What Nora Knew

What Nora Knew

4.5 9
by Linda Yellin

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Molly Hallberg is a thirty-nine-year-old divorced writer living in New York City who wants her own column, a Wikipedia entry, and to never end up in her family’s Long Island upholstery business. For the past four years Molly’s been on staff for an online magazine, covering all the wacky assignments. She’s snuck vibrators through security scanners,…  See more details below


Molly Hallberg is a thirty-nine-year-old divorced writer living in New York City who wants her own column, a Wikipedia entry, and to never end up in her family’s Long Island upholstery business. For the past four years Molly’s been on staff for an online magazine, covering all the wacky assignments. She’s snuck vibrators through security scanners, speed-dated undercover, danced with Rockettes, and posed nude for a Soho art studio.

Fearless in everything except love, Molly is now dating a forty-four-year-old chiropractor. He’s comfortable, but safe. When Molly is assigned to write a piece about New York City romance "in the style of Nora Ephron," she flunks out big-time. She can’t recognize romance. And she can’t recognize the one man who can go one-on-one with her, the one man who gets her. But with wit, charm, whip-smart humor, and Nora Ephron’s romantic comedies, Molly learns to open her heart and suppress her cynicism in this bright, achingly funny novel.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Yellin’s second novel (after Such a Lovely Couple) is a roller-coaster of a romp about a writer careening through love and work in Manhattan as she nears 40. Molly Hallberg is divorced, dating a chiropractor, and writing colorful pieces for the Web site EyeSpy. She’s both settled and restless. Her editor assigns her to write a Nora Ephron–style piece on New York romance—an intimidating prospect for any writer. At a party, she meets bestselling author and ladies’ man Cameron Duncan, who gets under her skin and challenges her ideas about love and longevity. Molly maneuvers through all of this with the help of quirky coworkers, loyal best friends, and an affectionate, if odd, family. Ephron’s influence is felt everywhere in this novel, from Sleepless in Seattle references to the emphasis on the need to make grand gestures. However, Yellin manages to make her familiar premise and characters seem fresh and fun. Any woman in the heroine’s age range who’s lived in New York will both laugh and wince at the accuracy of Yellin’s details. Those who want to live in New York can hang on for a fun ride. Agent: Gail Hochman, Brandt and Hochman. (Jan.)
New York Journal of Books
"Beautifully emulating the Ephron-esque vibe, Linda Yellin's easygoing style and light humor elicit plenty of laughs - and lots of introspection. A fun and delightful read."
More magazine
"We'll have what she's having. A buoyant second novel that will really keep you smiling."
RT Book Reviews
"This lighthearted, fast-paced tale makes readers laugh out loud and root for the underdog."
Mindy Greenstein
“Breezy, fun, and worldly-wise, this memoir about love the second time around will put a never-ending smile on your face.”
Sam Apple
"Move over, Nora Ephron. There's a new humorist in town."
Sally Koslow
“A valentine for optimism, risk-taking, and love itself. With self-deprecating charm, Yellin takes her reader on a journey from Chicago to Manhattan, eviscerating New York City folkways with gentle yet biting wit.”
Sharyn Wolf
“Wit, energy, and enthusiasm . . . the kind of book that makes you glad that writers write.”
From the Publisher
“Linda is Tina Fey at the office, Erma Bombeck with her stepkids, and
Nora Ephron everywhere but the kitchen. I love this book. I couldn't stop reading."

—Nina DiSesa, author of Seducing the Boys Club

“The funny and touching truth about how a woman gets to happily-ever-after, a la Anita Loos and Dorothy Parker."

—Susan Spano, columnist and co-author of Women on Divorce

“Filled with lots of girl-talk, this memoir will appeal to readers who can’t get enough of the beginning, middle and sweet endings of love stories.” —Kirkus Reviews

"Compelling, funny, and fraught with human foibles, The Last Blind Date has you rooting for Yellin as you eagerly turn the pages."

—- Laurie Graff, author You Have to Kiss a Lot of Frogs

"The wit and verve of Susan Isaacs."

