Grade: F
First, it's boring. It begins with a premise much like that of Perrotta's Little Children: Amanda Bright, former career woman, is now a suburban mommy. While her husband spends each day in the company of adults at the Department of Justice, she spends each day with Ben and Sophie, ages 5 and 3. While Perrotta's book enlivens this simple premise with believable, engaging characters, Crittenden's book becomes a tedious slog before the fifth chapter. Not very much happens, what does happens isn't interesting, and it isn't even happening to interesting people.
Nor are the people precisely depicted. The characters are fuzzy and vague and inconsistent and implausible and didactic. That's Reason No. 2 That Danielle Crittenden's Book Sucks.
Let's take Amanda, since we're going to be stuck with her and her moronic angst for 319 pages. Amanda used to have a career, but beyond a few wistful glances that she tosses at her former wardrobe of 80s power suits, she doesn't seem to miss anything specific about her career. She recalls that her co-workers were nice people, but she doesn't look back with longing upon any aspect of the work she did with them. Work at which she was, allegedly, quite competent.
I'm not saying she has to miss her job just because she's now an at-home mom. But if she purports to miss her job, then she ought to miss something more substantial than her old clothes. If she's only going to miss the clothes, than she needs to be consistently portrayed as the type of woman who sort of drifted into her career for reasons of fashion rather than being portrayed as a serious-minded woman, which is how she's portrayed elsewhere.
More reasons Amanda is a stupid character: she purportedly has a happy, albeit settled, marriage, yet at the faintest hint that a woman is flirting with her husband she develops an obsessive and irrational jealousy (this in spite of the fact that the author's own description of the scene Amanda witnesses makes it clear that the innocent husband is pulling away from the woman's attempts to engage him -- and all she's doing is trying to touch his arm at a party, she's not hiking her skirt over her head and inviting him to bend her over the banquet table.) In additional to Amanda's absurd jealousy -- a plot contrivance if ever I had one forced upon me -- she and her spouse don't seem to talk. He comes home at night only to wolf down some food, belt back a scotch, and collapse into bed; they exchange updates on the kids and he delivers occasional dispatches about work, but Amanda never reveals any of he thoughts or feelings to her husband. Stupid, stupid marriage. Listen, if you can't tell the man you've been married to for nine years that you're feeling a bit bored and frustrated at home and aren't sure what you really want to do with your life, and if he can't hear that without giving you the silent treatment for days (yeah, Bob is just an unpleasant and stupid as his wife. Thanks, Danielle.), then you shouldn't be married.
It's an unfortunate collision of the author's doctrinaire intentions and her distinct lack of skill: she can only tell us, repeatedly, that Amanda and Bob have a good marriage; she's incapable of showing us any evidence that would support that assertion. She claims that the night Amanda and Bob met they talked for hours, but she can't write one single loving, plausible conversation between the two of them.
But she can't pull that off, because Danielle Crittenden doesn't really know who Amanda is or care about her, except to the extent that she can use Amanda to preach her particular brand of backlash anti-feminism.
Yeah, that's reason No. 3 the book sucks. It's so clearly designed to push Crittenden's agenda (and this is the woman who wrote What Our Mothers Didn't Tell Us: Why Happiness Eludes The Modern Woman, which wears its bias right on its cover, because who the hell is Danielle Crittenden to tell "modern women" that we're not happy?)
Crittenden does her best to make the sole declared feminist in the book, Amanda's mother, an unpleasant character (although I found her much less distasteful than Amanda). Crittenden also assumes that marriage and parenthood are the goals of every woman, including Amanda's friend Susie, a stunning woman who on one page is a manipulative player and on the next displays the ignorant naivete of a duped teen-ager. At 35, Susie is portrayed as a fading beauty, nearly over the hill and desperate to land a mand. Because in Danielle Crittenden's world, it's still 1947. Or 1928. I don't know what the fuck year it is to her, but in my century, this all sounds like bullshit. If Susie is so ambitious and so attractive and so accustomed to manipulating men and so disinterested in children -- which is the set up Crittenden gives us -- then why does Amanda react thusly to Susie's relationship with a much older billionaire:
"Marrying a man in his sixties--even a vigorous man--would demand sacrifices of Susie for which money would not compensate. Would he consent to more children? How long could Susie enjoy being his wife before she became his nurse?"
At first I just thought, "Oh, how funny. Because Amanda is married and has children, she assumes that's what Susie wants, even though it's clear to the rest of us that Susie isn't the marrying kind. I wonder if Danielle is going to give Amanda a jolt by showing her that other woman have other desires and dreams and that marriage and family aren't the only choices?" But no. Suddenly, Susie is the marrying kind, in spite of the fact that her billionaire is already married. She's persuaded that he'll leave his wife based on the fact that he "said he could honestly imagine falling in love with me." That any 35-year-old woman would construe that line, after only a handful of dates, as a sign to pick out her china pattern is ludicrous. It's an especially ludicrous assumption to plant in the mind of Susie, who we've been told has been around the block dating wealthy, powerful men since she was a wee slip of a thing. Danielle just seems to think that all women, other than Danielle, are fucking stupid.
There are so many more insanely stupid things about this book. I'm still tempted to go through each and every one, but that could take a lot of time, and it's basically too late. I mean, if I had been at Warner Books when someone greenlit this crap, maybe I could have done so good. But now, to quote When Harry Met Sally, it's "out there."
So to sum up, Danielle Crittenden sucks. She thinks we stupid modern women would be happier if we'd just stay at home with some babies and let our husbands cope with the working world, for which we are so ill-equipped (witness how Amanda, in spite of her alleged brains and previous experience, is easily duped by a newspaper reporter -- yeah, she manages to throw a casual elbow at the media, too. And she tosses in some random and unnecessary condescension toward anyone laboring to do anything creative that doesn't involve toddlers and popsicle sticks by inventing a stay-at-home father character who is a writer of absurdly bad plays. At least, Danielle says the play is bad, and Amanda thinks the guy is a joke, and obviously any man who eschews the role of primary breadwinner has to be a loser, right? I feel a big "AAARGH" of frustration coming on.).
So, to really sum up. Danielle Crittenden sucks. Her book sucks. Go away, Danielle Crittenden. Stay home with your three kids and importune us no longer.