Second Look Book: The Keyes to Closure

Marian Keyes is one of my favorite authors.  Which is odd because her books don't dwell in the cocoon of comfort in which I usually burrow.  No, her novels, despite being rife with Jo Malone candles and witty wisecracks, are steeped in real life and all its complex emotions.  Yet however paradoxically, there is a kind of comfort in that.  So when I'd heard that Keyes had written a follow-up to Rachel's Holiday, namely Again, Rachel, I was all in.  

Rachel is one of the five beloved Walsh sisters, a quintet of flawed, take-no-prisoners, hilarious women.  Each has her own book -- and her own demons.  So, in Rachel's Holiday, middle sister Rachel isn't jetting off to Paris or Ibiza.  She's going to rehab.  Her stint at Dublin's Cloisters is as harrowing and heartbreaking as you'd imagine, albeit tempered by Keyes's signature snark.  Now, twenty years later, Keyes revisits Rachel's story in Again, Rachel.  A counselor at the Cloisters, Rachel seems to have it all figured out.  But twenty years is a long time, and a lot has happened.  

A master storyteller, Keyes doesn't fill us in all at once, instead feeding us flashbacks filtered through the voice of her scrappy and sympathetic but undeniably unreliable narrator.  In between, Rachel navigates the present day, which entails heart-to-hearts with her sponsor, Nola.  Whenever Rachel is stymied by one of life's questions, Nola tells her to "golden key" it.  In other words, put it aside until the universe presents an answer.  And although this isn't what Rachel wants to hear, it ends up being what she needs. 

Again, Rachel is hard to put down but also hard to read, on account of all the rawness and realness.  The result, however, is a sequel that's more powerful than the original.  Maybe I feel that way because Rachel's older or because I'm older.  But there's no escaping that Again, Rachel is layered with, well, everything.  It's one of the saddest books I've ever read, but also one of the best.  Because it helps you hope while appreciating what you've got, however painful or imperfect.  

And as Nola would undoubtedly say, that's the golden key.

Patch Match: Make Mine Melon

Red clutch: Target; Sunglasses bag: Luv Betsey, Macy's Backstage; Print cosmetics bag: Clinique; Slice cosmetic bag: Lancome; Straw bag: H&M; Wristlet: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Tee: Pink Rose, Marshalls

Tee: Disney, Macy's

Now that we're deep into the dog days of summer, it's time for rind finds!  For few things other than a watermelon can quench the thirst that comes with sky-high humidity.  So I pulled out my juicy jumble of watermelon-themed paraphernalia and curated it here for your (and okay, my) viewing pleasure.  Not surprisingly, I have more watermelon slice style bags than anything else.  But I also have a book called Watermelon, which I nearly forgot about.  Published in 1995, it's both Marian Keyes' debut and the first installment in her Walsh sisters series.  The watermelon in question?  Claire Walsh's baby bump!  It's fun, it's sad, it's sweet, it's tart -- not unlike a watermelon and goat cheese salad.  Which is to say, I highly recommend it.  

Sadly, I cannot say the same for the goat cheese. 

Tit for Tat and All of That: Wife Lessons on the Marriage Carriage

When forty-four-year-old Amy O'Connell's husband Hugh tells her that he's leaving Dublin to backpack through Southeast Asia for six months without her and their three daughters, she doesn't know what to say.  Sure, Hugh's been shutting her out since his father and best friend died one after the other, and she's worried.  But will experimenting with a -- gulp -- open marriage for half a year really solve their problems?  Or just create new ones?

That's the question in Marian Keyes's latest, The Break.  Things would be easier if Hugh had a history as a cad.  A wandering eye, a terrible temper, or even just a parsimonious spirit.  But he's the kind, dependable man who made her believe in love after her awful first marriage -- and enrolled her in the cheese of the month club.  Despite her daughters, her job as a celebrity publicist, and her suddenly Internet-famous mother, life without Hugh is still a slog, and Amy can barely get out of bed.  So when her sister suggests that she reconnect with the crush she quashed a year ago, she doesn't dismiss it.  What ensues is sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking, but always complicated and real.     

