“Carrie took all their pictures from Jamaica (how happy they looked, just discovering each other), and cut out the ones of Mr. Big smoking his cigar. She thought about what it was like sleeping with him, how she would sleep curled around his back. She wanted to take the pictures and glue them to a piece of construction paper and write “Portrait of Mr. Big with His Cigar,” across the top and then, “I miss you,” with lots of kisses at the bottom. She stared at the pictures for a long time. And then she did nothing.”

I was expecting this book to be fun. Instead, it was strangely depressing. And I'm pleasantly surprised.
Plenty of people seem to have hated this book. But I gotta say I really liked it. I liked a lot of things about it.
I liked the cynical view of Manhattan and its dating landscape. Well, at least for the very limited social class it depicted. It really worked as a somber portrait of a city that, much like its people, was glamorous and extravagant on the outside, but completely hollow inside, with an emptiness that seemed to take up all the space.
I loved the writing style. There was a sort of detached, subtle quality to it that just accentuated the themes of the book. It contained a sense of helplessness, a distance from its characters, which worked well with the fact that these are are real people, living their real lives.
I found it really interesting how the author slowly became less and less present in her own book and turned into little more than an omniscient narrator by the end, while the book started containing more of an overarching story and less autoconclusive chapters with specific anecdotes and reflections.
I liked the characters. Yes, they weren't as defined and their personalities weren't as clearly outlined as their counterparts in the show. But honestly, did you expect something different? The show is a comedy. This is about real people.
And yes, it was problematic. But I enjoyed every second of it. It impartially showcased the opinions of its characters, which were... Questionable, to say the least. Just read the chapter on threesomes and you'll understand. And that's the reason why it works as a portrait of its setting and time. I think there's value in that. I think we could all take something from it.
My favourite chapters were chapters 10 and 11 (downtown babes meet old Greenwich gals & babes flee land of wives for night of topless fun); chapter 14 (portrait of a bulgy underwear model: the Bone pops out of his giant billboard); chapter 22 (bone and the white mink: Carrie's Christmas Carol); chapter 24 (Aspen); and chapter 25 (the last chapter). Oh my god, these titles are long.

So yeah. If you're looking for a fun book, this might not be it. But I think there's something really great about it.

I love the TV show, and I've watched the whole thing several times, so I've been meaning to read this book for about five years now. It was nothing like I expected. Nothing like the show, really, either.

The thing that I like best about the show is that you get to know and love all the characters and their struggles with their careers, men, and most of all, coming to terms with themselves. But the book is nothing like that. Plus, the show is funny, and the book...well, at least to me, wasn't. Mostly it was depressing. The first half of the book made it seem like it's impossible for women over thirty to find men because no men want women that old, they want 20 year olds who let them treat them like crap. It made women seem hopeless, and that men would inevitably disappoint, manipulate women into getting what they wanted, and leave. Basically the entire first half of the book made it seem like men have all the power in relationships, and women have to either take it or end up single and alone.

The second half of the book made me never want to be in a relationship anyway. It basically seemed to be saying that relationships are a slow wearing away of your individuality, spirit, and sanity. It seemed to be showing how relationships degrade people, bring out their worst, make people petty, jealous, insecure, and miserable. After reading this book, I really want to take anti-depressants, because it seems to be saying that everyone's goal in life is to find a relationship, and once you find one, you're inevitably disappointed and slowly driven insane. Or at least that you're bound to be miserable either way.

I'm not sure who I'd recommend this book to--it was very depressing to me. Maybe a person who is already happily married and has not a single doubt in their relationship.

