer Paris in the late 1950s. Edith Wharton and Henry James wrote about the American girl abroad, but it was Elaine Dundy’s Sally Jay Gorce who told us what she was really thinking. Charming, sexy, and hilarious, The Dud Avocado gained instant cult status when it was first published and it remains a timeless portrait of a woman hell-bent on living.
*My book in that conversation was Gran at Coalgate, which happily, I found again too.
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