I'm having terrible luck with books lately. For every good one I read, I'm stuck wading through five awful ones. Such was the case with this vapid memoir.
After leading a charmed life growing up in a Connecticut beach town, going to school in Boston, living with a boyfriend in San Fransico, and backpacking through New Zealand, ad-copywriter Amy Thompson ends up in New York. She loves her job, her friends, her apartment and her easy life. Because she's spent a semester abroad in Paris, and also gone there for vacation, she says YES! when her ad firm recruits her to be the token English-speaking person in their Loius Vuitton Paris offices. Once there, she makes her way through bakeries and chocolate shops, eating.
I'm giving this two stars because the concept was appealing -- though the writing spoiled it. The main problem is the self-absorbed narration.
It's not so much what she says -- because, hey if that's your life more power to you -- it's how she says it. The book reads like a teenager's diary, not the thoughts of a money-making, successful, 37 year-old woman. It was all me, me, me! Why isn't someone giving me exactly what I want at every given moment?! And when she wasn't whining, she was bragging about how fabulous her life was.
The prose isn't up to par with the subject matter -- there's little sense of discovery or wonderment. Each tale of a treat or bakery is no different than the last. You have no sense of where you are or what's important about this tart, or this shop. She doesn't paint the picture.
The New York descriptions were a little better. You do get a feel for those streets. Yet, even there, she's disparaging the NY "Carrie Bradshaw" wanabes, while failing to realize she sounds just like them: 1) She literally whines when asked to write copy at her Paris job because in NY that was the assistant's job! or 2) She's astounded -- astounded! -- at the fact that there are not thousands of Frenchmen falling all over themselves to ask her out.
This cluelessness carried through every aspect of the book. I felt compassion for her when she faced a medical crisis in Paris and was desperate to find an English-speaking doctor. But, alas, in the next paragraph she admitted her own doctor in NY had recommended a prescription for this very issue before she left, but she didn't bother, "because she had to pack and say goodbye to her friends!!" Well, hell, it isn't really a medical crisis if it's of your own making.
I haven't read anything this self-centered in really long time. And what kills me is it could've been really good!!
ARRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!