Publishers Weekly on Such a Lovely Couple

BN Romance Blog Heart-to-Heart
"This is why Linda Yellin's The Last Blind Date is the perfect story of falling in love: it doesn't exist in the fairy tale realm. It happened here - well, in New York City. What you'll take from this charming, breezy memoir of a long-distance love affair is that romance in reality is all the more rewarding for the practical ups and downs that come along for the ride…For Linda, love arrived with Randy, her almost-divorced, father of two, who lives in the entirely wrong city. These kind of mundane obstacles never appear in romance novels, but reading about Linda and Randy working through long-distance problems, blending a family, and breaking down the walls around her scarred heart will give you a renewed sense of joy. Fairy tales do come true.”
Jennie Field
"A story of a young marriage that subtly undoes itself until tragedy reveals its enduring depth....Yellin is such an accomplished storyteller that you feel in remarkably sturdy hands. Beautifully paced, both hilarious and affecting, you will never forget this couple, or their love that trumped fate."
Ann Hood
"Warm and funny and honest."
Elizabeth Villars
"Linda Yellin has moved into Wendy Wasserstein territory and made it her own.”
Susan Kenney
"Such a rare, ringing clarity of tone and vision...the emotions, the dialogue, the scenery are just dead on...I couldn't put it down."
Jennie Fields
"Hilarious. Unexpected. Knife-in-the-Side Sharp. Somewhere, surely, Nora Ephron is smiling."
Amanda Robb
"As romantic and fun as When Harry Met Sally or Sleepless in Seattle, Linda Yellin's hilarious, heartfelt novel is an urban fairy tale of sophisticated humor and touching charm."
Melissa Senate
Reading Linda Yellin is like spending much-needed time with your funniest, dearest friend.
Anita Hughes
"Filled with a delightful cast of characters, What Nora Knew is a smart, laugh-out-loud love story with a sparkling heroine. I loved it!"
Kathryn Leigh Scott
"With What Nora Knew, Linda Yellin has written an irresistibly funny, authentic novel about the two-steps-forward-one-step-back pursuit of life, love and career in New York City. She writes for all of us with Molly Hallberg's laugh-out-loud, poignant inability to accept she's met her equal, while everyone around her takes the plunge. Yellin is a Nora Ephron inspired humorist with a voice of her own."
Mia March
"Reading Linda Yellin is like spending much-needed time with your funniest, dearest friend."
Emily Listfield
“I laughed my way through Linda Yellin's What Nora Knew—when I wasn't nodding in recognition. Witty, wise, insightful,and altogether charming.”
Tracey Jackson
“Linda Yellin’s lively story sparkles and dances off the page.”
Christine Haag
“An engaging romp through one woman's quest to find love and happiness in Manhattan, Linda Yellin’s novel is by turns touching and funny, and her heroine has charm and chutzpah to spare.”
BN Romance Blog Heart-to-Heart on The Last Blind Date
"This is why Linda Yellin's The Last Blind Date is the perfect story of falling in love: it doesn't exist in the fairy tale realm. It happened here - well, in New York City. What you'll take from this charming, breezy memoir of a long-distance love affair is that romance in reality is all the more rewarding for the practical ups and downs that come along for the ride…For Linda, love arrived with Randy, her almost-divorced, father of two,who lives in the entirely wrong city. These kind of mundane obstacles never appear in romance novels, but reading about Linda and Randy working through long-distance problems, blending a family, and breaking down the walls around her scarred heart will give you a renewed sense of joy. Fairy tales do come true.”
Laurie Notaro
"A snappy romp with just the right amount of charm and backbone. I laughed and cheered the whole way through!"
Kirkus Reviews
When an online magazine writer is assigned an article about love, she tries--and fails--to emulate Nora Ephron but ends up starring in her own romance. Molly Hallberg's a divorced writer who'd rather do anything than end up working in her family's upholstery business--and she has. Employed by EyeSpy, an online magazine, she's chomping at the bit to get her own column and tries to prove her worth with her latest assignment, a piece about romance with a Nora Ephron slant. But Molly's the penultimate cynic, and researching the article's a struggle. She shares her life with a few close friends, a slightly eccentric but supportive family and a bland chiropractor boyfriend, Russell, who doesn't exactly set off any bells and whistles where Molly's concerned, but he's reliable. Molly spends three weeks interviewing people: strangers in Central Park, customers at Tiffany's, clients at a speed dating get-together and guests at her friend's posh party in the Hamptons. It's there that she meets celebrated author Cameron Duncan, and she's pretty sure he's a self-serving egotist. Although she fails miserably with the assignment, Molly runs into Cameron at almost every turn and verbally jousts with him about the nature of romance. Meanwhile, Molly's clinging to her comfortable relationship and researching some pretty crazy assignments that have her leaping out of planes, bicycling around New York City and sneaking well-disguised vibrators past security checkpoints. And as she watches classic Ephron movies for the zillionth time, she stubbornly continues to ignore the obvious--until her dreams begin to come true. Yellin's (The Last Blind Date, 2011, etc.) tribute is lighthearted amusement, a witty and entertaining story that holds no surprises but has plenty of laughable moments. She puts readers at ease with her comfortable writing style as she takes them on a whirlwind tour of New York from an ambitious and single female writer's point of view. Funny, fresh and written with flair.

