Seriously. I read this book in June, and I just now realized that I hadn't written a review for it.
As a pseudo-fan of Sex and the City, I thought it might be fun to read about Carrie Bradshaw as a teenager in Candace Bushnell's newest novel, The Carrie Diaries. I was intrigued about Carrie's high school days and how it is that she came to be a writer, so I decided to give it a shot.
Disappointed. Revolted. Bored. Unimpressed. The novel was just plain awful.
Turns out, Carrie grew up in the 80s (which , I guess I knew, but just forgot about) and spent most of her high school years smoking, drinking, and chasing after boys (no surprise there). That's about all that happens for 250 pages. There are some glimmering moments of writing when Bushnell is describing Carrie's thoughts and ambitions of becoming a writer, but other than that the book is a relatively empty shell. If you like books about teenage mischief in a small town, maybe this is for you, but otherwise, I wouldn't bother. And, as you hopefully know, I don't say that about many books.
