Okay, so it took me longer than normal to finish this Sophie Kinsella book and yes, that may be because it didn’t grab me until about 3 quarters of the way in but that does not mean I didn’t enjoy ambling through this somewhat lackadaisical tale.
Poppy, our protagonist, is introduced to us as a happy-go-lucky type of girl who, while a little clumsy, has a big heart and has been completely swept up by a whirlwind romance with a prominent intellectual, so much so that they are engaged after only a few months.
Sam, who gets embroiled in Poppy’s life when she loses her engagement ring, her phone and picks up his PA’s abandoned mobile from a bin, is seen as a cold, severe business man who never responds to emails, not even those from his crazy fiancé and his own father.
Or so his emails would have Poppy believe.
And so the story goes, missing ring, found phone, disapproving parents-in-law, Poppy the physiotherapist and Sam the successful business man communicating via email/text/phone call – helping each other in and out of scrapes.
To say anything more about the story would surely give it away, if I haven’t already.
To me, this is the ideal beach read. Nothing out of the ordinary, pleasant, sometimes funny and with the much needed happy ending that if you don’t see coming you really have had too many rum based cocktails.
I guess my reason to read this was slightly two fold:
My friend recommended it to me.
I have never really embraced that whole ‘chicklit’ genre.
And by Chick Lit I of course mean literature written by a woman about women/love/romance, often including a certain level of comedy.
I think it is the term that has always put me off. It is not an especially flattering.
I mean I have never come across a situation in my life where it has been acceptable for anyone to refer to me as a ‘chick’ (this includes those dreadful radio edits of songs that like to change references to women from ‘bitch’ to ‘chick’ – neither of these are ideal, are they??).
So next time my head is far too full of life/intense literature/mess I probably will reach for something of a similar tone because I can now say, and mean, I am not a book snob*.
*Find a chair, stand on it and shout it with me – please see Caitlin Moran’s ‘How To Be A Woman’.
** I wrote this ages ago. Last Monday. It is now the following Thursday. Winning.