I keep going up to the cabin with [b:A Dance With Dragons|10664113|A Dance With Dragons (A Song of Ice and Fire, #5)|George R.R. Martin|http://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1327885335s/10664113.jpg|2936175] weighting down my luggage, telling myself I am finally
going to read that brick, and then....
...and then I totally slink off and read chick-lit. I don't even know what the problem is, because a big soapy bloodbath seems to be perfect for half-distracted porch reading, in theory anyway. A Song of Ice and Fire should be perfect summer vacation reading, plus the Internet has been positively shitting
itself over the Red Wedding in season three of the HBO series. (Which I have not seen because I have neither basic cable, fancy cable, nor the gumption to pirate the thing; you're welcome, HBO.)
Anyway, so I ended up reading this instead. About a quarter of the way in, I thought to myself: omg, could this be
any more British? But not, like, real British, more like how Sex in the City couldn't be any more New Yorky, inhabiting this weird fantasy land that is so aggressively about New York that it both is and it isn't at the same time. You know? Whatever, this review is going to be for crap because I'm not sure I have much to say.
Someone named Sophie or Imogen or something is a flighty, half-arsed assistant to a marketing assistant in a company that appears to make energy drinks, or something. She gets pissed on a plane coming back from Scotland, where she has just cocked up some marketing thing, and divulges all her secrets to a hot, American stranger sitting next to her. Phew, I'm glad I'll never see him again! But then, wait!! ZOMG!! It turns out that stranger is the founder of the company!!! How will I ever live down my mortification foreverrrrr!!!! But then wait some more!!! Maybe hot millionaire CEO America finds my totally bourgie secrets endearing!! I have Barbie sheets on my bed!! But, like, ironically!! But if anyone were to find out I'll die
Seriously, the exclamation point use in this book made me twitch. Especially in dialogue; gah.
But! It's fine, and Imogen (or whatever) grapples semi-successfully with some semi-stupid interpersonal problems, and exhibits just the tiniest amount of spine when the time calls for it. Like most of these rom com things, the supporting cast is so much more funny and interesting than the leads, allowed to have actual psychological tics and weaknesses, not just the romantically lovable kind. I know we're supposed to identify with the main character, but when someone writes the rom com of my life, I hope I'm the obnoxious flatmate.
Oh, shit, I'm the obnoxious flatmate.
Whatever. Someone pour me a Pimms.