|Grabbed Bridget Jones's Diary at a book sale|
Chick lit is an unexplored (because avoided) territory for me. My impression of the genre is tied to whiny girls belaboring the obvious about love, men, and other girls. So why the sudden foray into the unknown? No special reason, except the human urge to sometimes try something different and know. Plus, my inner Anglophile whispered, Bridget is brilliant.
The book was published when I was still in high school, though I only learned about it in college when the film adaptation came out. It is, I realize, for the better that I've read it now than then; for surely back when I was 19, I would have little appreciation for the theory that
Homosexuals and single women in their thirties have natural bonding: both being accustomed to disappointing their parents and being treated as freaks of society.