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What Nora Knew

  • When Deirdre Dolson left a note on my desk requesting my presence in her office at 2:00 sharp, my first thought was What did I do wrong? My second thought was Hey, maybe I’m getting a raise! But that thought didn’t last as long as the first one.

    You may have read about Deirdre in the gossip columns—she employs a personal publicist to make sure you read about her. Good for business, she likes to say, but really, it’s just good for Deirdre. She’s the editor in chief of the online newsmagazine EyeSpy. Gossip! News! Pop Culture and Reviews! And the reason I have dental and a 401(k).

    The note was written in Deirdre’s signature purple ink. Her other signature is her headache-inducing perfume. She wears it by the gallon. I couldn’t tell if Deirdre personally deposited the message on my chair or if it was dropped off by her assistant, Gavin. Deirdre’s assistants are always male. I’ve worked here four years now, since the year after my divorce, and in that time she’s been through half a dozen assistants, all male.

    I got to the office around eleven, having written at home that morning. One of the perks of my job is you’re allowed to go off and be creative in other locales. Deirdre sees our main competitor as either Gawker or Jezebel; it’s hard to tell, but someone once told her that Gawker writers get to work at home, so now we get to do it, too.

    When I walked in, ass-kissing, backstabbing Emily Lawler was sitting in her adjacent cubicle with her nose in a book. Usually, she’s poking her nose into my business. Emily has this really white skin and really dark hair and round, dark eyes. She looks like Snow White minus the dwarfs. After I stowed my purse in my file drawer, next to my backup heels and box of Lipton chicken-soup packets, Emily popped up, looming over me with that cutsie, sneery face of hers, and said, “Good thing you showed up before two,” which proves she didn’t have the decency to even pretend she didn’t read my note. “Gavin was asking where you were.”

    “Oh, really?” I turned on my computer.

    “I told him if there’s something Deirdre needed, that I’d be happy to help.” She smiled her fake sweet smile that’s not meant to be sweet, just fake.

    “You’re a true pal, Emily.” I feigned intense typing to make my pal go away. “Must be nice to sit around reading all day.”

    Emily’s got the all-time cushiest of cushy jobs. She writes book reviews for EyeSpy. She held up a novel, Larceny among Lovers. The cover had a cornball illustration of a man, in a trench coat and fedora, standing in a doorway and casting a shadow across a dead woman’s legs.

    “This guy had to grow up with a lot of sisters,” she said, pointing to the author’s name. “He really understands women.”

    “Isn’t that a crime book?”

    “Criminals have sisters.”

    “Emily, can I pay you to go away?”

    “You wish,” she said and disappeared behind our mutual wall.

    When I first started at EyeSpy, we all had actual offices. Now only Deirdre and the CFO have offices. About a year ago they knocked down walls, squeezed us together, and knocked off a full floor’s rent. The official party line was that an open plan would foster communication and encourage rapport, but all that really happened was now everyone sits at their desk listening to iPods, blocking out any distractions and each other.

