Quality of Life Report, by Meghan Daum

Hmm. Sort of chick lit for the Ivy League set. I didn't like many people in this book, especially the narrator who is the personification of one of my own personal pet peeves: Life Does Not Exist Outside of New York City. That attitude has been the major reason for my unwillingness to EVER visit the city, which was finally (I thought) exorcised by the events of September 11, 2001.

And yet, here it raises its head again in a story about a 30ish "woman" who heads into the wilds of the midwest to report on life there for the viewers of a New York talk/information show that's about as deep and meaningful as the layer of scum on a spring-fed pond. As is the 'heroine.'

Reading this book was painful and depressing for me on many levels. I know this chick, and can't STAND her! Since a tiny bit of her exists in me, that led to feelings of desperation at the sight of my own failings. She is also the embodiment of all I loathe about women's magazines (Cosmo, et al.) and their cheap attempts at "serious" articles. The author's description of winter in the upper midwest is spot-on, which means that I'm having my usual mid-winter blecchhhhh NOW, in the midst of a perfectly lovely stretch of 70-degree-and-sunny weather. The only person I liked in the book turns out to be a meth addict, and I can totally see WHY because I'd probably do meth too if I had to be around this dingbat for more than 30 seconds. By the way, I hardly think it's as easy as it appears to quit cranking on meth. In any case, what I'm saying is that everything negative about the main character is me, and....there is nothing particularly positive about her except that on the last page she pulls her head out of her butt for the first time in the book. She is the least proactive person I think I've ever read about, which is precisely the way I was raised NEVER to be. She drove me frickin' CRAZY!

And then the end. Poof: magic wand time. Tie it all up in a neat little package of sudden awareness, motivation, and being saved by the evil NewYorkians. This is definitely a book I will remember, but certainly not fondly, since the things I liked about it made me profoundly depressed about my life, and the parts I didn't like (see the opening lines of this paragraph for example) were simply hideous.