I’ve been on a mad chick lit streak lately, since clearly I need another hobby. The good news: I’ve mostly managed to regain my can-finish-an-entire-novel-in-three-hours mojo. The bad: I’m staying up until roughly 3am* every night since it’s the only solid reading time I can manage. Whee!
For the most part I’m enjoying myself. I read the Jessica Darling books all in a row (I’d only read the first two, and that was years ago so I started at the beginning again so it’d be fresh in my mind) and loved them unreasonably. I enjoyed the last two Shopaholic books, although I do not recommend reading them back-to-back since they are a bit, ehm, formulaic. I thought I’d enjoy the other things that Sophie Kinsella/Madeleine Wickham wrote, but – and perhaps this is my fault – I can’t get behind the whole “I need a maaaaaan to make me truly fulfilled” thing. Dude, I know. But the things that bugged me about the Jessica Darling books (“She loves him! How can she be without him if she loves him? Doesn’t she know he is clearly the one?”) pale in comparison to my fury upon finishing Undomestic Goddess. If you’ve read the book, maybe you know what I mean. If you haven’t…well, I don’t recommend it.
I do, however, recommend the Thursday Next series by Jasper Fforde. Can’t wait for the latest one from the library. (But, uh, I think I will. I ran out to Powells yesterday because I couldn’t wait for Fourth Comings to get to the hold counter, and while I am glad I did, I don’t think I need to do that with every book I want to read. Our house = very small.)
*The question is, of course, am I crazy from lack of sleep? Or am I not sleeping because I am crazy? You be the judge.