    Maybe Deirdre wanted to meet to tell me what a commendable job I was doing. We’d discuss moving my office; she’d say I deserved any cubicle of my choice. Maybe she was so thrilled with me that I could request my own column again. I do that a lot. Request a column. And maybe this time she’d say yes!

    Well, maybe.

    Before EyeSpy, I was writing for Hipp magazine, which was anything but. Hipp’s readership was decent until the magazine industry went into the toilet, and even after that it was still semidecent, but their readers are aging—more interested in hip replacements than hip nightclubs, a side effect of Hipp not converting to an online format. The good news was, the magazine was floundering enough that they pretty much let me do whatever I wanted, which is how I got to write a piece about a powerful, well-known, unnamed New York divorce attorney who cheated on his expense account and did unflattering impersonations of his clients.

    Oh, and who’d recently dumped his journalist wife.

    I still don’t know how Deirdre ended up reading the story—she must have been at her beauty salon or something—but she called me at Hipp and introduced herself. Like I wouldn’t know who she was!

    “Loved your piece on Evan Naboshek,” she said. “You did to him what Nora Ephron did to Carl Bernstein.”

    “Technically that piece wasn’t about my ex-husband; it was about—”

    “Your ex?”

    “My ex.”

    “Did you hear from him?”

    “A cease-and-desist order, although it was too late to cease or desist because the piece was already published.”

    “You’d think he’d be a smarter lawyer than that.”

    “You’d think.”

    She asked me to send her my résumé. To say I hung up the phone and wanted to knock out a few cartwheels would be an understatement.

    For years, my résumé was a testament to hyperbole, exaggeration, and creative fiction. Two days after graduating college I moved to the city to be a famous writer, vowing to never end up in my family’s Long Island upholstery business. (Four generations of upholsterers—if you count my sister—a solid, successful business, and my worst nightmare.) Appalled to discover my journalism degree did not lead to offers to run the New York Times or write cover stories for Time magazine, I re-aimed my career goal to paying the rent.

    I started with a job at Starbucks that came with a cute title but lousy pay. To compensate for the gaping hole in my budget, Barista Molly spent the next two years posing nude three nights a week at a SoHo art studio. I developed a talent for holding still without shifting or wobbling or needing to pee. During breaks I’d slip on my robe and walk from easel to easel to see how I’d turned out. Despite my lifelong desire to look mysterious and exotic, I am incorrigibly fresh-faced and all-American. Like somebody whose face belongs on a box of laundry detergent. Pretty enough to be pretty, but maybe not so pretty as to stand out in a crowd. Unless, of course, I’m the only naked person in the room. Then you might notice me.

    Along the way I sold ballet shoes, house-sat, cat-sat, and worked behind a Hertz rent-a-car counter, a job I left the nanosecond I got hired as an advertising writer for kids’ cereals. That job lasted until the client meeting where I made an unfortunate comment involving the word crap, followed by a job as a technical writer for a mountain-biking company, until it was discovered I knew everything about lying my way through an interview, and nothing about technical writing or mountain biking. Next came a few years writing for a Weight Watchers–type website, and one Christmas season selling Mixmasters and can openers in the appliance department at Bloomingdale’s. I stumbled onto my job at Hipp because of someone I slept with whom I had no business sleeping with right after my divorce, but my self-esteem at the time wasn’t exactly helping me make sound decisions.

    Other people might have read a résumé like mine and thought, No focus.

    Not Deirdre. She got it in her head that I was some sort of fearless daredevil who’d do anything. For my interview we met in her office “before hours,” which for her meant before her 8:00 a.m. meeting, and for me meant before I was actually awake. When she offered me a cup of coffee, I didn’t tell her I’d already had two.

    Deirdre’s office at the time was all-white laminate and chrome and glass with a white carpet. Now it’s all-white laminate and chrome and glass with a gray carpet. She sat on one side of her glass-top desk; I sat on the other on a white Mies van der Rohe pavilion chair. A side benefit of a family in the upholstery business—you know your furniture styles.

    “So tell me about this nude-modeling job,” she said, running her gel-tipped fingernails through her spiked, blond hair. Deirdre dresses young for her age—her age at the time being forty-eight, but her wardrobe more like eighteen, with her low-cut dresses and ankle-high boots and enough bracelets to open a jewelry stand. “What did you get from the experience?”

