Jay Mcinerney

On a cloudy day in the meatpacking district, images of the old world -- men in bloody aprons, lonely figures with upturned collars walking down by the Hudson -- blur into those of the new: freakishly tall blonds who get their spike heels stuck in the cobblestones. This is Jay McInerney territory. His latest book, "How It Ended: New and Collected Stories," covers several decades in this, his chosen neighborhood, his adopted hometown within a town.

Downtown's Perch has perhaps the best bar view in all Los Angeles — a scintillating rooftop vista in the Historic Core, surrounded by a skyscraper scene straight out of a Jay McInerney novel. But should you want to make that view a little blurrier, their "apertif hour" is a great chance to try its neo-French bistro wares at prices that won't leave your wallet feeling vertigo. From 4 to 6 p.m. daily, you can pick up a draft of Kronenbourg 1664 beer for the bargain price of $5; a smattering of wines or champagne-liqueur cocktails at $6; $7 nets you a Jacques Collins (saffron gin, lemon juice, simple syrup, soda and saffron)

In an age of nuclear anxiety, leave it to Jay McInerney to master the art of the stress-free novel. Reading his work is effortless, like drinking Kool-Aid and watching TV at the same time: What you see is what you get, plus a little sugar water. This is McInerney's second effort, and, though wittier and more complex, it is still very much like "Bright Lights, Big City," the story of a handsome young man trying to find himself.

"New York is so over," says Bret Easton Ellis, sitting behind the glass-topped desk in his home office. "Who cares about New York? L.A. is where it's at right now." Outside the windows of his high-rise, hillside apartment, Los Angeles appears serene, nothing but green treetops, a few glittery skyscrapers and a hazy horizon. From here, there is little evidence of the dead-eyed rich kids and existential dread of a city "afraid to merge," as Ellis wrote in "Less Than Zero." Published in 1985, the book was heralded as a cultural touchstone by baby boomers looking to understand what was then called the MTV generation.

Are men running out of things to say? Or are they finally getting in touch with the side of the brain where sensitivity and mascara are housed? The answers to both questions may be yes, judging from the fact that some of our best male writers have recently paraded down the publishing runway in crinolines. First came John Updike as "S.," then Reynolds Price as "Kate Vaiden," then Jim Harrison as "Dalva."

Another novelist might shy away from facing the horror of 9/11 head-on. Another novelist might turn to allegory or symbolism to describe that terrible time. Not Jay McInerney. Not the man who has chronicled the well-heeled yet restless souls of New York since he made his stunning debut more than 20 years ago with "Bright Lights, Big City." "I've always written about the larger social events of the moment.

It is foolhardy for a novelist to go toe to toe with a beloved classic. Whether by accident or design, it's a risk Jay McInerney takes with his fifth novel. "The Last of the Savages" echoes with allusions to "The Great Gatsby," F. Scott Fitzgerald's tragic tale of a self-invented man whose dreams ultimately destroy him. In doing so, he has written a thoroughly engaging and funny novel that nevertheless suffers by comparison, as almost any novel would.

SOMEBODY ONCE said to me, "If you had a nickel for every time somebody said to you, 'If you had a nickel for every time the phrase Brat Pack was mentioned, you'd be rich.' " It took me a little while to figure out that logic, but I think it's probably true. So I'd appreciate it if people would stop mentioning it to me, because I'm getting very depressed. About two years ago I invented the phrase Brat Pack.

"New York is so over," says Bret Easton Ellis, sitting behind the glass-topped desk in his home office. "Who cares about New York? L.A. is where it's at right now." Outside the windows of his high-rise, hillside apartment, Los Angeles appears serene, nothing but green treetops, a few glittery skyscrapers and a hazy horizon. From here, there is little evidence of the dead-eyed rich kids and existential dread of a city "afraid to merge," as Ellis wrote in "Less Than Zero." Published in 1985, the book was heralded as a cultural touchstone by baby boomers looking to understand what was then called the MTV generation.

Not since the '50s with the likes of Norman Mailer, James Jones, William Styron, John Updike and Philip Roth has a generation of first novelists garnered so much attention. Vanity Fair calls them "the young and the wasted." Newsweek refers to them as the "divine decadents." They're a new wave of writers soaring to stardom in the '80s at startlingly young ages with innovative writing styles and hip subject matter.

