Virtually everyone in Upper East Side and Los Angeles society makes a lavish appearance in at least one of these trio of novels from America's favorite chronicler of the very, very rich. Dunne has a sharp eye and a sharper pen while he takes us by the hand into the salons of those most privileged. He writes from the truth dipped in fine fiction and the result is brilliant, easy reading. His enduring theme throughout these fine novels is that in the end even the rich die too and they can't do a damn thing about it. If you're a reader of the grand and famous, or infamous, then this convenient book of all three novels is a must-have.

"People Like Us" is a very 80's novel about the rich who are supposed to be different from you and me. It is a story about the hautest of the haute New York society in the latter half of the 1980's, a time when the rich rushed off in limousines to the most exclusive parties every night, oblivious to and unconcerned about the homeless who camped out in cardboard boxes on the sidewalks outside their luxury condos. It brings us the creme de la creme of the old line WASPs in the Social Register who take themselves terribly seriously, much more so than anyone else does. They are a dying breed and it's probably just as well. At the very top of the pile, breathing the rarified air of the upper strata of New York society, sits the Altemus/VanDegan family, led by Lil Altemus and her brother Laurance VanDegan, quintessential snobs, sure of their self-worth, loathing the "new money" that is invading their sacrosanct circle of friends and acquaintances. Lil's son, Hubie, is a disappointment to his family; he's gay, kicked out of Harvard for cheating on a Spanish exam ("the language of maids" huffs his uncle Laurance), and hopelessly in love with his Puerto Rican hustler boyfriend Juanito; and her daughter Justine marries a TV anchorman, Bernard Slatkin, whose name will most definitely not be found in the Social Register. Charging headlong into this formerly impenetrable social ring is Elias Renthal, who has made billions of dollars on Wall Street through hostile takeovers and financial wizardry, and his beautiful, ambitious wife Ruby. Observing from the sidelines and taking notes is Gus Bailey, the ever-present "spare man", available to squire single ladies to dinners, balls, etc. Gus had his own agenda, however, and when he finally swings from observation into action, he makes some very large waves. His mission accomplished, Gus finally looks around him at the shallowness and narrow-mindedness of the society he moved so effortlessly into, and comes to the conclusion that the reader probably arrived at before the end of the second chapter; namely, that "this ain't it".

Dominic Dunne knows the kind of people he writes about and he is an acute and astute observer. We see Lil Altemus in all her vanity, her shallowness, her conceit and we realize, finally, how pathetic she is; Justine wins our respect by her determination not to be a "lady who lunches" like her mother and her mother's friends; and poor Hubie is a genuinely tragic figure, fitting neither into the world he was born into or his lover's world he tries to fit into. The most interesting figure in this book, however, is Ruby Renthal; pushy to an extreme but extremely likeable nonetheless, and possessing an integrity which places her far above the socialites who look down on her as a new-money, no-class upstart. "People Like Us" by no means falls into the category of serious literature and it doesn't try to; but it's an enjoyable read and shines a harsh light into a closed society which doesn't look all that appetizing once its seamier side is exposed. Maybe the rich aren't all that different after all.

I loved this story. It focused on new vs. old money and how they viewed each other and the world around them. At times, it was a tad slow but interesting nonetheless. I enjoyed the quirky humor of these characters and their money. There were a lot of different characters involved and I enjoyed all of them. This was definately a worthwhile book to read. Gus Bailey as a journalist who observes all of the activity is a charming character and I was rooting for him in the end.

Dominick Dunne's many books are consistently excellent, and PEOPLE LIKE US is no exception to this rule.

Like virtually all of his novels, PEOPLE LIKE US was inspired by real people and real events. As always, Dunne provides an insider's view of the life of the rich and famous. Here, Dunne details the conflict between the old society money and the newly minted billionaires who arrived in Manhattan at the end of the financially over-heated 1980's.

It's fun, in hindsight, to figure out on whom he based some of his characters. Any reader who remembers those days will say, "Oh, that's Mr. T...and that's Mrs. G. And that restaurant is M, and the handsome newscaster, the interior designer, etc., must be...."

As ever, Dunne's writing is so facile that the pages just fly. Quite a story he weaves, too, with lots of memories of a fascinating period of modern history.

