Your friendly book reviewer returns with another opinion (surprise!)
WARNING: I'm going to blow the plot line for you here, so quit reading this post if that bugs you. The reality is I'm saving you from reading a terrible book.
After a lively discussion of chick lit a few posts back, I now bring you a chick lit book to avoid. If you've ever fallen in love with the adventures of Bridget Jones, don't forget that authors rarely maintain their literary prowess after writing fun books like those.
Helen Fielding wrote *Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination* which, I regret to say, is worth putting down. And not picking up again. I have to hope that a ghost writer was involved because it is so bad on so many levels. The plot is silly and completely unrealistic. The writing is plain terrible. The whole book is about as smooth as an airplane ride in a thunderstorm. It's as though Ms. Fielding's editor made some suggestions, and Ms. Fielding, feeling like quite the acclaimed author, simply said, "Whatever," and continued writing trash.
The first person we meet is Olivia. (Insignificant sidenote: just for fun, Olivia changed her name upon entering adulthood because her entire family had been killed in an auto accident and now she's decided to reinvent herself. Whatever.) She's one of those working-really-hard-but-not-making-it-because-her-(male)-boss-doesn't-get-her-work types. She works at a newspaper in London and instead of hard hitting news, she's relagated to the Style section. Never mind that her character development seems rather appropriate to a person writing in the Style section, but again, whatever. As the gripping plot develops she meets up with terrorists posing as perfumiers, terrorists posing as divers in Honduras and even goes to cover a pretend story (she goes undercover) in the Sudan, sponsored by a (you guessed it) terrorist posing as an Arabian Nights type of prince in shining camel. Basically she has hunches that this one guy is a terrorist and contacts the British CIA folks and goes undercover, except that there's another British spy playing both sides who outs her. The really, super-duper gripping part of the story involves her spy ring (which I thought was something you got in a Happy Meal, but according to this it's real spy equiptment), her gas bomb (which knock out the terrorist who eventually hold her captive) and her spy kit. Puh-lease. It's so dumb, I can't even write about it. (Oh, and did I mention this really unpredictable part where she falls in love with another spy who has something like a "rock hard chest rippling with muscles". AAAAAAAAHHH! I can't believe I read this book cover to cover!)
The moral of the story is, if you've written one or two fun, good books, don't rest on your laurels and think people will eat up whatever garbage you produce. This book is awful and even the biggest Briget Jones fan knows it. Unless your only other option is a thousand needles in your eye, don't waste your time on this one.
And yet there's hope! I'm currently reading *The $64 Tomato* by William Alexander. (Wouldn't you love a name you could shorten to Bill Al?) It's great fun, particularly because I've been in yard and garden crisis ever since we moved into this house. A positive review is sure to follow, unless the last half of this book takes a great big turn for the worse.
After a lively discussion of chick lit a few posts back, I now bring you a chick lit book to avoid. If you've ever fallen in love with the adventures of Bridget Jones, don't forget that authors rarely maintain their literary prowess after writing fun books like those.
Helen Fielding wrote *Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination* which, I regret to say, is worth putting down. And not picking up again. I have to hope that a ghost writer was involved because it is so bad on so many levels. The plot is silly and completely unrealistic. The writing is plain terrible. The whole book is about as smooth as an airplane ride in a thunderstorm. It's as though Ms. Fielding's editor made some suggestions, and Ms. Fielding, feeling like quite the acclaimed author, simply said, "Whatever," and continued writing trash.
The first person we meet is Olivia. (Insignificant sidenote: just for fun, Olivia changed her name upon entering adulthood because her entire family had been killed in an auto accident and now she's decided to reinvent herself. Whatever.) She's one of those working-really-hard-but-not-making-it-because-her-(male)-boss-doesn't-get-her-work types. She works at a newspaper in London and instead of hard hitting news, she's relagated to the Style section. Never mind that her character development seems rather appropriate to a person writing in the Style section, but again, whatever. As the gripping plot develops she meets up with terrorists posing as perfumiers, terrorists posing as divers in Honduras and even goes to cover a pretend story (she goes undercover) in the Sudan, sponsored by a (you guessed it) terrorist posing as an Arabian Nights type of prince in shining camel. Basically she has hunches that this one guy is a terrorist and contacts the British CIA folks and goes undercover, except that there's another British spy playing both sides who outs her. The really, super-duper gripping part of the story involves her spy ring (which I thought was something you got in a Happy Meal, but according to this it's real spy equiptment), her gas bomb (which knock out the terrorist who eventually hold her captive) and her spy kit. Puh-lease. It's so dumb, I can't even write about it. (Oh, and did I mention this really unpredictable part where she falls in love with another spy who has something like a "rock hard chest rippling with muscles". AAAAAAAAHHH! I can't believe I read this book cover to cover!)
