Author:  Justine Bateman

Publisher: Akashic Books

ISBN: 978-1-61775-922-2

On Family Ties (1982-1989), Mallory was a wonderfully droll counterpoint to her brainy yet unctuous older brother. Very attractive, too, with the kind of insight (perhaps even wisdom at times) that can only come from unaffected, good-natured honesty. 

The post-sitcom fame of the author, while in no way trifling, occupied a much less stratospheric universe than Michael J. Fox’s career, so it’s no surprise that many of us don’t know all that much about Ms. Bateman after Family Ties left the air.

Well, guess what? She’s still very attractive, still unaffected and good natured, and certainly still very honest. Exceedingly honest, in fact. And it is because she’s from a wildly popular television show that Face takes on such significance. We all know that our faces age along with the rest of our bodies. No great shock there. But for a woman, sometimes that inevitability takes on a different meaning. That’s not necessarily a shock, either. But when we read about it from the perspective of someone whose occupation puts extraordinary value on appearances, it can be an eye-opener.  

Face is an eye-opener.

Bateman presents more than fifty concise vignettes—little slice-of-life scenes that she calls fiction, but which I suppose we can assume may be true, with names, professions and locations changed to protect anonymity. None of these short-short stories add up to a pretty picture—and as you undoubtedly will surmise, when I say pretty I’m not talking about the appeal and desirability of individual faces; I’m talking about what has come to be some sort of unseemly foregone conclusion that too many people draw about the naturally maturing female countenance.

It may be silly for me to post that old maxim: present company excluded—in other words, to assert that I myself never draw such conclusions. It’s not really necessary because one goal of a reviewer is to eliminate as many personal perceptions as possible to be able to discuss a new book in ways the greater potential readership may appreciate. So I won’t say it, although it’s true. Besides, reviews aren’t about reviewers. They’re about books.

In this one, Bateman essentially paints for us a few dozen literary snapshots with which we can draw our own conclusions about the intriguing and irksome phenomenon at the heart of it. Each literary snapshot is relatively quiet in terms of overall theatrics—yet somehow they are more emotional and dramatic than most any scene on TV. That’s both a tribute to the writing and a commentary on the subject matter. Face is neither an historical discourse nor an academic dissertation, and it wasn’t meant to be. But the author’s own viewpoint, indeed her own conclusion, the one with which she lives her life, shines through. 

Three years ago, Bateman mined a not-entirely-dissimilar topic in her first book, Fame: The Hijacking of Reality, a sharp and penetrating assessment of celebrity culture. She is indeed an insider (and a two-time Emmy nominee) who doesn’t mind sharing her deepest views from the inside out. Both books are honest, unpretentious, refreshing and, no doubt for her and many others, liberating. 

The result, whether intended or not, is that we get to know Justine Bateman as much as we get to contemplate the topic at hand. So in one sense, this review is about her, and not just the book. Regardless, what we see is beautiful. But I already knew that even without the book.