A quote from Julia Glass (Chicago Tribune) from the back of the book: "If Jane Austen had been born about two centuries later, gone to Smith, then palled around with Fran Lebowitz, chances are she'd have written like Elinor Lipman. She is one of the last urbane romantics. As always, Lipman makes us laugh out loud."
well. . . . . she's no Jane Austen, I'll say that! This was mildly entertaining, but not quite the amazing book I expected after the back cover.
To start with, I found what the title *should* have been on page 368: "Don't call me, don't write me, don't FedEx me bagels." This would have made me like the book so much more :)
Isabel's character was totally and completely annoying. And there is nothing magical about her bed. I'm sad that Harriet is the author (it's from her perspective), but she is subordinated throughout the book. Isabel is spoiled, annoying, self-centered, and a "one-hit wonder". She should have been more of an ancillary character. Harriet, like so many of the key characters in chick lit is all about the angst, is unhappy with herself, her hair, her makeup (or lack thereof), etc. In the end, of course, she finds a perfectly wonderful man, and isn't the man-repeller she thinks she is.
To this day I don't understand the Costas character. Maybe the next reader of this book will, and can explain him to me! He was the "appendix" of this book. . .
This is a good, light read, and was great for me while sitting on our back deck on a lovely sunny day.