The moral of the story is, if you've written one or two fun, good books, don't rest on your laurels and think people will eat up whatever garbage you produce. This book is awful and even the biggest Briget Jones fan knows it. Unless your only other option is a thousand needles in your eye, don't waste your time on this one.
And yet there's hope! I'm currently reading *The $64 Tomato* by William Alexander. (Wouldn't you love a name you could shorten to Bill Al?) It's great fun, particularly because I've been in yard and garden crisis ever since we moved into this house. A positive review is sure to follow, unless the last half of this book takes a great big turn for the worse.
posted by Left Coast Sister at 8:10 PM
9 Comments:
That just cracked me up. I too was suckered into reading that whole, entire book. AUGHHH!!!! is right. Anxious to hear if your new book winds up being a winner.
I will not be reading THAT one....thanks for the heads up. I do think that the Bill Al one sounds good. (Watch me try to really look up the author with that name and wonder why I can't find it....ha ha) Thanks for the review.... I am glad that it was lighter than more child abuse news...AaaaaK!
thx for the warning. :)
and further on the subject of bridget jones:
one thing that struck me about both books was how completely untrue to herself BJ seemed. that is, how little of her real self she revealed to potential suitors. the difference in what she communicated to her BF vs what she put in her diary or shared with her friends seemed dramatic.
is this really how it works?
i mean, i know that none of us shows our complete self to someone else on the first evening, but golly! there seemed to be so much assuming going on, rather than communicating.
so my question is:
- is BJ at least a little bit realistic (ie, representative of how some women think about romance, etc)?
- is that manner of operating learned?
- is it conscious?
- is it productive?
- do men do it, too?
- do women *think* men do it?
okay, that was several questions. smart answers from smart sisters welcome.
Bryan: That's how girls do it who read chick lit. Check her bookshelf. :)
(Sorry, Smart Sis and JR, but it needs to be said!)
Thank you.
Also, don't waste your time reading Jennifer Weiner's latest "Goodnight Nobody". It was like reading a really, really bad episode of Desperate Housewives (which I don't mind watching - zoning out to- on tv, but wouldn't want to read).
Love your opinions!:) Keep 'em coming!
Carrie
So sorry to be the one to break it to ya, Bryan. Yes, all women tend to be exactly as they are portrayed in books. Approximately 5'8", 120 lbs and able to afford the latest Michael Kors bag (I have no idea what this would look like but I think it was referenced a total of 350 times in this idiotic book). And they tend to wear lots of heels even in places like Honduras and they are never true to deeper things in life. Things that are deeper than mascara or lip liner, that is. Yes, we are a herd of conniving, self-serving people who do not believe in ourselves enough to just be honest about who we are until we have a ring on our finger. (; (tongue back out of cheek: Actually, I read chick lit a lot and am nothing like bridget jones. Which must have been appealing to at least one man. But, I married him, so no one else can.)
I'd have to say that while a lot of females may be a lot like Bridget, I don't think that I related much to her pattern of showing one side but hiding her "real" side. That kind of bugged me, too. I found the books highly entertaining, especially the first one, but I did keep waiting her her to be herself and for him to like her as she was. Games like that seem a lot like heavy makeup to me: at some point he's gonna see you without it, and THEN WHAT??? Better to just be yourself pretty much at the beginning (okay, maybe not RIGHT at the beginning).
That's the fun of reading a genre like Chick Lit, they are NOTHING like me, and a well-stocked, well-rounded bookcase is a good sign if you ask me!
Carrie
round bookcases are hard to store books in.
and thx for the reassurance. i'm glad to think that BJ's not the norm. when we're talking about Bridget Jones, I mean.
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