The first thing I said when I discovered that a Devil Wears Prada sequel was being published was “MORE MERYL STREEP NOW”. I was so, so wrong. Trying to judge a book by its film is generally a bad idea, but what I got myself into was the most uninspired, all-around lazy novel I have ever read.
What has become of Andy? Forget the New Yorker: she is now editing a bridal magazine. Not that there is anything wrong with this per se (more on my wedding obsession another time), but she used to despise glossies. She used to want to be a badass reporter.
It’s not even about the (foreseeable) compulsive name-dropping of brands and celebrities – God knows how long it’s taken to get this book cleared by dozens of celeb lawyers. It’s the complete lack of a story, the infinite nonsensical über-girly rambling. Early 30s Andrea Sachs is basically Carrie Bradshaw. Rich husband, fancy job, glamorous life. Does she ever think of her old life? Not one bit, except when she’s pissed off because Alex (ex boyfriend) has a new love interest.
I didn’t expect to be blown away by the best book ever, but Revenge Wears Prada is just unbearable. The way the plot is twisted to include characters that have no logical reason to appear – especially the dreaded Emily and Miranda – are ridiculous and stress even more the fact that this book was exclusively written for money, with zero inspiration to support it.
2013, Simon & Schuster. Goodreads.
Found via: Cecilia, professional enabler, who reminded me that this is a thing that exists.
Suggested to: People who like anything “because of the clothes”. Gossip Girl novels readers.
Y/N? N, the end.