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Another City, Not My Own

Posted on

Another City, Not My Own

Current Status:
In Season
Dominick Dunne

We gave it a B

A tardy addition to the bulging O.J. Simpsonography, Dominick Dunne’s Another City, Not My Own doesn’t so much turn the case inside out — leave that to the Larry Schillers of this lurid little world — as furnish the hateful thing with a fancy chintz slipcover. By dubbing it ”a novel in the form of a memoir” (it’s obviously the converse) and telling it through his familiar alter ego, Gus Bailey (An Inconvenient Woman), this high-society chronicler and inveterate name-dropper gets away with reporting all those toothsome, off-the-record bits of gossip that he couldn’t sneak into his Vanity Fair trial bulletins. No one dined out more lavishly on Simpson than Dunne, the recipient of endless hushed and conspiratorial confidences at the Palm and the Bel-Air and a nonstop whirl of parties. The thread binding this gadabout fluff is Dunne’s rage: rage at the man convicted of killing his daughter Dominique 15 years ago, stoking a lifelong obsession with justice; at kissy-kissy L.A. society for shunning him when he was a down-and-out producer; at a reporter who, jealous of the ringside courtroom seat afforded the author by Judge Ito, sneers that he is ”Judith Krantz in pants.” Even she probably wouldn’t have dared to shamelessly tack on Princess Diana and Andrew Cunanan as glitzy plot devices, but Dunne bobs and weaves so skillfully from Veronica Hearst to Heidi Fleiss that his fiction (or is it journalism?) is something like delicate needlework. Guiltily mouthwatering stuff. B