From the opening lines I knew what I was letting myself in for.
Oh. My. God. What the...?
My heart thumps wildly as I snatch a City Girls magazine off a Lincoln Park newsstand. I clutch the glossy little weekly in horror as my eyes zero in on the headline:
WINGWOMAN BEARS ALL.
Shitty! It can't be.
Chills prickle down my spine as I rip off my Diesel sunglasses to take a closer look.
And so on. It will, for example, come as no surprise that Vic's cat's named Armani, or that designer names are sprinkled liberally throughout, though there's a merciful near-absence of shoes. The vast majority of the other chick lit memes are present, however, most notably an underdeveloped heroine who's self-centred, shallow and somewhat feckless.
Vic is fired for numerous absences, continually oversleeps and is late, forgets important things and has little regard for her credit card. She also drinks. A lot.
I realise, re-reading this, that I sound like someone's disapproving spinster aunt. Vic is only twenty-four, and responsible maturity hardly descends upon everyone at that age. But I found the reckless, heedless activity uncomfortable to read about, and I like my characters to have a little more depth. Plus despite the fact that the drinking repeatedly gets her in to trouble, she is unable, time after time after time, to remember to slow down, even when she's officially working. Vic does, of course, grow through the course of the novel - and I don't even know why I wrote 'of course,' because not all chick lit heroines do.
Singletini clearly had some mitigating elements because, despite my large pile of library books, stacks and boxes of unread books, and somewhat messy home, I did read it to the end. I suspect, however, that I may be aging out of the genre. - Alex