Much more than an introspective Irish Hall Pass, The Break has all of the sparkly somethings that make Keyes's fiction addictive: snarky humor, madcap shopping sprees, and big, crazy, blended families.  It also examines the conundrum of being both the woman scorned and the other woman, of wanting to even the score but also forfeit.  In this way, it reminds me of some of her earlier novels, particularly Sushi for Beginners and The Other Side of the Story.  It's an absorbing read for anyone, married or not, but will ring truest with wives.      

The Break clocks in at six-hundred-and-sixty pages, but from the very first chapter, time flies.  You won't care about the (time) commitment, but instead be caught up in that old Ladies' Home Journal column of a question: Can this marriage be saved?

Sweat Suit Tribute: R&R: Reading and Relaxation

Sweat suit: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's; Blanket: So, Kohl's

Sweatshirt: Macy's

Sweat suit: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's; Socks: GAP; Hair tie: Wild Fable, Target

Recently, I revealed how the quarantine has brought me closer to sweat suits.  And I'm as surprised as you are that it's taken me so long to join this particular pajama party -- and, ironically, to discover that there's more to lounge life than pajamas.  Because of all the stars in the sartorial spectrum, sweats are a special breed.  What other attire simultaneously says going for a run and sleeping 'til Tuesday?  

To that end, R&R usually means rest and relaxation (no, not rest and running, although that would fit nicely with what I just said, wouldn't it?).  But in this post, it means rest and reading.  And whether you're snuggling up to slumber or to a story, you want to be as comfy as possible.  

So here I am, not doing laps, but also not sweating the small stuff.  While wearing my brand-new sweats (try saying that five times fast) and reading two delightful but very different books: Laura Levine's Death of a Gigolo and Grown Ups by Marian Keyes.  If you've read Laura Levine, Marian Keyes, and/or this blog, then you know the drill.  Gigolo is a not-quite ribald romp of a murder mystery chockful of intrigue, hijinks, and, most horrific of all, part-time-private-eye-slash-ice-cream-addict Jaine Austen's (yes, you read that right) attempt to go vegan in the name of true love.  As always, it's cozy, crazy, and reminiscent of sitcoms, which makes sense because Ms. Levine used to write for TV.  Grown Ups, on the other hand, is a chick lit dramedy full of family skeletons, skirmishes, and a good old-fashioned dose of facing up to things.  Although nobody kicks the bucket (except for during a low-rent murder mystery weekend), it's grimmer than Death of a Gigolo.  Sometimes I think that Marian Keyes is the dark side of Sophie Kinsella.  Which is to say that her novels have wit and warmth and glamour -- but also demons.  Gigolo and Grown Ups are both great reads; Gigolo gets high marks for escapist fun, whereas Grown Ups offers a glimpse into the lives of people you probably know. 

Still, when even the land -- no, neighborhood -- of make believe (rock on, Mr. Rogers!) becomes too taxing, there are few things more decadent than grabbing a bookmark, thanking the universe for your sweats -- or for whatever makes you grateful -- and succumbing to sleep.            

Clarions for Marian (and Clarins Too)

 Fabulous Felt Paint Palette Barrettes

Top: Decree, JCPenney

Skirt: Modcloth

Shoes: 2 Lips Too, JCPenney

Bag: Xhilaration, Target

Wristlet: City Streets, JCPenney

Belt: Belt is Cool, Amazon

Because Marian, Marian Keyes, that is, is the best.  She's a writer so likable, so hilarious, and so vulnerable that flash mobs should break out in song (instruments included) when she enters a room.  You know.  If flash mobs were still a thing.  Although now that I think of it, Marian probably wouldn't like that, being a creature who values peace and quiet.

