A Book Review

I just finished reading Candace Bushnell's Four Blondes.   She's the author of Sex and the City, which I have not read, nor have I seen the show.  She talks about Four Blondes here.

Let me just say how thankful I am that I purchased it at a garage sale for a quarter, because that's exactly how much it was worth.  She should pay me for the time I wasted reading it.  I read the entire dreadful book--which I don't always do.  When I was young, if I hated a book, it didn't matter.  I had to finish it, according to my self-imposed standards.  Not any more.  Now I will abandon a book without a flicker of guilt.

But I kept reading Four Blondes, thinking it would get better.  It did not.  This book purports to be the tales of four different New York women.  It read more like a rough draft of a college creative writing project.  No plot, no theme, no underlying meaning to her stories of shallow women living sorry lives.  As far as I'm concerned, Candace Bushnell owes me $28.00--minimum wage for four hours of time I spent reading this book.

Now, I'm reading Anne Lamott's Blue Shoe.  The writing is beautiful and stands in vivid contrast to the clunkety writing by Candace Bushnell.  Anne Lamott rocks.

I'm also re-reading A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L'Engle.  I love this book so much.  I penciled in comments the first time I read it.  Everyone who aspires to write or create should read this book--even though it was written in 1972, it's timeless and inspiring.