Denna bok var så förvirrande och helt osammanhängande. Om jag inte hade hört om serien sex and the city så hade jag inte förstått att Carrie var huvudpersonen (och även om jag hört om serien så förstod jag det inte förrän halvvägs in i boken.) Jag var också extremt förvirrad gällande alla namn. Är Sam och Samantha samma person? Jag kunde inte hålla koll på alla karaktärer och det var svårt att veta vilka som var viktiga eftersom vissa personer bara nämns en gång medan vi får höra om andra genom hela boken. Jag förstod inte att Skipper var en man förrän alldeles för långt in i boken. Jag gillar konceptet att deras kaotiska liv speglas i att boken hoppar mellan olika sammanhang men det måste finnas en gräns. Läsarna behöver fortfarande någon typ av riktning eller vägledning. Det är svårt att skriva en review när jag inte fattar vad jag läste.

should subjectivity rule book reviews. I think so, yes. but I'm about to accept a 2 month work gig that will require me to live out of a suitcase for the duration. the problem is the work site is located, for all your Londoners, in Kensington, so to speak, and I'm looking at 1 hour commutes from Camden if I found a short-term time share. now one of these timeshares offers American Express payment terms, which is just finger-lickin' tempting, but I dunno. I guess I would rather see if it's humanly possible to squat atop Maybery. that's the sick thing about rich zones-- you start getting paid for things all the peons pay for.

(we don't pay taxes, we're rich)

'cuz subjectivity is whatever it is, what GR lurking and probing amounts to, maybe, is that I will, o anonymous reader, fill this entry with more prattle and stories. but guess what. because, every so often, a lurker thumbs-up one of my reviews, I know you're out there. I'm not talking to a vacuum. I'm not creating a one-sided conversation with Anonymous. (really doktor, I'm not)

the story I'm about to relate actually happened on that island Manhattan. it was around the turn of the century and Sex and the City was on the air. I met a "Clarence Durham Bickleby" (actual new England prep school name) who just casually mentioned, within hours of my making his acquaintaince, that he had viciously broken in the mid-teen younger sister of one of his friends. now was Clarence being affected by Sex and the City and its ethos of completely emotionless hookups? or was Sex and the City a product of the Manhattan mindset? and did Clarence Durham Bickleby evolve out of the finance-sector riches out of whence he came? or did finance talent arise from the mindset of predatorial social relationships?

actually I was sort of intending to more vividly characterize Manhattan apartments (especially their kitchens), the astronomic rents (I know a multi-millionaire family that lives merely in a duplex, ha, only Manhattan), the glow of incandescent lamps that will soon remain only in literature (already these are banned in some developing countries; you're next), how drugs can change a person's personality, or whether you are better off, in so many words, being the poorest person in Kensington or the richest in Bankside (most sources claim the former). I wanted to write about Manhattan in such terms that writing it out in all capitals would only serve as short-hand for that pure insularity of outlook. Jay-Z. dollar cabs. Century 21. god knows.

okay. so instead of the actual story, reader only gets "what the story would have been about." Clarence Durham Bickleby, scion of New London, heir to a 19th century canning fortune, and 2003 Manhattan sexual aggressor.

story 2! (batter up!)

I once had a year where I did nothing but house-sit. again, this is manhattan related, because when you are a Dubai prince with a couple billion, you buy a Murray Hill townhouse but don't really know what to do with it. but you can't just let anyone hang out there. even a service might be staffed mostly by Brooklyn winos. hence, only your friends's friends cousins can house sit for you. or your daughter's classmates' tutor. so in the end, in order to get these profitable house sitting assignments, I had to belong to the Racquet Club, the Harmonie club (Jewish only ha); I had to pool sit at another unnamed (that's how private) members' only group. I got to Manhattanite for just about how much I was making. or maybe a little less. blah. what a year. then I went overseas and earned it all back but became a nobody.

finally, story 3. I picked up this book in combination with the Gulag Archipelago. and I got Kafka on the Shore, although I've already read it. long story short, I am ripping up the books as I read them. that makes me an advanced tactical genius of travel or a word destroyer. and having wandered european capitals in my early 20s wearing out shoe rubber rather than expend more than 1 euro for a brioche, 1 euro for curry-wurst, 1 euro for nudeln, I now have the (Sult) experience of being a walker-poverty ridden in major capitals. of Paris-Amsterdam-London-Berlin, all of whose nooks and crannies I have sought out, I can state authoritatively

highest quality of life: Berlin (forests, prices)
best place to be exiled: London (sheer variety)
quality of visual spectacle: Paris (all that belle epoque metalwork)
freeist country: Amsterdam (police are shoved and honked at, amazing!)