For those of you who don't know, Ms. Keyes is a Dubliner who writes chick lit, which she pokes fun at endlessly (both the Irish bit and the chick lit bit).  Some of her best novels feature the Walshes, a loud yet loving family of five sisters that doesn't sound all that different from her own (although she also has brothers).  How do I know this?  I just finished reading Keyes's latest collection of essays, Making It Up As I Go Along, and it's wonderful.  Marian talks about everything from shopping (her biggest weakness is buying beauty products) to traveling to her huge extended family to stalking celebrities.  Reading this book is like reading her journal.  Marian leaves no thought unexplored, no jar of La Mer unturned.  And it's not always candy and rainbows.  Marian is candid about her struggles with alcoholism and depression.  She weaves both throughout her novels too, but it's in her essays where she gets down and dirty.  Her revelations are sad yet funny.  You can tell that her sense of humor is a big part of what helps her get through the day and write stories that tell women's truths.

So, if Marian is a writer, then what's up with these paint palette barrettes?  Well, once upon a time, her husband advised her to get a hobby to help her unwind, and after rejecting oil painting, jewelry making, and countless other Pinterest-worthy pursuits, she fell head over heels for refinishing furniture.  Her favorite part is painting accent tables (some of which she purloined from her mother) in brilliant shades of pink and blue.  She did such a good job that her five-year-old nephew demanded that she paint him one (even if she did have to talk him down from black to turquoise).   

Marian Clarion, you are a true Renaissance woman.  Way to paint woodwork as well as word pictures.

Au Revoir to X: Autumn on Target

 Jazzy Jaune Necklace

Jacket: Wild Fable, Target

Top: Wild Fable, Target

Skirt: Wild Fable, Target

Shoes: Delicious, Zulily

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Sunglasses: Wild Fable, Target

Eclectic Emoji Charm Necklace

Top: Wild Fable, Target

Skirt: Wild Fable, Target

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Sunglasses: Rampage, Boscov's
Belt: Wild Fable

Yellow necklace: Kohl's

I used to think of fall as a time of darkness and death (I'm looking at you, Halloween), but now I see it as a chance for rebirth and beginnings, an opportunity to enjoy something old that's now new again.  Which is very fitting, because this fall, there's a renaissance of '90s fashion.  Remember that irresistible mash-up of grunge and glam?  Well, it's back: corduroy, mock turtlenecks, happy faces, crop tops, faux fur, checkerboard prints, rainbow stripes, plaid, and much more.  Then again, saying that plaid is big for fall is like saying that flowers are big for spring or that ugly sweaters are big for Christmas.  But this isn't any old lumberjack or prep school tartan.  It's Clueless plaid in all of its yellow pleated glory, reigning as the queen bee crown jewel in the tiara of Target's Wild Fable label.  (Hey, that rhymes.)  Surely you'e seen that Target commercial with the Cher, Dionne, and Tai look-a-likes kitted out in revamped versions of the movie's (and decade's) top trends.  Aesop would be rolling over in his grave if he knew that Wild Fable is the name Target gave to the brand replacing its longtime juniors headliner, Xhilaration.  Then again, maybe he's a fan of teen flicks and is doing an, ahem, wild jig.  

Now, at first I wasn't happy about this coup.  I have many an Xhilaration piece in my wardrobe and hated the idea of the beloved brand being edged out by some new kid on the block.  Much like when the Backstreet Boys edged out the actual New Kids on the Block.  Then I remembered that I like the Boys better than the Kids.  I mean, "Everybody" vs. "Hangin' Tough?"  No contest.  And that's when I took a good look at the racks and realized I love Wild Fable.  Its edgy elegance transported me back to the days of Seventeen and Saturday mall crawls in a way that Xhilaration's boho blouses never could.  I was captivated by the studded belts, colorful Lucite-like earrings, and novelty wristlets (although, oddly, not a chain wallet in sight), that made up these punk princess spoils.  But it was the display centerpiece that really transfixed me.  For, arranged on a table like so many treats were -- are you ready for this? -- Caboodles!   

