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juushikaThe reward for finishing horrible books is that you get to write scathing reviews of them. I point back to that review (for Lipstick Jungle) because if you only ever read one of my reviews, it might as well be that one. If nothing else, hopefully it will warn you away from what is probably the worst book I've ever read—worse even than the ones that I couldn't bring myself to finish (Sharp Objects and The Devil Wears Prada spring to mind). There's a wonderful catharsis in pointing out precisely what it was that make the book so bad I couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. Thank goodness, too, I haven't had the urge to bring it up in conversation since then. Devon hated the book, and he didn't even read it—but he did hear enough of it and about it while I was reading it.
It does beg in me the question, though, of chick lit—is it more harmful than it is harmless? Because that's what Lipstick Jungle was, to be sure. I always say that I will read anything fiction, but the truth is that there are two genres I abhor and will not entertain: chick lit and romance. For some time I've maintained that this is a matter of preference, because I still read books that I would consider to be trashy or simple, easy, almost pointless reading—I just don't like those specific genres and don't read them, but they are just as valid as simple entertainment as bad fantasy and bad YA lit.
But the general consensus on Amazon is that Lipstick Jungle is a 3.5 star book, and 40% of readers gave it a full five stars. Reviewers laud it as "good risque, racy fun" and say that "the novel has a lot of 'you go, girl!' power." It is one thing to find empty, near-thoughtless amusement in a book—like the written version of television. And I can't put words into reviewers's mouths and say that they thought Bushnell's writing was skillful and nuanced. However, when a reviewer writes that she wants to adopt Bushnell's writing style for her emails (oh god) I have to wonder: to they know that the writing is crap, the characters two-dimensional, the storytelling poor? They may not think it's great, but do they think it's good, are they going to try to emulate it?
But, as I mentioned in my review, the worst of Lipstick Jungle is not the horrible writing, but rather the butchered would-be-feminist themes. What a book means—its message, its purpose, its themes—are what readers take away from the text. The themes here lack all subtlety, so I hardly believe that readers are whizzing through the book without seeing them. But Bushnell butchers these themes, substituting cheap, insulting humor for, say, any sense of wit, forward progress, or what could rationally be called feminism. So when readers call it "brilliant" and say "it motivated me," I worry. Writers have power and authority to impact their readers. The themes in Lipstick Jungle are very real, and women meet them head to head every day—sexism and patriarchal structures do not only impact super-powerful businesswomen. Bushnell uses her power to make jokes, belittle people, and forgo constructive change for a reversal of the same sexism that women struggle with.
And people believe it. They read it, they enjoy it, they don't examine it. They find it motivating and empowering—motivating and empowering to limit people to narrow prescripted generalizations. This isn't forgivable, harmless junk reading. These are no moderately interesting themes given half-hearted analysis. Bushnell choses hot topics, and does not approach them half-assed: no, she visibly, loudly does them a huge disservice through reversal and a complete lack of constructive criticism. This is bad—bad in writing, and bad also in meaning.
I haven't read any other chick lit. After my painful experience here, and after finding The Devil Wears Prada too poorly written to finish, I doubt I'll be reading more. So I can't judge the genre as a whole—but if Lipstick Jungle is in any way indicative, then I worry. I worry that we allow and accept trash because it's considered just harmless amusement, when in fact it's not harmless at all. I worry about the women that read it and eat it down without questioning it. Sure, it's not a genre that we can outlaw, and that wouldn't solve the issue anyway. The problem is not only that the literature exists—more precisely, the problem is that the readers do not question or expect better from the writing that they consume. Standing back and adopting the attitude of "if you don't like it, then don't read it" and then ignoring all naysaying is no solution. Perhaps the solution is intelligent discussion—not ignoring the genre, and not accepting it either, but rather pointing out its weaknesses and its position to harm.
Except that I already know that my review, on Amazon at least, will just receive negative reviews and slip to the back of the pile—because I'm overcritical and taking it too seriously, when it's just a bit of harmless "you go, girl!" fun. The attempts at criticism and intelligent discussion—and there are quite a few of each, on Amazon—are pushed aside, and the front page is full of praise instead for a fun and empowering read.
It does beg in me the question, though, of chick lit—is it more harmful than it is harmless? Because that's what Lipstick Jungle was, to be sure. I always say that I will read anything fiction, but the truth is that there are two genres I abhor and will not entertain: chick lit and romance. For some time I've maintained that this is a matter of preference, because I still read books that I would consider to be trashy or simple, easy, almost pointless reading—I just don't like those specific genres and don't read them, but they are just as valid as simple entertainment as bad fantasy and bad YA lit.
But the general consensus on Amazon is that Lipstick Jungle is a 3.5 star book, and 40% of readers gave it a full five stars. Reviewers laud it as "good risque, racy fun" and say that "the novel has a lot of 'you go, girl!' power." It is one thing to find empty, near-thoughtless amusement in a book—like the written version of television. And I can't put words into reviewers's mouths and say that they thought Bushnell's writing was skillful and nuanced. However, when a reviewer writes that she wants to adopt Bushnell's writing style for her emails (oh god) I have to wonder: to they know that the writing is crap, the characters two-dimensional, the storytelling poor? They may not think it's great, but do they think it's good, are they going to try to emulate it?
But, as I mentioned in my review, the worst of Lipstick Jungle is not the horrible writing, but rather the butchered would-be-feminist themes. What a book means—its message, its purpose, its themes—are what readers take away from the text. The themes here lack all subtlety, so I hardly believe that readers are whizzing through the book without seeing them. But Bushnell butchers these themes, substituting cheap, insulting humor for, say, any sense of wit, forward progress, or what could rationally be called feminism. So when readers call it "brilliant" and say "it motivated me," I worry. Writers have power and authority to impact their readers. The themes in Lipstick Jungle are very real, and women meet them head to head every day—sexism and patriarchal structures do not only impact super-powerful businesswomen. Bushnell uses her power to make jokes, belittle people, and forgo constructive change for a reversal of the same sexism that women struggle with.
And people believe it. They read it, they enjoy it, they don't examine it. They find it motivating and empowering—motivating and empowering to limit people to narrow prescripted generalizations. This isn't forgivable, harmless junk reading. These are no moderately interesting themes given half-hearted analysis. Bushnell choses hot topics, and does not approach them half-assed: no, she visibly, loudly does them a huge disservice through reversal and a complete lack of constructive criticism. This is bad—bad in writing, and bad also in meaning.
I haven't read any other chick lit. After my painful experience here, and after finding The Devil Wears Prada too poorly written to finish, I doubt I'll be reading more. So I can't judge the genre as a whole—but if Lipstick Jungle is in any way indicative, then I worry. I worry that we allow and accept trash because it's considered just harmless amusement, when in fact it's not harmless at all. I worry about the women that read it and eat it down without questioning it. Sure, it's not a genre that we can outlaw, and that wouldn't solve the issue anyway. The problem is not only that the literature exists—more precisely, the problem is that the readers do not question or expect better from the writing that they consume. Standing back and adopting the attitude of "if you don't like it, then don't read it" and then ignoring all naysaying is no solution. Perhaps the solution is intelligent discussion—not ignoring the genre, and not accepting it either, but rather pointing out its weaknesses and its position to harm.
Except that I already know that my review, on Amazon at least, will just receive negative reviews and slip to the back of the pile—because I'm overcritical and taking it too seriously, when it's just a bit of harmless "you go, girl!" fun. The attempts at criticism and intelligent discussion—and there are quite a few of each, on Amazon—are pushed aside, and the front page is full of praise instead for a fun and empowering read.
