I expected to half-listen to this while sketching logo concepts for a client. You know, background noise about daytime TV drama. Something light.
I was wrong. So wrong.
By hour three, I had abandoned my work entirely and was sitting cross-legged on my couch, Frida purring on my lap, completely absorbed in what is essentially a nine-hour group therapy session about the most dysfunctional workplace in television history.
The View Is Basically a Telenovela (And I Mean That as a Compliment)
Abuela would have LOVED this book. Like, clutching-her-rosary-while-leaning-forward loved it. The drama between these women reads like something straight out of her favorite novelas—betrayals, power grabs, tears in the makeup room, someone nearly walking off during a commercial break. There's even a dead rodent subplot, which... okay, I need to know more about that but Setoodeh drops it like a casual aside and moves on.
The way he structures Barbara Walters as this King Lear figure, watching her media daughters fight for control of the kingdom she built? Chef's kiss. There's something genuinely moving about watching this icon who revolutionized journalism struggle to let go of something she created. I got misty around the parts about her difficulty stepping away. My heart. MY HEART.
Ramin Reads Ramin (A Complicated Situation)
Here's where things get messy. Setoodeh narrates his own book, and it feels exactly like what it is—a journalist telling you gossip over drinks. Conversational. Intimate. Like he's spilling tea directly into your ear.
But.
His bias is... not subtle? You can practically hear him rolling his eyes when discussing certain hosts (Elisabeth Hasselbeck gets the short end of every stick) while he goes soft and warm for others (the man is clearly a Rosie O'Donnell fan and doesn't try to hide it). It's not professional narrator polish—there's no voice differentiation, no character work. Just Ramin being Ramin for nine and a half hours.
Whether that works for you depends entirely on whether you want objective journalism or a really well-informed friend dishing dirt. I found myself occasionally frustrated by the obvious slant, but also... I kept listening? The conversational intimacy won out over my irritation.
Who Gets a Chair at This Table
This is a rainy Sunday book. Or a long car ride book. Something where you can let the drama wash over you without needing to take notes.
You'll love it if: You watched The View at any point in the last 25 years. You're fascinated by workplace dynamics and power struggles. You enjoy behind-the-scenes media stories. You want to finally understand what the hell happened between Rosie and Whoopi.
Skip it if: You need your nonfiction to feel balanced and fair. You've never cared about daytime television. You want a professional narrator who disappears into the text.
The vibes are immaculate if you're in the mood for mess. And I was absolutely in the mood for mess.
Abuela Would've Called This 'Chisme de Calidad'
I finished this at 2 AM, which was a choice. Diego had long since abandoned me for the bedroom, but I couldn't stop. The section about Star Jones's wedding and weight loss drama? The Rosie-Trump feud before we all knew how that story would continue? Barbara trying to maintain control while her creation spiraled beyond her?
It's not high art. Setoodeh isn't pretending it is. Though honestly, Untethered Soul tried to convince me that public judgment shouldn't matter—easier said than done when you're on daytime TV. But it's a genuinely fascinating look at how women in media navigate power, friendship, competition, and the particular cruelty of being judged publicly every single day.
Did I cry? Once. Just once. (The Barbara stuff at the end. I'm not made of stone.)
This book felt like finding out your coworkers' group chat got leaked—messy, revealing, occasionally uncomfortable, and absolutely impossible to look away from. Worth the listen if you've got the time and the appetite for drama.