    “Fourteen dollars an hour plus tip jar,” I said. “It helped pay expenses.”

    “Were you self-conscious?”

    “It’s not a good job for self-conscious people.”

    “It must have required a certain amount of bravado.” Deirdre held out a bowl and offered me a cashew. I shook my head no; I didn’t want nuts in my teeth. “I admire that,” she said. “The piece about your ex demonstrated bravado.”

    I tried to look full of bravado while she told me she needed a writer who’d be willing to take on the more creative challenges. She emphasized the word challenges with an odd smirk.

    “Will it involve removing my clothes?” I asked.

    “No. It requires a good attitude and a sense of humor.”

    A good attitude and sense of humor? How tough could that be?

    Deirdre told me the job specifics and benefits and gave an example of a typical assignment, something about a pit crew at a racetrack and changing tires under duress, but I was too busy getting inwardly thrilled from hearing the salary and how I could come and go as I pleased and that she didn’t believe in chaining her writers to their desks. By then I couldn’t get the words out of my mouth fast enough when I said, “I’ll take it!”

    So while Emily sits on her sweet ass reviewing books for her column, Emily Literati, I get assigned all the whack job pieces, or what used to be called human interest, but in my case is more like human sacrifice.

    I reviewed my last several assignments in my head looking for ways I might have screwed up, reasons why Deirdre might have requested our 2:00 meeting.

    Let’s see, the aerial-yoga class where I had to swing upside down on fabric trapezes? No. Deirdre liked that piece. The shooting-range-in-New-Jersey article also went well, and I really think the gentleman from Passaic got over that little incident with the clay pigeons. And Deirdre wrote me a purple-inked memo congratulating me on my undercover bra-fitter piece. We received all sorts of comments online, most of them positive, except from that one woman who swore she’d never shop at the Brassiere Firm again. (Honest, Ms. 42D, I swear it wasn’t my fault.)

    I couldn’t come up with anything, at least not anything that would get me fired. Of course, I’d been fired enough times in the past to know you never know.

    *  *  *

    “I want you to write a piece about romance,” Deirdre was saying to me, the two of us sitting on opposite sides of her big-kahuna desk.

    “Me? Really?” I’m the last person on the planet Earth I’d assign to write about romance. Maybe a nice dissertation about loser romance, but any other expertise on my part was highly questionable.

    “Did you see that video of the guy proposing at a basketball game?” Deirdre said. “The couple on a Kiss Cam?”

    “The viral one, where the girlfriend walked out and left the guy on one knee?”

    We cringed in unison.

    “How can anyone so totally misread his relationship?” Deirdre said.

    Been there, done that, I thought.

    “He’s buying diamonds while she’s signing on to Match. What made him think she was the one?” Deirdre paused, looked at me, and waited.

    I finally said, “That was a rhetorical question, right?”

    She leaned forward, all earnest and excited. “What with texting, skyping, online dating, how’s anyone to know what’s real? How does romance cut through the digital bullshit?” Deirdre’s energy went into overdrive. “We’ll make this a big article, have you question people on how they recognized their soul mates.” I didn’t mention that I thought soul mates were bullshit. “Did their eyes meet across a crowded bar? Did a brick land on their head? Or did they get humiliated on a Kiss Cam?”

    I said I believed any circumstances leading to a Kiss Cam were humiliating.

    Deirdre swept her hands in the air, her bracelets jangling. “ ‘Cyberdate? Or Soul Mate?’ ” She was writing headlines in the air. “ ‘Love at First Sight? Or First Gigabyte?’ ” She zoomed her attention back to me. “I’m giving you three weeks.”

    Boondoggle! Turnaround time on assignments is usually never more than a few days. Then Deirdre explained she wanted an extensive, well-researched piece with lots of interviews; and I’d be writing it in addition to my other assignments. A certain personality type might have thought, What an opportunity! I was thinking, Dammit, extra work.

    “Sound good?” she said.

    “What an opportunity!” I said.

    “I want this to be sharp, witty, candid. Poignant and intimate. Written like Nora Ephron.”

