Chick Lit

I'm not in the general habit of reading it. And when I do read it, I'm not in the general habit of admitting to reading it. But times are hard, the funds are low, and I still can't find the box with Book 7. You know which Book 7. That box also has some of my most prized and often re-read novels, including my pocket edition of P&P.

Sigh.

So I'm reading chick lit. Specifically, Chasing Harry Winston by Lauren Weisberger. Just finished it last week, still chewing it over. It wasn't a horrible read, but it wasn't Prada either. It was definitely better than her second book. Her characters, this time, are more alive and she gives them some good moments. Unfortunately those moments crash and burn with the failure of the plot landscape, or lack there of.

The story is roughly structured around three friends, of which, two make a sort of wager based on self-improvement/self-restraint. There's Emmy, the serial monogamist who (surprise-surprise) breaks up with her cheater boyfriend of 5 years (he dumps her, of course) and must go on a "tour-de-whore" and sleep with a bunch of men. There's Adriana, the Brazilian whore, who would rather you call her raunchy-too-many-too-count hook ups, "affairs" so she feels less like a whore (there is a limit to how many people anyone should sleep with, and I say loosing count crossed the line a long time ago) who must (surprise-surprise) hold down a monogamous relationship for one year. And then there's Leigh, the neurotic control freak, who has the "perfect life" that she's (surprise-surprise) not happy with. Leigh doesn't have anything to give up in the wager because of course, "her life is perfect."

It almost reminded me of high school when the boy trumpet players would bet one another who could go the longest without, well, you know, being teenage boys and play with their teenage personal remote controllers. Called it March Madness - they could only go for a month at the most but at least they had a real wager involved. The women of Weisberger's book didn't even put anything on the table.

In fact, the book really reminded me of those high school boys. The whole book was about sex. But it wasn't sexy, SJP SITC sex. It was flat, not even really funny, horny, 30 year old women agonizing about being 30 year old women sex. Ugh. Not attractive.

Don't get me wrong. Weisberger has talent. It's hidden in there somewhere. Emmy, Adriana, and Leigh all have moments where the reader can look at them and say, "Oh my gosh, I know that girl!" and sometimes even, "Oh my gosh, I am that girl!" and then laugh about it, which is a unique and golden talent in the genre of chick lit. Women are not easy to please and make themselves laugh about their own follies. Trust me, I am one. But perhaps the whole SITC thing has been done, and Weisberger should slant her focus in just a slightly different direction. Or at least, get her plot in gear so that the reader can really languish over those golden moments and not focus on the maze that was Winston's plot debacle. She's got a good voice, but her story keeps getting trampled in the process. I'm interested to see where she goes from here.