This book precipitated the most negative reaction in me that I’ve experienced towards a book all year. Quite a surprise from something I was anticipating as a lovely escapist read – I wanted fabulous clothes, emaciated models, high society and low actions. What I actually got was a sickening feeling that inadvertently the author was revealing her own self-importance, self-obsession and self-righteousness. Quite the achievement from someone who, in my mind, looks like an innocent Anne Hathaway in clumpy shoes.
I admit, the movie The Devil Wears Prada, looms larger for me than the book. That said, it wasn’t too hard to pick up the same characters again even without any explanation because absolutely nothing has changed. Meryl Streep is still dictator at the not-even-thinly-disguised USA Vogue, with Stanley Tucci her flamboyant offsider. Anne Hathaway, who finished the last story leaving the magazine to go be a serious journalist, is now writing a wedding blog. Suck it! She soon joins forces with Emily Blunt, and the two of them publish a new high-fashion wedding glossy mag. Anne is now married to a society prince (not Adrian Grenier) and surprisingly, his mother thinks he’s married down. All the while, Anne is having bizarre rescue fantasies involving Adrian Grenier rescuing her from Meryl Streep. You’ll never guess what ends up happening!!!!
Sigh. This book is told in an odd chronological order – probably to disguise the fact that there is no real plot, other than Anne being a constipated, sanctimonious bitch. How anyone endures her is beyond my comprehension. I put this book down so many times, not intending to go on… but I really wanted to claim the review after wasting so much time on it. Read it if you’re a completist, but if you’re looking for an indulgent escape, go straight for the DVD.