Home Before Dark

To enter the world sketched by Anna Quindlen is to enter an airless space and to run the risk of asphyxiation. Quindlen's column is an oddity on The New York Times' opinion page. She does not have the moral stature of an Anthony Lewis and lacks the appeal of William Safire's burr-in-the-saddle testiness. She cannot begin to match Frank Rich's omnivorous cultural appetite. Yet she has a devoted following.

Quindlen's position on the Op-Ed page was in part testimony to the importance of shifting demographics and fortuitous positioning--factors which assume importance in the face of a talent as tiny as hers.

Her appeal has been to a very specific constituency--middle class women on the cusp of professional careers. It's no coincidence that Quindlen's popularity rose at just about the time that professional women in running shoes descended upon the land like comfortably-shod locusts.

Quindlen, as a part of that demographic group, could tap into her own life, extricate certain events and be assured of an empathetic audience.

So when she first began writing a column for the Times, "Life in the 30's," she could successfully stick to her stated aim of writing a column of "personal reflections."

Her early writing was a fresh take on the realities of the daily quotidian routine, reportage on the specifics of middle-class life which usually consisted of "years of marriage, two children, two renovations, three attempts at the Scarsdale diet, a stint at Smokenders and one midlife crisis."

However, after moving to the opinion page where a broader world view is expected, Quindlen continued to traverse the same terrain, an act at once wearying and disturbing. She did attempt to expand her reach by commmenting on more public events.

But she has said that "her only real political identification is with women's rights." Her Jurassic feminist politics have always been excruciatingly correct--anti-Barbie, pro-Dee Dee Myers.

If one listened closely to the movement behind a Quindlen column, one could hear the faint sound of clothing rustling as she reached up and over to pat herself on the back.

Her columns have been increasingly larded with aphorisms, with the occasional platitude thrown in for good measure. She ran the risk of becoming the Forrest Gump of the Op-Ed page. Her pieces read as a largo interpretation of life where much is kept at bay.

Complexities were reduced to binary formulations. Men were either "husbands or boyfriends," women were "good girls or bad girls." And of course, "women are just better."

Quindlen did emerge occasionally from her cul-de-sac to comment on international affairs and what is considered as "hard news." These pieces, astonishingly suffused with naivete, showed that Quindlen was out of her depth.

So she's leaving The New York Times to pursue a full time career as a novelist. Her institutional affiliation guaranteed her an audience. Stripped of this and with her limitations, it will be interesting to see what becomes of her.

And it will be necessary to keep up with her in the future. For better or worse, millions have read her columns. She embodies the perspective of a certain time and place in the culture.

Being given an opinion column is like receiving your choice of vehicle and destination. Some of us choose low-slung sports cars, jump in and throw out the road maps. Quindlen chose a wood-paneled station wagon and was always, always, home before dark.

Lorraine A. Lezama's column appears on alternate Tuesdays.