Having not read any of Dunne's other books, I will comment only on this one. The opening pages provide the most interesting and gripping reading: the trial of the man who murdered Dunne's daughter. I also found the story of the Menendez brothers and that of the murder of Martha Moxley especially interesting. The parts that I found interesting, however, make up only about one-third of the book. Dunne devotes fully one-half of the book to the O.J. story. It goes on and on...and on. When the author noted several time how long and boring the trial became, I was having the same feelings about his treatment of the O.J. saga. I did enjoy learning about Dunne's perceptions of the cast of characters, including defendants, victims' families, attorneys, and reporters. Dunne reports what goes on when the cameras aren't rolling. For the most part, however, the author treats each person as either a "good guy" or a "bad guy." While I understand that his experiences as the father of a murder victim probably cause this rather simplistic perspective, this and other characteristics of the book resulted in my losing interest about half-way through it. I finished the book but would have enjoyed it more if I'd read the first 80 pages and the final 20 pages.

Truman Capote he's not, but with his insider status on the periphery of the worlds of the rich and/or famous, Dunne serves up his observations from the various murder trials involving people with last names like Bloomingdale, DuPont, and Simpson, and with ties to families with names like Kennedy, in a dishy and slightly catty style that makes you feel like you're gossiping with your best friend over brunch. It's a fun, revealing read, especially if you haven't read much of Dunne's trial diaries for "Vanity Fair" magazine. If you have, then these stories will not be new to you as they were previously printed in the magazine. Oh, the book contains about 10, yes 10, chapters on the OJ Simpson trial and aftermath, and Dunne doesn't have any pretensions of journalistic objectivity about the guilt or innocence of the people whose trials he covers.

Perhaps what makes Dunne's diaries most interesting is not just that they offer a glimpse into the lives of the very famous, or those whose wealth is almost beyond the average person's imagining, but that the glimpse offered is often a "warts and all" portrait that shows not just the fabulous wealth that many of these people enjoy, but also their faliure, bad decisions and unhappy love lives. While Dunne provides satisfaction to our voyeuristic tendencies (and in a manner that is perhaps a bit classier than any of the "reality shows" that pollute the airwaves and that more people watch than might be willing to admit it) he also serves to humanize people who are otherwise larger than life figures, whose lives have taken on such mythological proportions that we forget that they are people who eat, sleep, go to the bathroom, get sick, get old, fall in love, stuggle with mental and emotional problems (as well as alcoholism and drug addition) and experience faliure just like the rest of us.

The final portrait is one of the rich as like us and at the same time not like us. After all, they may suffer many of the same misfortunes as mere mortals and make the same bad decisions, but wealth often cushions the consuences, and sometimes cancels them altogether - even in the case of murder. After all, a DuPont whose a crack addict is, at the end of the day, still a DuPont, with a trust fund that will give him access to treatment that may elude not-so-wealthy addicts. And a murderer who has enough money to afford the best defense, and enough celebrity to generate some public sympathy, can get away with a murder that would inevitably send a poorer person to prison for a long, long time.

This book got me through Christmas in Malaysia on a hiking trip where I stayed in the mountains in a hotel resembling an English country cottage which manages to make the visitor feel claustrophobic. My brother in Singapore handed JUSTICE to me with the words "This is awful. Who cares about OJ anymore and he's wrong about the Safra case." He concluded by recommending I use the pages for toilet paper in the jungle, the kind of suggestion one brother will invariably make to another, to the amusement of each. Fortunately, I didn't find it awful. Even though I had read a number of these subjects in Vanity Fair, I was mesmorized once again by Dominick Dunne's unique perspective. He is both a shameless gossipmonger and a crime reporter of the highest integrity. He is obsessed in equal measure with justice and glamour.

I admit to having dreaded the chapters on the OJ case because of its notoriety and injustice of the final verdict. However, given the incomprehensible mess created during the trial, Mr. Dunne actually make some sense out of the senseless and propounds a level of social morality which made me feel outraged for the victims and their families, but also satisfied that the case has been regarded as clearly unjust and unquestionably misjudged. This is Mr. Dunne's greatest achievement, that he keeps reason at the fore and dismisses the madness for what it is. This clarity continues through all the cases. There is no boredom factor here: every story is both peculiar and bizarrely entertaining or, taking it one step further by paraphasing Miss Jean Brodie (or Murial Spark if you must), "for those of us who like that sort of thing, this is the sort of thing we like."