    I gulped. An audible, embarrassing gulp. “But I’m not Nora Ephron.”

    “You aren’t Abe Lincoln, but you can study the Civil War.”

    Before I could respond, Deirdre told me she was simply unable to emphasize the importance of the assignment. Then spent the next five minutes emphasizing it.

    I sat there wondering what was the downside of bungling the job. Failure? Embarrassment? The disdain of my peers? Versus pissing off Deirdre if I said thanks, but no thanks. My Visa bill flashed before my eyes. “Tell me more,” I said.

    “Make it fun and romantic. Like Nora’s movies,” Deirdre said.

    “Fun and romantic. Like her movies. Fine. Got that.” Holy shit. “Do you mind me asking why you chose me for this assignment?”

    Deirdre laughed. “You’re not afraid to ask people personal questions.”

    “Can I ask you a question?”

    Deirdre frowned. Sat back.

    “If I do a good job on this, can we talk about me writing a column? I’d call it MyEye. Mainly the same sort of things I’m writing already, but with, you know, my picture and name on top.”

    “See,” Deirdre said. “You’ve got nerve. That’s why I value you.” She hit her buzzer and barked into the little black intercom, “Gavin! Coffee!” She smiled at me, nodding at the same time. The smile meant You can go now. The nod meant Right now.

    But on my way out of her office, she added, “Let’s see how you do on your Nora piece. Then we’ll talk.”

    *  *  *

    As soon as I returned to my cubicle, Emily’s head floated over our divider. “Hi!” she said, as if she were surprised to see me, instead of what she really was—going crazy waiting to hear what had transpired between Deirdre and me.

    A crueler, unkinder Molly Hallberg might have taken serious advantage of the situation, told Emily that I was getting promoted, that I was Emily’s new editor, and that my first official act was to slash her salary by 50 percent.

    “Hi back,” I said, not particularly enthusiastic.

    “How’d things go for your meeting?”

    “Great! I’m getting promoted, I’m your new editor, and for my first official act I’m slashing your salary by fifty percent.”

    “Hardee-har-har,” Emily said. “What did Deirdre want to talk about?”

    “Oh, the usual. Financial advice. Love-life advice.”

    “Well, I hope she didn’t stick you with that soul-mate assignment. Even I dodged that land mine.”

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  • Meet the Author

    Linda Yellin writes humor pieces for More magazine. She wrote numerous short stories for Redbook magazine back when they still published short stories and was a regular guest on SiriusXM Radio’s women’s talk show, "Broadminded." Her writing career began in advertising where she wrote headlines for shampoos, hamburgers, and cheese. Get the scoop at LindaYellin.com.

