Firstly, this is not my kind of book. Described by some as Chick-Lit-Noir, I never thought I’d find myself reading Chick-Lit, but I promised someone I would read it. I have no idea how many stars to give this book, so it will remain star-less. The review will have to suffice.
Camilla Randall is certainly down on her luck. Recently arrived in San Francisco in search of a job, her belongings in NY have been stolen from storage by a crooked doorman after her apartment was foreclosed on, she has no money, a perverted Englishman interrupted her dumpster diving while looking for bottles to recycle for a bottle of milk, a coyote has been chewing on her good shoes, and to top things off she discovered the footless body of the local sex toy emporium, “Lance,” where she had hoped to get a job.
Getting an offer of an advance and publication of her new Miss Manners book, Camilla manages to get to England where nothing is as it was supposed to be and events just seem to get worse. For a while I suspected the book to be an anti-publisher screed, but I have probably over analyzed. She’s ensconced in an old factory with several anti-social reprobates. She has no money and can’t find a place to sleep so she beds down behind some cardboard walls in the factory. When invited to sleep with Rosalee and Colin at their secret rendezvous cottage, Colin attacks her in the middle of the night as Rosalee is “in that time of the month” and he doesn’t want to waste the little “blue pills.”
The plot then descends into the more improbable, mixing in a bunch of characters I never really got a sense for, and Camilla often comes across as truly clueless. Nevertheless, the writing is fine and the book does have momentum, so I guess I would have to say that I often kept reading just to see what madcap adventure evolved next, although the perpetrator was a bit obvious by the last third of the book. There are some mildly amusing quips about publishing and Robin Hood. If you are looking for a very light read that would remind you of the silly movies of the fifties, it might be just the book for you.
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