I didn't know whether to like this book or dismiss it as another peice of "I hate my boss" chick lit. Vivian seems like a caricature at times, and Randall, Claire's boyfriend, seems almost too perfect. I mean, he's a good looking, kind, and thoughtful investment banker, what's not to love? Seriously, I was rolling my eyes. Also, I thought it was completely unrealistic that someone living on Claire's salary lives on Christopher Street in the West Village. Although the book escapes other cliches (the crazy mother, the gay boyfriend), Claire comes off as trying to make herself into more of a martyr than she really is. Also, I thought she was kind of whiny at times. And the ending was predictable, to say the least.
So there are a few redeeming qualities about this book, but I think it wouldn't have been published if not for the antics of former publisher Judith Regan.
Also reviewed by: Foreign Circus Library