Book Review |
Lipstick Jungleby Jill Froebel |
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Lipstick Jungle
by Candace Bushnell
Hyperion 2005 $24.95
Candace Bushnell, author of Sex and the City, is all grown up, and so are her characters. At least, that is what she would have us believe. In her new novel, Lipstick Jungle, three Manhattanites are in their late forties and near the top of their game, working in glamorous fields and lunching in fantastically expensive restaurants. The problem is that reading about ladies lunching on sparkling water and salmon isn’t nearly as fun as watching a group of sexual dynamos drink cosmos at the hottest club, and Bushnell seems unable to discern the difference.
The first of the trio, Victory Ford, a department store fashion designer trying to cross over into couture, constantly engages in the type of man-bashing that is more cringe worthy than funny. Wendy incessantly argues with her husband about the kids and potty training accidents, while Nico forsakes a steamy affair with a Calvin Klein underwear model for her sexless, romance-devoid marriage to a husband named Seymour. At Kirby’s apartment to break it off, Nico fights agitation when he questions the decision, thinking to herself that “She probably shouldn’t have come at all; she probably should have done what a man would have done, which was simply to stop calling…”
Bushnell’s women aren’t grown-up versions of Carrie or Samantha—they’re Miranda, only duller, whinier and more obnoxious. Bushnell’s newest version of Manhattan life will surely inspire no envy, and certainly doesn’t make for an interesting read. It looks like it’s time pour a strong cosmo and drink to the end of an era.
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