Every '90s girl had one of these confection-colored cosmetics organizers.  I'll never forget when I got my own sky blue case one Christmas.  I was so excited!  It matched my bedroom perfectly, and I couldn't wait to fill it with treasures.  So, you can imagine my indignation when my (male) cousin referred to it as a tackle box.  Stash mackerel-gut slimed lures and rubber worms where my bubblegum Bonnie Bell lip balm should be?  As if!

So, I picked up this lilac Caboodle as well as the other nostalgic pieces in this post.  My favorite is the checkerboard jacket.  They didn't have it in my size at the store, so I went online and ordered it.  It's like Speed Racer and ska all in one.  Cue the trumpets, Mighty Mighty Bosstones!

Still, as thrilling as the return of all this throwback stuff is, some of it should stay in the moldy basements of our memories of retainers and school dance sobfests.  I refer to you, baby backpacks, flannel, and scrunchies.  (The aforementioned Clueless-inspired, yellow plaid separates are, sadly, flannel.  Otherwise, you know they'd be preening in pride of place here.)   I've made a solemn pact not to cave to the likes of these D-list reincarnations.  And that goes double for jumpers.  I tried one on, and it was hideous.  Which sounds about right, because whenever I hear the word "jumper" I think of a big, bulky sweater knitted by dear old Aunt Agnes with puce-colored, pill-prone acrylic instead of a dress worn over a turtleneck.  Thanks, Sophie Kinsella, Marian Keyes, and Maeve Binchy.  Soon I'll be expecting an elevator when someone says that they've called (a) Lyft.

So yeah, there's something to be said for fall fashion . . . and for fall.  For one thing, it marks the end of swamp ass, sunscreen, and mosquitoes.  But it's not the end of everything sunny.  I could go on about the magic of leaves changing from green to gold and the coziness of sweaters and the custardy coolness of Libby's pumpkin pie.  Yet the sign above the register at the breakfast place where the husband and I went this morning sums it up best:

"Everything will be alright in the end.  And if it's not alright, then it's not the end."

I thought that was beautiful.  (Then again, maybe I was still flying high from all the sugar in my super decadent strawberry cheesecake pancakes.)  It's a simple way of saying that no matter what your troubles or fears, the universe has a plan, and that that plan will take care of you.  Which, I realize, goes way beyond any wistfulness that the transition of seasons might bring.  But it's the little things that make a big difference.  And one of the biggest little things you can do is look for signs.

Especially the kind for 50% off on lunchbox purses.

Motley New and Chick Lit Too: A Case of Mistaken Serenity

 The Real Teal Necklace

Sweater: Jeanne Pierre, Marshalls

Skirt: Marshalls

Shoes: Nine West, DSW

Bag: Apt. 9, Kohl's

Belt: Cape Charles, VA shop

Sunglasses: JCPenney

Eclectic Elephant Rampage Necklace

Top: Marshalls

Skirt: I Heart Ronson, JCPenney

Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Bag: Xhilaration, Target

Belt: B Fabulous

Sunglasses: JCPenney

Buttercup Betty Necklace

Top: XOXO, Macy's

Skirt: Modcloth

Shoes: Kensie, DSW

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Sunglasses: Party City

This week's necklaces are a mishmosh of components and styles.  I made The Real Teal with rhinestone sliders from two broken (store-bought) bracelets.  I liked attaching them to a plastic chain instead of stringing them along wire because the result was something modern with movement -- in other words, a bauble that boogies.  As for the others, Eclectic Elephants is a twist on my old rampage theme, and Buttercup Betty stars the last of my vintage oval pendants.  The cluster of daisy beads gives it that extra special retro something, don't you think?