Mr. Dunne writes in a style which lends irony, bitterness and clarity to cases full of red herring and slander among the so-called rich and famous. I can think of no other crime reporter quite like him. He reflects a sense of social interaction and high-minded justice with an intensely alluring and entertaining voice.

The photographs in the book are fascinating, especially those of the late Natalie Wood, at her most fetching. It makes you sad, because she looked so vital, making it hard to think of her tragic death.

The text tells rather nasty or 'so-what?' stories I think everybody who's interested in celebrities already pretty much knows. The really interesting writing comes at the end, when the author sinks so low he has to move to (gulp) Oregon, effectively becoming "trailer trash," and sells his treasured celebrity coasters, among other glittering tsatskes.

Praise be to the Higher Power, Mr. Dunne clawed his way back to the middle (he's no Joan Didion, let's face it) and has become one of our most illustrious high-class-tabloid heroes.

He's gone through some horrendous tragedies, and I toast his chutzpah and commitment to writing. He's amazingly resiliant, if only for the horrible experiences he went through with the cruel and crude Frank Sinatra. I'm glad ol' blue eyes stuck around long enough to see Dominick Dunne still standing, better than he ever did.

Of all the pictures in the book there is one I keep going back to. It's on page 33, and it makes me cry.

I've loved Dominick Dunne's articles and books since I was in college. This is perhaps his most insightful and introspective work simply because he turns on himself the same scrutiny he uses on "society"--he pulls no punches and is as critical with what he did with his life as he is of what those around him were doing. This is almost like a personal diary; a glimpse into someone's mind. Despite the fact that I did not recognize many of the "famous" names--I was a child when most of the events in book took place--I was still amazed at how Dunne and his wife were social magnets in Hollywood. It is often disappointing when an author writes about himself. The author is often "light" on the embarassing issues. Dunne will have none of this. His honesty makes this book worth a read.

I am probably Dominick Dunne's biggest fan, and having said that I was at first a little disappointed (prior to reading it) at his most recent book. It didn't seem like one of his usual, deep juicy stories - more a photo album. Which is exactly what it is, and so much more. Aside from all the personal observations and memorabilia, Mr. Dunne's ability to chop himself down to size is truly amazing. The reader observed some of this in "Another Town, Not My Own" when Mr. Dunne portrays himself as Gus Bailey. Aside from a writing style that I find particularly enjoyable to read, the highest compliment I can pay Mr. Dunne is that I believe every word he says, always. From his articles in Vanity Fair Magazine, to his novels, and now this memoir, Dominick Dunne is truly one of America's greatest authors. His ability to keep the reader engaged and entertained is not to be underestimated.

I started reading this book as I wanted to know about the O.J.Simpson trial. What do I get? Some Hollywood [stuff] about the author's schedule of dinner parties, at fashionable houses and restaurants and gossip; not facts about the trial. Am I supposed to be impressed by all the name droppings, self promotion and his invitations to posh houses? I'm not. Neither am I interested in Hollywood gossip. The guy is so [sad] trying to be with the "in crowd" that I felt quite sorry for him. I cannot believe how shallow the book is. ...This I believe, is a best seller, only because some Hollywood women, who have nothing better to do than give parties, go shopping and laze around, bought the book as they or someone known to them were in it. This is the first and the last time I read Dominic Dunne.

I'm appalled by the torrential name dropping which goes on in this book. It is all the author seems to be capable of doing.

Gus Bailey is a gossip columnist, a pathetic form of gutter sniper. But he pretends to be everybody's good old buddy, otherwise no one would contact him anxious to spill the beans.

The events surround the O.J. Simpson murder trial, or rather the rich and famous people around and about it. And what a shallow bunch they turn out to be. It is obvious that Dominick Dunne is the Gus Bailey character who strongly believes O.J. to be guilty of murdering his wife Nicole Brown Simpson and her companion Ronald Goldman.

