This is chick lit, obviously, and I don't normally read chick lit, given that the women who write it sound like they would drone on about relationships and diets and I prefer women who talk about sex and food. It's not as bad as prick lit, though. I would rather gouge out my eyes with a spoon than attempt to read another Nick Hornby novel. His writing lumbers under the misapprehension that self-regarding, immature mediocrity is the natural state of the modern urban male.
Knight, from what I have seen of her journalism, sounds like she has more in the way of appetites than insecurities, so when my cheapo book supplier (Booksale) was offering three of her books for £2.99 with 10% off, it seemed rude not to order them.
I read the Christmassy one, Comfort and Joy, over Christmas, and it was a cheering seasonal, witty read that was perfect for my booze and food-addled brain, and more thoughtful than I was expecting. I didn't realise that it was the sequel to one of the others in my discount bundle, My Life on a Plate. I read that one, too, but thought it much weaker (it was her first) and was actively repelled by characters who were much more appealing in the sequel. This could be because I am fiscally challenged and live in Richmond, so my tolerance for moneyed, entitle shitweasels with big cars and bigger egos is very, very limited.
Don't You Want Me was sharp, shallow and laugh-out-loud funny in many places. She is spot on about many West London types, and super-spot on about late nineties, early noughties high end clubbing. It's six star chicklit, really. If her characters had proper jobs and lived in an edgier postcode she'd make it into the TLS, probably.