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    What Nora Knew 4.6 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 9 reviews.
    Anonymous More than 1 year ago
    Atthebeach More than 1 year ago
    Yes, it's 'chick lit', but more intelligent than most, more fun. Has laugh out loud moments, quotable lines, and likable characters. Lots of satire and cynicism (a la Nora Ephron but in this writer's own view) but doesn't feel negative or sad, just funny and insightful. And it's about success, competition in the workplace, friendship, relationships, real life. I don't read much 'chick lit', but I liked this one. The humor and satire make it very readable. 
    indiereadergirl More than 1 year ago
    Nora Would Be Pleased One Assignment to write about love, channeling Nora Ephron. One cynic journalist. One love-enthused crime writer who kills all his main character’s girlfriends.  One story Nora Ephron would give her stamp of approval   Molly Hallberg is a thirty-nine year old cynic, but don’t tell her that. Divorced from a high powered divorce lawyer, Molly knows she hasn’t found “the one”. Instead, she is dating Russel, the chiropractor. Russell is stable, a pragmatist, and lacks romance. Molly feels settled. When she is assigned to write about soul mates in the tone of Nora Ephron, Molly knows she is the last person who should be assigned the article; and the truth is, she was the last choice. When she tries to create a romantic dinner for Russell, it fizzles. They settle into each other, both knowing neither are the romantic types, but that’s OK. Cue You’ve Got Mail. During Memorial Day weekend at the Hamptons, Molly meets her match in fellow writer Cameron Duncan. A famous crime writer, Cameron kills off every girlfriend in his Mike Bing novels; while still managing to make every woman reader swoon. Molly doesn’t believe he’s sincere as he says Sleepless in Seattle his one of his favorite films. Like Joe Fox, Cameron Duncan starts to appear everywhere, infuriating Molly; but slowly waking her up in the perfect Nora Ephron way.  Does the article turn out great? Does she even write it? Well, you’ll just have to read the book because there may be some predictable surprises. I could definitely see this book being adapted to film. It’s a great homage to Nora Ephron, but it’s the characters that are so great. Molly is so much like Kathleen from You’ve Got Mail. The cynicism is spot on. The references to the movies. The way the plot moves; even the slight character growth. I read this book surprisingly in one day. I laughed a lot. And, I admit, cried at two spots. Cameron Duncan was a great character. And, so was Dr. Russell. How boring and simple. There is a scene in the book, a realization between Molly and Russell that I think many couples who have felt stagnant in their relationship can relate to. It is a very relatable book that truly reads like a romantic comedy movie. I will see it in theaters if it gets adapted into film. I hope it does. It would be a pity if it didn’t. The material is all there. If you are a fan of romantic comedies; or, looking for a light, fun read this book is it. Spring is near. Summer, too. It’d be a great beach read. Yellin really nails the romance aspect. What it’s like to feel stuck in a relationship, in life. To meet that one person who drives you crazy.  To be closed then open. I hope you give this book a once over. It’s worth a read. 
    JamesAschbacher More than 1 year ago
    Linda Yellin has served up a delicious piece of New York Apple Pie with her new novel, WHAT NORA KNEW. Molly is a 39-year-old journalist looking for True Love in the wilds of NYC - talk about a "needle in a hay stack" search! Her romantic outlook is cynical but her repartee (& Yellin's writing) is scintillating. Full of memorable characters, the adventure of Molly's quest for love sails along on a sea of bon mots before arriving at its "breath-taking" conclusion. Fun read.
    SamF13 More than 1 year ago
    This book and the characters had me at Chapter 1.  Linda Yellin writes with wit and flair.  I will enjoy her for years to come.  There is one thing that nags at me,  however.  The prologue.  Was it an after thought?  Was it written by someone else entirely?  My recommendation:  Read this book, but by all means skip the prologue.
    IvyD More than 1 year ago
    3.5 stars Reviewed by IvyD for Manic Readers & Miss Ivy's Book Nook Online magazine writer Molly Hallberg is staring down the barrel of forty.  After a failed marriage to divorce lawyer Evan she’s currently in a comfortable long term relationship with chiropractor Russell.  She’s settled and there’s certainly nothing wrong with that.  Is there?   Deirdre Dolson, editor in chief of the online newsmagazine EyeSpy assigns Molly to write an article about love and romance a la Nora Ephron.  Molly doesn’t write love articles, she’s the fearless journalist who does off the wall daring do for her craft; she’s a cynic when it comes to love.  However; if it gets her closer to her own column, well she’s game. Molly’s perfectly happy with Russell and their agreeable relationship until a chance meeting with mystery author Cameron Duncan in the Hamptons.  She hadn’t even known he existed and suddenly he’s popping up everywhere.  She prides herself on being the one woman who isn’t affected by his self-effacing charm.  Molly is in the throes of denial.   Definite shades of Bridget Jones and solidly in the chick-lit realm, WHAT NORA KNEW is an homage to Nora Ephron and her romantic movies, chiefly Sleepless in Seattle and You’ve Got Mail.  