On a cloudy day in the meatpacking district, images of the old world -- men in bloody aprons, lonely figures with upturned collars walking down by the Hudson -- blur into those of the new: freakishly tall blonds who get their spike heels stuck in the cobblestones. This is Jay McInerney territory. His latest book, "How It Ended: New and Collected Stories," covers several decades in this, his chosen neighborhood, his adopted hometown within a town.

WAY, way back in the early '60s, Andy Warhol inflamed the art world with his Campbell's soup cans. Was it art or was it advertising? Since then, the lines have become more blurred as corporations sponsor everything from art museums to concert halls. The commercials preceding movies today are only slightly more blatant than the product placement in the films themselves. In the future, I can envision the L.A. Philharmonic's cellos covered with corporate logos.

FOR 10 years, BlackBook magazine has been doing a bait and switch: using fashion to direct people's attention to more provocative issues. Tucked within its glossy, ad-laden pages is some of the more boisterous prose to be found on a magazine rack. Now, BlackBook's editor, Aaron Hicklin, has gathered the best of that writing into an anthology celebrating its first decade, "The Revolution Will Be Accessorized: BlackBook Presents Dispatches From the New Counterculture."

Another novelist might shy away from facing the horror of 9/11 head-on. Another novelist might turn to allegory or symbolism to describe that terrible time. Not Jay McInerney. Not the man who has chronicled the well-heeled yet restless souls of New York since he made his stunning debut more than 20 years ago with "Bright Lights, Big City." "I've always written about the larger social events of the moment.

Jay McInerney's new novel has a famous, perhaps infamous, admirer: James Frey. In an "Amazon.com Exclusive," the author of the disputed "A Million Little Pieces," calls McInerney's "The Good Life" his best since the author's sensational 1984 debut, "Bright Lights, Big City." Frey cites McInerney as an influence and likens the novelist to F. Scott Fitzgerald as a gifted writer who has struggled to overcome "huge, almost overwhelming early success."

We've come a long way, it would seem, from the charming subway breezes and innocent trips to the zoo celebrated in the classic Rodgers and Hart song "We'll Have Manhattan." David Schickler's Manhattan is a zoo of a different kind: an upscale, ultra-chic urban jungle full of exotic, or would-be exotic, specimens strutting their stuff. Their shared terrain is a stately, expensive and venerable apartment building on the Upper West Side called the Preemption, where many of them happen to live.

Jay McInerney's new novel has a famous, perhaps infamous, admirer: James Frey. In an "Amazon.com Exclusive," the author of the disputed "A Million Little Pieces," calls McInerney's "The Good Life" his best since the author's sensational 1984 debut, "Bright Lights, Big City." Frey cites McInerney as an influence and likens the novelist to F. Scott Fitzgerald as a gifted writer who has struggled to overcome "huge, almost overwhelming early success."

The February issue of Mademoiselle magazine offers women a few tips on how to tell the difference between Mr. Right and Mr. Right for Now. The keys are manners, communication skills, helping with housework, attitude toward kids and personal appearance, and the magazine offers Michael J. Fox, David Byrne, Tom Cruise (who, nonetheless, is splitting with wife Mimi Rogers), Prince Andrew, Jeff Bridges, John F. Kennedy Jr., Tom Hanks and Jeff Goldblum as examples of "men who'll wear well."

LOVE AND LOSS American Portrait and Mourning Miniatures By Robin Jaffee Frank; Yale University Press: 358 pp., $35 These eerie miniatures are talismans. Popular from the mid-18th century to the mid-19th, they were held close to the body, worn as jewelry or fingered in pockets, "cherished in private." They were painted in watercolor on thin disks of ivory, sometimes by well-known portraitists like John Singleton Copley or Charles Willson Peale.

GLAMORAMA by Bret Easton Ellis; Alfred A. Knopf $25, 482 pages "You make a mistake if you see what we do as merely political. " Hitler's caveat serves as one of the epigrams introducing Bret Easton Ellis' latest novel, "Glamorama," and you make a mistake if you see "Glamorama" as merely the "Mein Kampf" of the fashion industry. After all, the second quote is by Krishna. "Glamorama's" hero, Victor, is a 27-year-old semi-famous MTA (Model-Turned-Actor), incapable of uttering a sincere thought or an original word.