I Don't Know How She Does It by Allison Pearson
Now, ever since Bridget Jones I get insatiable cravings for British chick lit. I assuage those cravings. I am not ashamed to carry a pink book. But they do all sort of run together after a while.
I had higher expectations for this book. It received a lot of press, most of prety positive, which is rare for this genre. And it is a cut above most of what I've read. There's a little more detail and subtlety to the characters and plotline, and more development. Plus it's funny and very compelling; I'm not a working mom, but I don't doubt that many of them wept while reading this (especially the ones who don't make six figures, as the harried heroine of this novel does.)
BUT it was interesting to note in the acknowledgemnts section that Pearson's husband is New Yorker film critic Anthony Lane. Interesting. Do all successful people know each other, and we plebeians are just shut out from birth?
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