But the hoopla doesn't end with the hardware.  Which is my not-so-subtle way of saying that it's time for the book report portion of this post. 

When I first heard of Marian Keyes's The Woman Who Stole My Life, I thought it was a novel about identity theft.  So I was all set for a rollicking tale of hijinks and shopping sprees punctuated by the obligatory lesson on self-discovery.  Kind of like that "Friends" episode where Monica's credit card is stolen and she takes up tap dancing.  Turns out, it isn't about that at all.  The title is an echo of what the main character's husband, a frustrated artist, says when she gets a book deal after surviving an extremely rare illness.  

Stella Sweeney, wife, mother, and beautician, is suddenly struck with Guillain-Barre syndrome.  Every part of her body except for her eyelids (and, I think, her internal organs) is paralyzed, which means that she spends months in the hospital trying to regain feeling.  So imprisoned, she's forced to spend every second with her thoughts and fears.  Her husband, Ryan, and two teenage children are beside themselves with grief and worry.  At first.  But as time marches on and Stella does not (she doesn't die; this is just my clever way of saying that she still can't walk), their concern turns to resentment, and they begin to barrage Stella with workaday queries, namely, "The tenants from Sandycove have given their notice.  What am I to do about it?" and (more entertainingly) "Where is my bunny rabbit onesie?".  "Huh?" you're probably thinking.  "How can they ask her anything?  She can't even talk!"  But she can.  Sort of.  Stella's neurologist and lone champion, Dr. Mannix Taylor, has devised a communication system in which she answers questions by blinking.  He does the heavy lifting by suggesting letters, and Stella blinks when he's gotten one right.  Dr. Taylor records everything in a series of notebooks to document Stella's progress -- as well as her many witticisms, such as, "When is a yawn not a yawn?  When it's a miracle."  Thus, Stella and Mannix get to know each other "one blink at a time" (this isn't me being clever, but Keyes; stick around and you'll see why; okay, the "see" was me and I'm sorry).  They joke, flirt, and commiserate, becoming acquainted with the most intimate details of each other's lives.  At the same time, Stella's relationship with Ryan becomes more strained and stilted, slowly revealing their marriage to be one of convenience -- or, rather, inconvenience, with Stella cast in the role of servant.  Oh yes, this tale oozes feminist outrage, cunningly so through the stark sound of silence.  Not that it's all sick bed reflections and social commentary.  This is Keyes, after all, the queen of quick wit and comic timing. Which is to say that there are (some) hijinks.

Stella survives -- even if her old life doesn't.  After much emotional hemming and hawing, she tells Ryan that she wants a divorce and embarks upon a proper romance with Mannix, who also, it should be noted, has initiated divorce proceedings (which in Ireland -- who knew? -- take five years).  After a brief misunderstanding between Stella and Mannix, Mannix makes a grand gesture by self publishing a book based on his notebooks called -- wait for it -- One Blink at a Time.  One drug-addict-Vice-President's-wife-turned-nun later (don't ask), Stella and Mannix are a bona fide couple, and Stella is being courted by a New York publishing house.  She and Mannix move the kids stateside and begin the tedious business of fine-tuning the book -- as well as Stella's image.

Oh, the fame monster.  Never satisfied, demanding every pound of unmoisturized flesh.  But the art director of one of Stella's magazine shoots puts it much better than I can:

' "This!" Berrie pointed at Mannix and got the attention of everyone in the room.  "This right here is why we don't encourage boyfriends on author shoots."  To Mannix, he said, "You don't get it.  It's not who you think Stella is; it's who we decide she is.  And we decide she's cozy and safe.  It's how her book will sell." ' (350)

Mannix buys Stella the too-flashy Jimmy Choos that Berrie forbids her to wear -- at a 50% discount from the stylist, natch -- because that's just the kind of guy he is.  But the unpleasantness of Berrie's words linger, casting a pall on the proceedings and the rest of the story. 