SEX AND THE CITY is about Manhattan. it is about hookup culture. it is knowing and it flows. it stems from Bushnell's job as a gossip columnist. it captured a certain few years. 4/5

fun. camp. basically the show. i enjoyed.

ok luin se oli actually hyvä tho tai sillee... ehk koska luin aikaisemmin et täs kirjas ei oo paljo samoja hahmoja ja vielki this is not like romaani its just her kolumnit or sum nii it makes sense et joskus nää ei mee niiku sä luulet lool. mut joo i would rate this legit 4.5/5 salee koska i loved it lowky + ei 5/5 koska carrie ei oo wlw canonly jostain syystä

kera bedna knjiga

You don't hear me say this often, but TV/Movie > book in this case.

Meh. The first half was great and then it went down from there

Denne bog var som en af de psykomødre, som handlingsteksten beskriver, bare uden forkælelse. Den kvalte mig ganske enkelt langsomt.
Den var kedelig og den var slet ikke sjov og spøjs og sprængfyldt med lækkerheder omkring newyorkerlivet eller spøjse og sjove kærlighedshistorier. Den var: blah. Bluergh.
Skrivestilen var kedelig og jeg gabte mig nærmest igennem bogen. Personerne var intetsigende, de var et stort bundt af pivskide og de var ganske enkelt: kedelige.
Jeg kan slet ikke se hvordan denne bog kan være "bogen bag tv-serien", for jeg finder tv-serien hylende morsom, hammer fræk og spændende. Den er fyldt med lækkerier og det er en serie jeg kan se igen og igen og igen! Tanken om at skulle læse denne bog igen gør mig helt skidt.. Bare det at hive bogen frem fra reolen (hvorfor har jeg den overhovedet stadig på reolen?), gjorde mig ilde til mode..
Jeg er så skuffet og når jeg nu tænker tilbage på min læseoplevelse, så synes jeg endda at de to stjerner jeg oprindeligt havde givet den, er for gavmildt og jeg er forundret over, at jeg overhovedet fik den færdiglæst.

En tanke kører gennem mit hoved: hvad er det folk ser i denne bog, som jeg ikke kan se? Hvordan har folk kunnet læse denne bog og tænke: "Den her! Den vil kunne skabe en vildt populær og millionindbringende serie, der vil få kvinder verden over til at sukke!"? Jeg kan ikke se det.. Jeg kan ikke forstå det og det ærgrer mig virkelig.. Jeg bryder mig ikke om, ikke at kunne lide bøger, men denne her var simpelthen bare... Suk!

What a fucking waste of my time - I didn’t really think it was gonna be good but I also didn’t think it would be so BORING!!!!!!!! Should’ve stopped but made a promise to start finishing books

أعترف بأن نظرتي للزواج كانت سلبية ومتشائمة، لكن رواية "الجنس والمدينة" لكانديش بوشنيل التي نقلت لنا تفاصيل حياة سكان نيويورك جعلتني أغير نظرتي كلياً في هذا الموضوع. محور حياة شخصيات الرواية يدور حول المال والجنس والمخدرات والكحول. لا حُب، لا إستقرار، لا أمان عاطفي، لا إخلاص، خيانات، وعلاقات شاذة. شخصيات الرواية أشبه بالحيوانات التي تشبع رغباتها بدون مشاعر، حتى الحيوانات تأنف من الدخول في علاقات كالتي تحدثت عنها الكاتبة.
إن كان الناس في الغرب يعيشون فعلا بهذه الطريقة، فلا عجب أن ينتحروا. ماذا تعني الحياة بدون أهل وزوج وأطفال؟ كيف يستمر الإنسان بدماغ سليم والمخدرات تنخر في دمه كل يوم؟هذه ليست حرية، هذه حيوانية بل أسوأ، هذا ليس تقدماً وحضارة بل هو سقوط في قعر الحضيض. الحمد لله على نعمة الحياة الخشبية