If you don’t care for these or Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks you might want to give WHAT NORA KNEW a pass because they play a significant role. Molly and her life are humorously appealing with numerous laugh out loud moments and assignments.  New York via Molly comes to life giving the “big city” a personal feel.  Her encounters with Cameron are replete with delightful repartee as they, Molly mainly, tap dance around the elephant in the room.   This brings me to my only real complaint, Cameron.  While charming he felt distant. We’re given an in-depth look at Molly and only the surface of Cameron. He’s filtered through Molly’s concepts and doubts.  His growth consists of actions off stage and learned of through others.  My personal preference is for as intimate an insight into Cameron as we had with Molly.  Overall, WHAT NORA KNEW is an enjoyable laugh out loud read that just misses being a keeper.
    V-Rundell More than 1 year ago
    After a failed marriage, how do you let your heart love again? That's the problem facing Molly Hallberg in Linda Yellin's new contemporary romance WHAT NORA KNEW. Molly's a 39 y/o divorced woman living in New York. She writes the human interest column for an online magazine, EyeSpy. So, she does wacky things like go undercover as a professional bra fitter, or go parachuting, and then writes about the experience. In Molly's wit and job antics I found an instant kinship to Bridget Jones--always a plus, for me. Molly's romantic misadventures are mainly limited to her philandering ex. She never dated much, and in the five years since her divorce she's only has couple of boyfriends. Her current beau, chiropractor Dr. Russell Edley, is the epitome of "safe". She has a pleasant time with him. Very pleasant. And comfortable. Besides, Molly likes comfortable. Her ex was challenging and fiery. And a cheater. So, why seek out passion? It's bound to lead to trouble, right? Except Molly's big new story is to write a piece about finding one's soul mate--in the spirit of Nora Ephron. [For those who don't know Nora Ephron think: When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, or You've Got Mail, because she wrote those screenplays.] So, Molly, relationship washout and romantically-challenged Molly, is supposed to write an upbeat, quirky, fun article about finding one's soul mate. She bombs. Along the way she goes undercover as a speed-dater, and meets best-selling author Cameron Duncan at a Hamptons garden party. Cameron's recurring character Detective Mike Bing falls in love with a new girl in each book, because none of them survive to a second novel. Being a bit critical of Mike Bing's skills as a detective, Molly's later shocked to discover her anti-romance comments tweeted out by Cameron. Oh, and the Nora-like romance piece? Cameron writes it, freelance. In fact, she's running into Cameron at odd turns. Their repartee smacks of the Meg Ryan-Billy Crystal When Harry Met Sally back-and-forth. It's fun and bright. Totally unlike her banter with Russell. Watching her friends, her spinster older sister--and even her grandmother!--find the passionate love they'd always sought gives Molly pause. Had love truly existed all around her but she was too closed off to witness it? And, could she find it, too? More importantly, would she risk her comfort to grasp a real love after surviving a humiliating divorce? In this, Molly channels Nora. Nora had been jilted. Twice. Betrayed by two husbands and a best friend. But Nora later found love and wrote some of the most timeless romances, filled with hope and risky choices. Cameron pushes all of Molly's buttons--and she realizes that he's really quite the decent guy. Maybe a guy worth risking her pride, and her heart, to love. Until he inadvertently scoops her coveted column... This quiet romance pulls all the right strings. Molly learns to trust herself, and Cameron, and give love a shot. In true Ephron homage we get grand gesture ending that satisfies. I loved it. I got an advance copy for review via NetGalley.
    Beverly_D More than 1 year ago
    "Love may be blind, but great sex is the ultimate blindfold." I received a free copy of this book through NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. Cameron is a very romantic best-selling author, despite his somewhat disconcerting habit of killing off his detective hero's love interests in each book. Molly is a snarky writer who's been burned badly by love, and now wants only a regular column. She most emphatically does NOT want Cameron, despite his interest in her. Much like Sleepless in Seattle (which is referenced approximately a billion times, give or take a few), there's witty banter and many giggles, and not much romancin' till the very end, but the reader always knows these two totally belong together. No steamy sex scenes, I'm not even sure there is more than a few not-quite kisses. If that "works" for you, you'll enjoy this book as much as I did.
    reececo331 More than 1 year ago
    Nora Ephorn is well known for her stories, her movies, and her style. Molly is a young writer working through the challenges of writing in the fast paced world of modern journalism. She is offered many exciting research articles, including one about romance, and love. But she could not fit the bill, she was unable to look past her cynicism. She has not been lucky in love. It colors her out look. Molly is not expecting to find that romance like a Nora Ephorn movie is something you have to give everything for.  This is a lovely story similar to the movies it likes to quote from, Sleepless in Seattle and You've Got Mail. With engaging characters and a light-hearted look at love and its complications