This is how I feel reading this book: like I am eating a bunch of double stuffed Oreos-unwanted sugar and calories and they don't even taste good. The best quote from this book shows some awareness of this problem- "I wanna like improve myself, and my girlfriends, who need alot of improvement, believe me. It's like all they can talk about is Michael Kors and what a genius he is and I can't stand it. " ok, me neither!!

this is like a cotton candy book.. totally something easy to read and engaging, and really funny in a social-commentary-on-the-rich kind of way. i flew through most of the book when i was keeping a bedridden noah company yesterday night, and then finished it off this morning when i took a coffee break at a starbucks near my office. i was totally in the mood for something fun and light, and this was the perfect meringue of a book for the occasion...

i often find it so much easier to sink into a book when i like the characters that i meet within it. like, i really liked "moi" (as the first-person protagonist referred to herself), a self described "champagne bubble of a girl about town" who was sweet and funny, smart and observant, and in general, a very likeable guide into a glamorous world so unlike my own...

not that this was a completely fluffy book though! it was actually kind of DARK in some respects, and made me think a lot about how well we really know the PHs (prospective husbands, according to the lingo of the park avenue princesses) in our lives. it's super easy to be so smitten with someone that you imagine them to be everything you've ever dreamed of, to read deep significance into their every comment/action, and to essentially *deceive* yourself like the protagonist of this novel did time and again. now at the end of the book, i really DID want to believe that charlie was different from the other guys, but while he definitely demonstrated some positive characteristics, i had to feel like we simply didn't know enough about him yet to really make a good decision! i also sensed an unstated premise (which i fundamentally disagree with) that the girls could not be happy or liberated from their socially confining state without finding true love. because i believe there is merit to being a complete and content person in and of yourself, without seeking validation or worth in the (potentially fickle) affections and attentions of another.

although, that being said, even i cannot deny the truly magical nature of being in love! how could i NOT just meeeeelt when charlie says at the end of the book, "sometimes i think you were made especially for me"? :)

[review originally written June 2004]

The cover is trés gorgeous, which sent my estrogen level skyrocketing. (Okay, now I'm exaggerating.) I love the plot and the characters, I love Moi and Julie! I wish I have a friendship like theirs. They talk in a very chic way, and I admit, sometimes it just gets on my nerves. But nevertheless, it was really a great book all the same.

I found this book very boring and the characters extremely predictable... I thought this was supposed to be a very funny/cynical book and a social critique with a twist but in the end it was just another bad chick lit book (the ending was particularly appalling!).

How I Came To Own This Book: Gillian bought it due to the hype surrounding the novel.

The Plot: The unnamed character (who goes by Moi) is your typical, irritating, self-obsessed upper East Sider in NYC on the hunt for a husband and all the other trivialities that make up 'that' type of woman's life - shopping, being seen, and looking great while doing it. Basically a very very fluffy slice of life from a woman who has been there...

The Good & The Bad: This is one of my least favourite books (of this genre at least) of all time, to the point of being almost unreadable. The only part I specifically remember is calling a certain sexual act 'getting tiramisu' (I will leave it up to you to discern what that means) and texting a friend that Moi is getting said act, then said act ending abruptly when actor discovered what actee is up to. Ugh. In all the book was completely pointless and irritating - from the characters to the plot - and a definite non-recommendation on my part.

The Bottom Line: A brutal read that I am still mystified on in regards to the level of hype it received.

50-Book Challenge?: No.

Valid and superficial...

I really tried with this one. Really. I can't take how shallow and stupid these girls are, so I'm giving up. I can't help but hate the characters. I'm glad I only spent 50 cents on this book, otherwise I'd be sad that I wasted some money.

This book is pretty good for those periods of time when you have problems and you just want to clear your mind and have some fun.

Mon avis en Français

My English review

I had the novel in English and the cover made me think of a historical romance. In fact, the beginning made me think of it for a long time… Well, until the heroine started talking about cell phones. Yes, well, I realized that it was not what I thought! Not at all!

The main character has no name, she is referred to as “Moi”, but we will follow her throughout the novel in her life full of glitters. But Moi has no luck with men and if Julie, her rich best friend, is always there for her, she does as she pleases.

I thought that Moi would realize her actions and stop behaving like a child, but no, it will take a long time before she understands even a little bit that she is doing wrong.

It was an okay novel, but there are better ones so I don’t necessarily recommend it.

