Last August I saw this book in a bookshop in London and I wanted to buy it but as usual something came up and I ended up empty handed. So I purchased it a couple of months ago in Slovenia and was disappointed. I don't know if it's the translation but you know how you can read some books as smoothly as spreading butter on toast, well this isn't one of them. It's fun, I guess, but I can't say it's written especially good.
The writer is the same woman who wrote screenplays for "When Harry Met Sally" and "Sleepless In Seattle" so maybe I expected too much. There's a series of essays, starting with "I feel bad about my neck" in which she discovers the ups and downs of ageing. Of womanly ageing, that is. In some places genuinely amusing, in others bitter sweet, she reveals some undeniable life truths that you come to know as the years pass. The book is written in such a manner that readers could identify themselves with the writer, but fails a bit, because after all she is a celebrity and some of those life truths are simply unknown to us, ordinary mortals. I couldn't care less if she can't find the new Prada bag anywhere and she's depressed over it.
So, it's a decent entertainment for a rainy Saturday afternoon, but not much more. In my opinion, of course. ;)
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