Make no mistake, I enjoyed this book.  Keyes is one of my favorite authors.  Her novels are smart and funny and full of glamour and Irish charm and heart.  But for me, this one is a little anticlimactic.  Stella never finds herself or figures out what she really wants (aside from Mannix, of course, although, god though he is, he doesn't seem like enough).  If Ryan kept her down, then Mannix gives her wings -- but she doesn't seem to go anywhere.  Then again, Ryan never finds himself either (not that he deserves to, the punk), and in his own deluded way (he seeks Internet fame by giving away everything he owns), he tries very hard.  So maybe that's the takeaway from this story.  That trying too hard is overrated and that happiness comes from letting go.  

Or maybe, as usual, I'm, ahem, reading too much into things.

Book Report: This Charming Man by Marian Keyes

I always enjoy a good Irish yarn, in which colorful characters, intricate story lines, and whimsy are always sure to star. True to form, Marian Keyes delivers all three in This Charming Man. But as in all her novels, she mixes the light, sometimes side-splittingly funny froth with much darker stuff.

This Charming Man is the story of three women and how their lives are destroyed, in one way or another, by terminally handsome and smarmier-than-usual politician Paddy de Courcy. Lola is a purple (er, molichino, as she is ever quick to point out)-haired, self-employed stylist, Grace is a tough-as-nails journalist, and Marnie, Grace's twin, is a fragile, emotional secretary. (It should be mentioned that the lion's share of the funny stuff comes from Lola, who ends up hosting a safe house for cross dressers and riding off into the sunset with one of them.) The book opens with the announcement of Paddy's engagement to a socialite (who is later revealed to be Grace and Marnie's childhood best friend), an event that sparks the following reactions from each woman:

Grace: "Everyone remembers where they were the day they heard that Paddy de Courcy was getting married. I was one of the first to know, what with working in a newspaper when word came in from David Thornberry, political correspondent (and tallest man in Dublin) that de Courcy was calling it a day. I was surprised. I mean, we all were. But I was extra surprised, and that was even before I heard who the lucky woman was. But I couldn't act upset. Not that anybody would have noticed. I could fall down dead in the street and people would still ask me to drive them to the station. That's what life is like when you're the healthy one of a pair of twins. Anyway, Jacinta Kinsella (boss) needed a quick piece on the engagement so I had to put my personal feelings to one side and be a professional."

Alicia (bride-to-be): "It would have been nice if you had asked me first."

Lola: "I was on the net, checking eBid for an owl handbag (by Stella McCartney, not just any "owl" handbag) for a client to wear to a wildlife charity thing when I saw the headline. DE COURCY TO WED. Thought it was a hoax. The media are always making stuff up and faking cellulite on girls who don't have it and taking it off girls who do. When I discovered that it was true, I went into shock. Actually thought I was having a heart attack. Would have called an ambulance but couldn't remember 999. Kept thinking 666. Number of the beast."

Marnie: "Don't you be happy, you bastard. That's what I thought when I heard. Don't you dare be happy." (Keyes 1)

This is one of those stories where the author zeroes in on each character individually, fleshing out each one's little quirks and foibles through a kaleidoscope of descriptions and flashbacks before ever crossing their paths. As always, I liked this approach because it allowed me to get inside each woman's head and --  as is the case in all good stories -- because it provided a solid and believable foundation for the ambitious plot that unravels. However, the most important point about the structure of this story is the string of passages describing domestic violence. Keyes gives us unflinchingly graphic accounts sandwiched in between the women's narratives, never offering any names. I was halfway through the book before I realized that Keyes was writing about things Paddy had done to each of the women. For a while I thought that Marnie had an abusive husband. To be fair, I think that Keyes framed Marnie's story so that it seems that way, highlighting her nervousness and the problems in her marriage, then following them up with the snippets of gruesome attacks. It's only once we realize that Marnie is an alcoholic that it becomes clear that her husband isn't the problem and that her abuser is someone from her past.

