With someone younger, too. Easier. More charming, even if she has a tendency to waste her talents on efforts that do no one justice.
I read the newest Sophie Kinsella novel this weekend. Overnight, really.
I know, I know. I'm supposed to be reading What is the What as quickly as possible (by next book club meeting, which is Sunday). I'm ashamed of myself, truly I am.
It was just so.... simple. Like brain candy. Or when Big chooses Natasha, or Hubbell cheats on Katie with the chick with straight hair and no personality.
Erm, back to books. Remember Me? was.... sweet. Simple. Sort of like "Samantha Who?" except the amnesiac is missing just three years of her life to memory loss versus a whole lifetime. Honestly, this plot decision actually makes the author's job harder -- we are expected to believe the main character, Lexi, has changed completely, inside and out, in less time than it takes to change over a U.S. presidency.
In some ways, it's cute -- imagine waking up one day with perfect hair, perfect teeth, and a perfect body. And you didn't even have to work for it. I mean, you did, but you don't remember it and so it's kind of like magic. Like Other You did it while you were sleeping. Cool, right? And I'm all for plots that ask you to suspend disbelief (Bewitched, for example, or Vanity Fair), but what gets me is the personality transplant. No person goes from doormat to uber bitch in three years. And, at the end (sorry, this is a titch of a spoiler), we're asked to believe Lexi was a bitch on the outside who regretted adopting so many evil characteristics....
Ugh. I guess you'd have to read it to get where I'm going on this one. Although I can't in good faith suggest you go out and read this book. I mean, I liked it, but I generally love Sophie Kinsella's poppy ridiculousness. Even when there are enough holes in the plot line for the whole thing to fall through.
What I hated, though, was the idea a woman at work has to be -- no, needs to be -- liked. That to be disliked, or avoided, is a bad thing. Now, I'm not saying I endeavour to be hated at work. Who would? And I'm not among the power-suited '80s generation who believed being evil and duplicitous was key to success. But I hated when Lexi started killing herself to be liked, when she started bringing muffins to work and crying in her office instead of paying attention to the fact her job was being yanked from underneath her....
[Insert sigh here.] Okay, I'm going to stop looking for deeper meaning in stereotypical chick lit. Shockingly, there is no feminist undertone. I just have to live with the fairy tale of it all.
[Complete sidenote for everyone who hates Daylight Saving Time. Which, surprisingly, includes many people.]