"My college summers were spent as a podiatric assistant in my dad's, Walt's, officer where I had come to adore Lily. During her ritual footbaths, I came to understand the sacrifices she made in her life, the dreams lost in self-recrimination and the vast love gained in the sweet solitude of surrender. I was deeply touched by her story, steeped in loss and self-renewal."And the old chick tells writer chick to tell her story. What story? Plot much?
This book is abysmally written. In addition to the clunky dialogue and awkward exposition, she loves her some adverbs and has a knack for turning such a bewildering phrase that I wondered if perhaps English was not her first, or even second, language. She has literally no character development and after reading half the book, I could barely tell the characters apart. Clearly this is why there's a character list in the front of the book. The author also seems to have an odd sense of how things work in the real world. I don't care how great a writer this chick is, if the adult film producer generally pays $500 for a script and he pays her $3500, there's something really wack there. Especially since she's had nothing produced. Plus, allegedly the character had worked at an agency for three years and she's never heard the term "units" (used in a video context)? Weird.
But what's REALLY weird is the content of this book. Chick lit is about chicks, for chicks, written by chicks, right? After reading (half) this book, I think Lynn Isenberg is a man, baby, and an old one at that, who lacks any insight into the female mind. Example A: She refers to the naked women in the posters lining the adult film producer's office as "stacked." I've never heard a woman use that phrase (nor a man, for that matter, after 1964). Example B: Dressing to go to a party, "I sift through my wardrobe trying to compose a hot outfit I can put together in a hurry—I know, the black Tara Jarmon pantsuit with a sheer top, a charcoal leather duster and black leather calf-high boots that Bennett gave me last year." If that's not convincing enough, a few weeks later she dresses for a party in her go-anywhere black cocktail dress and black loafers. Loafers! And it's not like being fashion-challenged is part of her personality. Everyone thinks she's wonderful and beautiful, so clearly that's just some wrong writing. Example C: She writes a film for the adult film industry that centers on two girls who are dating until one decides she wants to be heterosexual and the other hires a guy to date her and dump her so she'll come back to her. Not only was this already a movie (Three of Hearts, I think, and there might be a Baldwin in it), but the vast majority of the movie centers on girl on girl action. Not only that, but when our heroine goes to Victoria's Secret to watch her sister try on lingerie for her wedding (??), the adult film star (female) and her girlfriend get busy in the next stall, while our heroine listens in. Then, she meets a film producer (female) who invites her to dinner and hits on her in a big way. "And then my mind races with competing thoughts, emotions and questions that go something like this: 'Oh my God, a woman is kissing me.' 'Hmmm, I can't believe how nice it feels.' "What am I doing? I'm not gay!' 'This is wrong for me.' 'God, I miss the arms of a man, a man who loves me.' 'What is the meaning of this?'"
It goes on for quite a while in that fashion and women keep coming on to her. Then she goes on blind dates with men and acts sex-crazed and licentious and actually scares them away. She's on a first date with a guy at Cirque du Soleil and can't understand why he drops her off right after the show. After all, "during the entire performance I whispered to him how I couldn't wait to duplicate all those contortions for him in bed." On a first date! Who behaves like this? (A man's fantasy, that's who.) Her second date is with some guy who she goes to see sculptures with "where I couldn't help but see, and express, something sexual in every object we looked at." He runs away, though clearly, this is another's man's (the author!) fantasy.
But anyway, this is supposed to be chick lit and the guy she ends up with isn't even introduced until more than halfway through the book. The author spends no time on him, seemingly only including him at the end because someone reminded the author that this is supposed to be chick lit. Whew! This book sucked. It's amazing that stuff like this gets published. Red Dress Ink should really stick to importing Brit chick lit.