I recently ordered this book because a friend of mine recommends things like this to me, and the first pages in have been excruciating! The narrator tries hard to seem different, amused at the hubbub surrounding an auction and a visit by an artist in a gallery, but she just ends up sounding delusional. Twice she mentions how different she is because she smiles - as if no gallery receptionist ever smiles. This is not true, because I work in one, and I also frequent them. People are generally nice, and I do add people to the mailing list if they sign up. 

I hate the air of exclusivity books like these try to promulgate about the art world. It makes a lot of noise, alienates already alienated viewers from pursuing an interest in the arts, and affirms the superiority of the author - the author is one of those cultured few who has exclusif access to the most exclusif of exclusif areas: collectors’ homes, gallery dinners, museum openings, art fair shenanigans. These books all miss the point while casting a derisive blanket over the heart of what an art world circles around: the art, the fucking art, you morons!! 

If you care about art, do not under any circumstances read:

- Lulu meets God and doubts him by Danielle Ganek

- Seven days in the Art World by Sarah Thornton

- An Object of Beauty by Steve Martin