Argh, just the thought of this book makes me shudder. I like to think that I can stomach just about any kind of writing and I can usually appreciate the book for what it is, even if I don't enjoy it myself. But honestly, there are no redeeming qualities to this book. None. It's self-involved, self-indulgent, vapid, depressing drivel. I reviewed this book when it first came out ages ago for my college newspaper. I had to force myself to finish it for the review's sake, and all I kept thinking while reading it was "God, I hope she doesn't hurt herself patting herself on the back for how clever she thinks she is." I swear, the amount of wink-wink-nudge-nudging she does to the reader is so completely annoying and unnecessary. She spends so much of the book trying to prove how culturally aware and culturally relevant she and her main character are, when in actuality, neither is true. Stay far, far away from this book ... unless you're into masochism. In which case, have at it!