Soon after the French Revolution, the Paris Salon emerged as one of the most prestigious art exhibitions in the western world.

Acceptance by the jury depended as much on politicking as merit, on what was permissible as what was au courant. Rejected artists could mount a solo show, which rarely flourished, or a breakaway group exhibition — one of which succeeded in spectacular fashion in 1874. That year, the likes of Degas, Monet, Renoir, Cézanne, and the lesser- known Berthe Morisot signed on to the first of eight exhibitions that established one of today’s most beloved movements: Impressionism.

The environment that cultivated the birth of modern painting is one facet of “Paris In Ruins,” the new book from art critic Sebastian Smee. As its title suggests, the book presents the Impressionist movement as rising from the ashes, in this case out of the chaos and bloodshed that began with the onset of the Franco-Prussian War in summer 1870 and concluded with the internecine violence of the Paris Commune in spring 1871.

For large parts of the book, artists take a backseat to armies, but when the focus is painting, Smee’s story circles around the relationship between Morisot and Édouard Manet, the one prominent Impressionist who passed on 1874’s groundbreaking exhibition.

Smee has a tremendous knack for placing readers inside historical scenes, but can be hyperbolic and repetitive. He excels at interpreting art, clearly sketching how Manet and Morisot influenced each other, though is less convincing linking the development of their art to the events of 1870-71.

All art is subjective, but I would have liked the military and political particulars to be deemphasized, less naturalistic and more impressionistic — like these memorable artists. — Cory Oldweiler, Minnesota Star Tribune

An entire generation of literary-minded women has not stopped telling itself stories influenced by master storyteller Joan Didion. The same, alas, cannot be said of Eve Babitz, a Hollywood bad girl whose life briefly intersected with Didion’s in the late 1960s and early ’70s.

Few writers, of course, have the stature of Didion, and Babitz does have a contingent of ardent and influential admirers. Her biggest fangirl might be Lili Anolik, a contributing editor at Vanity Fair whose 2014 article about Babitz, followed by her 2019 biography “Hollywood’s Eve,” fueled a revival of interest in her work.

Now Anolik is back with the book, “Didion & Babitz,” in which she explores the complicated relationship between the frenemies and declares her devotion to the less well-known of the two: “I’m crazy for Eve, love her with a fan’s unreasoning abandon.”

The two women met in 1967 when Didion and her husband, John Gregory Dunne, were living at 7406 Franklin Avenue in Hollywood, a louche time and place that Didion immortalized in her breakout collection of nonfiction, “Slouching Towards Bethlehem.”

In 1971, Didion helped Babitz get a story published in Rolling Stone magazine — “She is a painter, not a writer,” Didion told the editor. Eventually, that led to a book deal. But their friendship fractured when Didion and Dunne were enlisted by Babitz’s publisher to edit the book, which became “Eve’s Hollywood,” and Babitz bristled at their criticism.

Anolik makes a convincing case for Babitz’s literary genius and sets up an interesting contrast between the two women— one loose, libidinous and joyfully debauched; the other shy, cerebral and tightly controlled.

But don’t expect the calm, organized, even-handed approach of a literary critic or biographer. In the breathless, gossipy style of the tabloids, Anolik dishes dirt on all the major and minor players in their haute bohemian circle. In the end, everyone ends up looking bad, including, sadly, Babitz. — Ann Levin, Associated Press