And that reminds me, reading Shopaholic conjures up images of Bridget Jone’s Diary, which in turn, and remotely, suggests certain Austen-esque styling. But why not, Jane Austen did that too, plus the other gender along the way. Kinsella’s Shopaholic series just might have extended that axiom to include her own gender. I learned a long time ago that the best kind of humor is the self-deprecating kind. How many books have you read that can elicit that facial response? Not that I looked at the mirror while I read, but I just noticed. I’d many LOL moments, and several times I caught myself reading with a smile on my face. (To my copy-writer friend: Nothing personal, it’s just the genre.) The book Confessions of a Shopaholic is like a commercial break: it gives you a chance to relax in between tense moments, a filler, but unlike most commercials, it’s entertaining, very funny, and not as dismissible as it looks. Ok, after reading Thomas Hardy, Jhumpa Lahiri, Philip Roth, not to mention the very hard-to-get-through Amy Bloom, all in a month’s time, I needed a break. (Didn’t he know it was for his CD that I had to make this purchase in the first place?) ‘It’s just a filler to make up the amount for free shipping,’ I said. ‘Are you serious?’ my son exclaimed as he pried open my Amazon package.
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