Most of us latch onto one character more than the others when reading fiction, recognizing some nugget of ourselves in his or her naked psyche. In this book, I identified with Marnie. I didn't want to. In many ways, she appears weaker than Lola and Grace, and I was ashamed of my own comparison, especially when she turned out to be an alcoholic. But Marnie is painfully sensitive and introspective and expects too much from everyone, and that was something I could understand. Even so, I would have preferred to feel a kinship with strong, independent, go-to-hell Grace.

Marnie's heart was broken by Paddy as a teenager, Lola was still seeing him at the time of his engagement, and Grace -- well, Grace never fully succumbs to Paddy's charms, but her abbreviated encounter with him is enough to land her a bloody eye and walking papers from her boyfriend. Yet it isn't until Grace discovers Paddy's plan to get a women's rights activist ousted from office that she rounds up Paddy's victims to blackmail him.

I won't go into details, but let's just say Paddy gets what he deserves.

It's true that the all the loose threads are wound up a little too easily as the book comes to a close. But I didn't mind, as long as there was a happy ending. This is the kind of book that needs a happy ending. Not a strike-up-the-band-and-release-the-balloons kind of ending, but one that lets you walk away feeling that it will all be okay after having been opened to so many horrific things. Keyes does an excellent job of explaining how women become involved with -- and stay involved with -- men like Paddy. To be honest, I don't know if I would have read this book if I'd known what it was really about. (I loyally read all of Keyes's books, barely glancing at the back covers to suss out particulars before marching them to the checkout.) But I enjoyed it. Although depressing at times, it was very well-written (no surprise there) and offered a fresh angle on something I didn't know a whole lot about.

Movie Moment and Book Report: (Some Last Words on) The Last Song by Nicholas Sparks

Last Christmas, the bf bought me a copy of Nicholas Sparks's latest, The Last Song. Having read and enjoyed all of Nicholas Sparks's other novels, I devoured it immediately. And it was pretty good. Not as good as Dear John or Nights in Rodanthe, but nonetheless entertaining. I missed seeing the movie version when it came out in March, so I rented it last weekend (once again Hot Tub Time Machine was shafted. But its day will come.) Although the movie version of The Last Song was very close to the book, it was strangely disappointing. I find myself having this reaction to lots of movies based on books. (Ironically, I felt the opposite way about The Notebook. I loved the movie but was lukewarm about the book. Maybe that's because I saw the movie first.) I think it's because movies don't allow enough time to build upon all the details that make characters and relationships seem real. For example, in the book The Last Song, readers observe the main character, Ronnie, fall in love with Will as well as reconnect with her father in stages. But in the movie it all happens so fast that you're kind of left not quite believing it (at least I was). Also, Ronnie was a lot edgier in the book, with purple hair and an attitude to match. Although still a surly borderline tough girl, movie Ronnie (Miley Cyrus) is softer, with normal hair and only a discrete nose stud to advertise her rebelliousness. Finally, the theme of fire is more prominent (and therefore scarier) in the book. The villain, Marcus, is always juggling fireballs in view of Ronnie's house (he wields both a creepy romantic interest in her and a secret about Will), and Marcus's girlfriend, the aptly-named Blaze, is badly burned by one of Marcus's fireballs and ends up in the hospital. Also, Marcus causes the proverbial "trouble" at Will's sister's wedding, destroying an entire tent. When I read this scene in the book, it struck me as a made-for-the-movies-moment. But in the movie it's very pared down; although Marcus and Will fight, I don't recall a collapsed tent. All this was topped off by an ending that seemed to occur rather abruptly.