tRather than a female narrator called, say, Plum, we have a narrator called “Moi,” which is that much more intimate. Moi is quick to point out that she is not blonde, that she has a career, as a fashion magazine writer no less, and that she happens to be a conduit for the lives of the rich and blonde around her.
tThe tone is curious, more Teen Vogue than proper Vogue. Still, it follows American magazine protocol in being chatty, toothlessly catty and less than fully informed. This suits the narrative which follows a traditional arc of girl meets boy, loses boy, meets boy, meets boy, meets really rich boy and swoons. There is a similarity to the television show Sex in the City, in that all men who wander across the pages are either appalling or unutterably wonderful. As Moi sums up her love life: “I had somehow contrived to date one brute, one congenital liar and a professional lothario.”
tEarly on Moi offers a short list of reasons why it is better to live in New York than in London. After Mummy, Toffs (“ew!”) and Daddy comes the Brazilian, as in the bikini wax favored by thong-wearing women whose nether regions tend to be their most interesting asset. Could the narrator and author be unaware of the fact that such a treatment is available in London? Should Vogue be alerted to the existence of a little place called Bliss?
tThis display of ignorance becomes less startling as Bergdorf Blondes stumbles on, and it allows for a cloying motif. Because of this amazing new waxing thing that has never been heard of outside of New York, sex is referred to throughout as variations on the word Brazil. This is not unlike Jay McInerney referring to cocaine in “Bright Lights Big City” as Bolivian Marching Powder. Moi, then, goes to Brazil, she goes to the Amazon, she goes to Rio (the clitoris), and, most dismayingly to Impanema. For the sake of context, Moi informs “ . . . . you know me, when faced with a choice between another glass of Pimms or a trip to Brazil, I’ll always take the Brazil.” Of course sex is relative in a world where “Michael Kors understands the inside of a womans’ thigh like no other man I know.”
tOh yes, fashion. There is barely a designer’s name that doesn’t happen to be one of the major advertisers in the first zillion pages of Vogue. The careful politics of acceptable product placement are adhered to but when something as safely acceptable as Alexander McQueen isn’t being exalted the author loses her footing. The lovely designs of Marni for instance, which could be described as shabby chic, are here rendered as having the look of a “street urchin” which is spectacularly incorrect. Personal taste is questionable in the extreme, most especially when we come to a $325 pair of Chloe Jeans which apparently “do something amazing for my ass.”
tFor a deep inside look at New York fashionista wit, which is slightly too stupid to be offensive: “The hottest sample sales in New York are so fraught with danger they make the Gaza Strip look peaceful.”
tThroughout advance copies of the book I was honored to see the author’s mind at work in mid-composition -- pen held aloft as she searched for the mot juste, as moi wouldn’t say. At one point it is written “J’ sais pas [sic:] (ck. French),” which is very sweet given that the narrator expresses excitement with liberal use of the word “trés.” Elsewhere comes the need to describe small items inspiring “chahtchkis [sic:] (ck sp/ Jewish word).” Indeed.
tDespite Moi’s objection to England, the whole inside-New York fairy tale grinds to a halt in the English countryside and everyone lives happily ever after, but not before our heroine gets mud on her Jimmy Choos. The ending brings the proceedings firmly into the realm of Barbara Cartland -- the moral of the story is to marry well, which I suppose is the ultimate beauty tip.

The thing about this book, is that in order to read and enjoy it, you have to be seriously willing to stick with it. The first third of the book, our main character is a true ninny with no backbone in the worst way. The story is the definition of shallow, and it seems like it'll never go deeper. And while they don't necessarily deepen, you come to appreciate the characters as they are. Picture "moi," the main character being played by Marilyn Monroe, not Rosalind Russell for example. She's a fluff character, but once you give in, you can really enjoy her story. Read if you want to be carried away to a New York made up entirely of bellinis and brand names, with a fun little tale tossed in.

Lassan kezdek rájönni, hogy mi a bajom az amerikai chick lit-ekkel, illetve azok egyik fajtájával, a glamour lit-tel, amelyben nagyon menő csajokról van szó, akik többnyire New York felső 10000-hez tartoznak, vagy legalábbis oda akarnak bejutni. Üresek. Üres az egész világuk és valahogy mindig úgy érzem, hogy még ha irónikus is próbálna lenni a szerző valahol a szíve mélyén inkább tényleg irigyli az életüket és ő maga is szeretne közéjük tartozni. Ezért utáltam annyira a Szex és New Yorkot, a könyvet előbb, aztán a sorozatból is csak vagy 3 részt tudtam megnézni, annyira felszínesnek, üresnek és hihetetlenül unszinpatikusnak találtam a szereplőket. Márpedig nekem kell legalább egy szereplő akit meg tudok kedveln.

A New York hercegnői is szatíra akar lenni, de azt hiszem az elbeszélővel van a gond. Bár ő a főszereplő, aki kicsit kívülálló ebben a hihetetlenül előkelő, divatbolond és szörnyen zárt társaságban, bár mindenáron oda akar tartozni, igazi amerikai lány akar lenni, szemben anyjával, aki meg az angolokhoz menekül. Először azt hittem, majd lesznek jópofa meglátásai és vicces helyzetekbe keveredik, s mindezt majd intelligens humorral kommentálja de ez elmaradt. Szörnyen szánalmasnak tűnt. Viszont a legjobb barátnője, aki igazi Bergdorf, szőke, gazdag örökösnő a kiváltságosok életének minden előnyével (elvégre az eredeti cím is a The Bergdorf Blondes volt) meglepően jó fejnek tűnt. Holott ő az elkényeztetett ezüstkanállal szájában született elkényeztetett nő, aki akár Paris Hilton is lehetne, mégis szimpatikus volt. Tisztában a saját határaival és megvolt a magához való esze, amit kiválóan használt. Szóval ahhoz képest, hogy eleinte valami antihősnőt vártam, sokkal jobb pontokat kapott tőlem.

Ja persze történet az nincs sok: csajok, élik az életüket, felszínes barátságok, rongyrázások, a pasik mind szemetek, kivéve az aki barátként mindig segít és titokban ő az, aki … De ez elég átlátszó trükk, nem is tartogat sok meglepetést a regény kimenetele.

Azért azt kell mondanom, hogy a könyvklubos résztől kifeküdtem. Úgyhogy azért kap vagy 2 csillaggal többet a könyv, mint amúgy adnék rá, mert határozottan hangosan felröhögtem amikor azt a részt olvastam, amikor ezek az übercsajok megpróbálkoznak elolvasni és megbeszélni egy díjnyertes regényt.

Szóval a New York hercegnői valahol ott helyezkedik el, ahol a Főnőknőm egy boszorkány (The Devil wears Prada – Az Ördög Pradat visel mint a mozikból ismerhetjük). Tucat főhősnő, semmi különleges stílus, viszont
van egy nagyon jó karakter, aki miatt nem érzem annyira idő pocsékolásnak az olvasást, mert szórakoztatott.

Eredetileg: http://olvasonaplo.net/olvasonaplo/20...