My first beach read of the summer lived up to its purpose as a mindless, girly book with a simple, upbeat plot and a few laughs. Nowhere near the level of The Devil Wears Prada (Weisberger's first novel,) Chasing Harry Winston focuses on three women rounding the corner to their 30's trying to figure out life.
The characters are pretty stereotypical. Emmy is the recently dumped, serial monogamist, Ariana is the eccentric rich girl living without consequences, and Leigh is the one who seemingly has everything together - the ideal job and boyfriend - but is essentially lost. Each woman gets to a totally predictable point in the end of the book where they've grown as a woman and grabbed happiness all on their own so definitely no surprises, but the characters were fun to read and the plot flowed at a good pace once it got going. Chasing Harry Winston is a Sex in the City with more character arc and a briefer story line.
Overall an enjoyable read, this book was something I could easily put down and pick back up without forgetting any major plot points. It was what I was looking to read so I managed to overlook the sloppy editing and typos throughout (some of which should have been caught by spellcheck.) If you're a chick-lit summer reader this book could make it onto your list; just don't put it at the top - it's a middle of the list type of book.
The greatest thing about this book is its diversity. Funny how a book centered around the themes of segregation and racism should end up with 'diversity' as one of the words used to summarize the story. But, it's true. The characters crafted by Stockett are all so unique and independent of each other you honestly can't lump them into groups. African-American or white, each woman in the book is her own person - you either like or dislike each character solely for who they are.
And who do you absolutely hate? Hilly Holbrook
And who do you absolutely love? Aibileen
The rest of the characters splay out in the grey area between these polar opposites. Even though Hilly never narrates any portion of the story, she encompasses the hatred and ignorance generated from segregation while our narrators (Aibileen, Minny and Skeeter) cautiously move forward across the lines that have forever separated domestic help from their employers. Skeeter gets brought behind the veil shrouding the domestic help in her town to write a book chronicling the real experiences these women have had. As a white woman, Skeeter is risking her own safety to write these stories, as much as the black women are for sharing them, but the women come together to tell the truth. Among the truth-telling, Skeeter learns a hard reality about what happened to her own childhood nanny whose sudden disappearance was always a mystery to her.
In addition to this coming together of races, we see our narrators come into their own as independent women. Minny overcomes an abusive husband, Skeeter suffers through the process of becoming an adult, and Aibileen learns to take control of her life.
But in the spirit of writing reality even through a fictionalized lens, things aren't perfect for our heroines and the book concludes leaving an unknown future for us as readers to just guess at. We're optimistic - these women have already shown their true strength, but we don't know how it will all end.
This book is the complete package for a novel with easy-flowing, engaging narrative even with three different voices telling the story, dynamic, fully-realized characters, and an actual story centering on personal growth in three very different ways. I can see why the novel became so popular so quickly and definitely suggest it was a great summer read if you're looking for something a little less lazy than the hottest chick-lit.
I'm not sure if it was James' intent to get me to totally dislike the main character of The Ambassadors, but I do. Lewis Lambert Strether is a mess of a man. Charged by his fiance to go to Paris and retrieve her son, Chad (from a previous marriage,) Strether stays so long in Paris, immersing himself into society there, that a second wave of relatives show up to attempt to complete the job. Ultimately, Strether and the reinforcements sent in fail to bring Chad home. Chad is in love with a married woman living in Paris apart from her husband so she's got her own complications to content with. Just the same, it takes an entire novel overflowing with confusing plotting and speculating to see Strether arrive at this noble act of allowing himself to fail so love can prevail.
In the middle of all this, Strether seems to fall out of love with his fiance as a new Parisian friend, Miss Gostrey, falls in love with him. While encouraging love to take top priority with Chad, Strether ultimately refuses to accept the love of Miss Gostrey and returns home to his unloved fiance.
Confused yet? This just scratches the surface of a story overpopulated with characters (some referred to by two different names) and jam-packed with three-page paragraphs and seriously long run-on sentences. The style gets so tedious I found myself letting my mind wander as I read, which led me to be pretty confused through most of the book. I almost question why I read The Ambassadors for fun. I just loved The Bostonians so much, I wanted to try something else from James. I can honestly say I think Henry James writes women better than men.
Few characters in classic literature really annoy me. I can tell you that Fanny Price (Mansfield Park) is at the top of my list and that Emma Woodhouse and Hester Prynne linger in the top 10. It has been a while though since this list has grown, but I have to add whiny Lambert Strether to my #2 spot and close the book (ha, ha) on Henry James for a while.
I've always considered myself to be well-read mostly because of the hefty amount of classics under my belt, but it wasn't until my Dad started lending me his books that I became widely-read.
My preferred literary genres consisted of Chick-Lit and 19th Century British Literature until my Dad introduced me to two authors I'd never heard of before. Robin Cook healded in a love for scientific thrillers and led to my reading a lot of Michael Crichton as well, and Nelson Demille ushered in an affinity for crime dramas - especially when John Corey was on the case.
These two new genres dumped a ton of boks into my lap that I couldn't put down. I began checking the "coming soon" section on bn.com to see when these guys would publish again - thankfully Robin Cook writes a lot. Eventually I started sending my Dad my copes of Cook and Demille as my collection became more current than his.
After my Dad died, all these books came to me. Now they sit on my bookshelf, slightly out of place among Elinor Lipman and Jennifer Crusie but significantly more important than most of the books in my library. They forever unite me to my Father (I love how books can connect people!) and constantly remind me that steppin gout of one's comfort zone (in anything) can yield something wonderful and new you never knew existed.