The novel, if it can be called that, is narrated by a third person, but since there is much dialogue, such as, Gus said, "Blah, blah ..." I found it difficult to separate the first person from the third. It is too obvious that Dominick Dunne is the big "I" here. There is much plugging of books written by Gus Bailey, and wouldn't you know it they carry the same titles as those written by Dominick Dunne in real life. Everything is plug or drop throughout this silly book.

From time to time Gus says, "This would be a terrific scene in a novel..." or something like "I'll have a character say ..." or "... He's going to be a wonderful character for my novel ..." after he's already described relevant scenes in conversation with one of his many famous characters. Much of this is a device to circumnavigate the fact from fiction problem, but grates when said too often which is the case here.

The sheer audacity of the name dropping becomes lengthy and irritating, and the dialogue fails to carry any weight other than to further increase the length of the book. What's more, the corpus becomes bitty and lacks the coherence of continuity. The swath of "names" one stumbles through is enough to choke the mind, it's Kirk Douglas this or Nancy Reagan that or Marcia Clark or Michael Jackson or Hillary Clinton or Barbara Streisand or Warren Beatty or Dustin Hoffman or Sean Connery or Goldie Hawn or Elizabeth Taylor or Heidi Fleiss or Dan Rather or Don Ohlmeyer or Mark Lonsdale or Frank Sinatra or Annette Bening or Kurt Russell or Tom Hanks or Claus von Bülow or Fergie or King Hussein or Queen Noor or Princess Diana, and Andy Cunanan is thrown in for good measure, on and on and on ... Dunne will chisel in a name anywhere. On page 89 "..."Is that the restaurant owned by Michael Jackson's son? I don't mean Elizabeth Taylor's friend Michael Jackson that Johnnie Cochran represented in the child molestation case," said Gus." And on page 159 "... Tina Sinatra, Frank's daughter, was there at another table ..." is a typical example of how the author overdoes it. Why bother to say "Frank's daughter"? It's not necessary and it's redundant.

What the novel does show, if it's to be taken in the least bit seriously, is the condition of our society, and in particular that of the rich and famous who are seen to be a shallow bunch of people. They strive to be seen in the court room or at dinners or functions given to discuss the O.J. case. All this to promote themselves. The fact that two people were brutally murdered is shunted to the sidings and the court case comes over as another arm of the entertainment business.

Chapter 21 contains a family crisis when Gus's son Zander goes missing while hiking in the Santa Rita Mountains of Arizona. Here is the strongest and most moving writing in the book. Gus is sitting with his crippled ex-wife Peach, who suffers from Multiple Sclerosis, trying to tell her about their missing son. In doing so Gus covers everything the book has to say and more. He does it well and in a few pages.

But despite this outbreak of decent writing Dominick Dunne fails to pull this one off. His writing is contrived and stiff, the dialogue sounds false, and each paragraph is staged simply to slip a name or names into it. Because of it his attempts at being amusing are irritating, and his attempts at being serious fail too because Dunne allows his biased outrage to smother him.

At the beginning of the book it is made clear that Gus Bailey is found murdered. Who did it? At the end it is revealed, and comes as no surprise. This is certainly no who "dunne" it. The supposed twist is an unnecessary cheap shot that adds nothing to an already boring book.

Only Dominick Dunne could combine truth, fiction, frivolity and fury in one novel. Or is it a memoir? Along with enumerable tales of dinner seated between the rich and famous Dunne, who had a front row seat for the length of the Simpson trial, unleashes his anger at a system that sentenced his daughter's killer to less than two years in prison. People talk to Dunne (or his alter ego, Gus Bailey - whoever you choose to believe). Folks not willing to "get involved" in the trial tell him their secrets, be it bloody sheets found in the garbage or Simpson's gift of a bag full of knives. Gus knows things, and soon we are privileged to know them, too. They are gossipy and delicious, and learning these inside stories along with Gus's friends Nancy (Reagan), Liz (Taylor) et.al. gives a vicarious thrill.

How this frivolity mixes with outrage over the murder (and Dunne's unwavering believe in Simpson's guilt) is a tribute to Dunne's talent. Only a weak and tacked on ending mars Dunne's juggling act. Not Dunne's best work, but certainly one of his most interesting.