I've tried reading so-called chick lit--those paperback books with shoes, shopping bags, and skinny women gracing the covers. First of all, I like to keep my finger on the pulse of what the American public is reading, and it seems, based on the numbers, that plenty of them are devouring books by Sophie Kinsella and Helen Fielding. But second, I've tried reading chick lit because sometimes a girl just needs a little breather from Samantha Power and Zadie Smith. I'm not always great at enjoying the lighter side of life, and chick lit seemed like a potential way in.
Boy was I wrong. The few that I've tried to read left me offended and just plain bored. It seemed that I was forever destined to my super serious reading punctuated by zoning out in front of crappy reality television when I needed a little break from it all. Until I read Super in the City...Daphne Uviller's new novel is not so much chick lit as lite fiction for the feminist minded reader. The main character, 27-year-old Zephyr, wonders why she is the laziest ambitious person she knows--pursuing then dropping dreams of med school, law school, and a thousand other jobs. She just can't figure out what she wants to do with her life (not an unfamiliar experience these days, I know).
But twists and turns of fate land her in the initially unexciting position of being the super of her family brownstone. Before long, there are cute boys, sexy mysteries, and always a team of four best friends leading Zephyr on all kinds of adventures that, yes, in the end help her clarify something about herself, love, and the future.
This is fun fiction. It flies. And it's really funny. Best of all, Uviller has an amazing imagination, that's reflected in Zephyr's frequent flights of fantasy through out the novel. She makes all of your crazy schemes, silly dreams, and catastrophic worries seem normal.
And the whole thing is feminist and fast-moving--a great break from Judith Butler.
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Thanks for this review - I've always had an interest in Chick Lit. I've not read the genre extensively, but I have read the Bridget Jones' Diary duo and I actually really liked them. A lot of Bridget Jones' Diary is very feminist - I love the part where she reaches her fantasy "goal weight" and it just doesn't look right on her. The feminist messages in the book are easy to swallow for heteronormative women who don't consider themselves feminists, but could use some feminist advice to cope with their lives and the absurd demands on them. There's certainly nothing radical about it, but it is very reminiscent of Jane Austen (whose works tend to be referenced often in Chick Lit).
I've also used "chick lit" (oh, how I hate the term) to break up my more-serious readings, and I find the only way to enjoy it is to take it with a giant grain of salt and make fun of it while reading. Same for romance novels. I think my head would implode if I read those things without constantly picking out the stupid bits.
If you read the sci-fi / fantasy version of chick lit, you might find it more interesting as the women in those stories are usually on a quest for something and play a variety of characters, many with great power within the context of the story.
I'm going to look for this at the Library. I have a bit of a personal connection. At 27 I was a super for my sister and her husband's building. Alas, I did not get any cute admirers; though a couple of the tenants, the elderly Latvian and youngish Mexican family were very gracious and never failed to feed me if I was working on their apartments. It never occurred to the American-born to do so.
After working a similar job for years -- and getting a heavy dose of the artist community life -- I almost always remember the people working for me in a similar way.
My mom always took care of the meter readers, cable people, and anyone else who came over to work, and I think it's an important bit of hospitality to continue when possible.
A guy came by my warehouse a few weeks ago to fix the satellite TV dish, and after watching him run up and down three flights of stairs AND get covered in bug poo in our crawlspace, I offered him a cold bottle of water. He was so surprised that he almost didn't want to take it from me, but I insisted.
When did this very basic kind of hospitality go out of style?
Please don't lump Helen Fielding in with this bunch. Bridget was really quite a bit different than the movie, because in the movie you miss out on so much of her inner monologue. I think a lot of books that came after Bridget (which was written in the 90s) are imitators.
Also, Cause Celeb and Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination are great.
Zadie Smith doesn't write about the lighter side of life? That's not the White Teeth I read...