But despite all these shortcomings, the movie was still fun to watch. Although I enjoy writing these movie and book reviews, I sometimes fear that I sound a bit uppity. I mean, what do I know? I'm just a nobody consumer with too much time on her hands. Suppose I were ever to publish my book and people wrote less-than-stellar reactions to it? Knowing my soft-hearted ways, I suspect I'd be sorely hurt. That's how poor Lily felt in Marian Keyes's The Other Side of the Story when reviewers savaged her debut novel. But then again, I enjoy most books and movies to one degree or another. Even the ones I seem hard on. After all, even material I don't 100% love opens up a sort of commentary off of which I can bounce thoughts and ideas.

I think I'm getting a bit punchy. It's time to pack it in.

Book Report: The Other Side of the Story by Marian Keyes

Sparked by my renewed interest in writing fiction, I decided to reread The Other Side of the Story by Marian Keyes. Like most of my favorite authors, Keyes write women's stories (I refuse to call them chick lit) that are funny and touching yet deep.

The Other Side of the Story explores the publishing industry through the eyes of three very different yet inextricably linked women. Jojo is the seasoned and sharp shooting literary agent with a heart, Lily is the sensitive, starving artist novelist, and Gemma uses writing as a means of getting back at her philandering father as well as her ex-best friend (who just happens to be Lily). I'm not going to get into the entire plot (well, not too much), because it's complicated (albeit compelling). I'll just say that this story engaged me because it offered an illuminating behind-the-scenes glimpse into the business of getting published. Now, this is a light-hearted story. It has a happy ending, and the reader (at least this one) walks away feeling good. But it also exposes the ruthlessness of the publishing business rather than glamorizing it, which I found refreshing.

Take Lily. Her first novel, which is about a company knowingly tampering with a town's water supply, causing its residents to get cancer (she once worked for a PR firm that represented just such a company) and took her five years to write, is rejected by every agent she sends it to. Some suggest changes, which she makes, but the long-awaited acceptance never comes. Then she loses her job, falls in love with her best friend's (Gemma's) ex-boyfriend, gets pregnant, and is subsisting on the meager salary she draws from freelance writing. But even at this point, Lily's luck hasn't reached its nadir. Walking home from a meeting with a supermarket about writing a pamphlet on spinach, she gets mugged. As a result, she becomes utterly depressed and as means of cheering herself up starts writing another book. Although she has little interest in publishing it, her boyfriend, the ever-supportive Anton, intervenes, doggedly sending it to every agent in London despite Lily's protestations. Eventually, one of them (the illustrious Jojo) takes her on. But then Jojo has trouble finding a publisher, and even once the book does get published, the critical reviews are not so good. Anton lands her a book signing alongside a wildly popular, established author, and the only people who speak to her are the ones who think she works at the bookstore. It takes a very long time for the book to start selling, but once it does, Lily's popularity skyrockets. She receives glowing reader reviews on Amazon, and one group of readers even form a coven in her honor (the book is about a white witch). When the time comes for her to accept her publisher's advance immediately or hold out for more money, she decides to hold out. Anton persuades her to buy their dream house against her better judgment. She begins receiving fan mail, some of it nice but a lot of it scary. She has nightmares about the house being taken away. She obsesses over the possibility that Gemma is plotting revenge. She is so stressed that she can't concentrate on writing a new book, so she sends her editor the one about the contaminated water. The editor gobbles it up, anticipating a best-seller. But the public hates it. They wanted another feel-good book and are offended by the new one's weighty subject matter. Lily's publisher drops her, and the bank forecloses on her and Anton's house. (Ironically, the novel's critical reviews are excellent.) Lily blames Anton for the loss of their house and breaks up with him, taking their daughter with her. It isn't until she nearly dies in a car accident that she's inspired to write another feel good bestseller and reunite with Anton.

Okay. I realize that sounded very melodramatic and not at all like the type of story that could offer any practical insights. But to be fair, I don't think my synopsis did it justice. I promise that it's a fulfilling and balanced read, chock full of relatable scenarios and details.

That having been said, I'm now on the prowl for a new book. I'd like to read something new this time and am contemplating Julie & Julia.