I had read Sex and the City years ago when I got really really interested in the TV series. I had always loved the way that the story was made to make fun of the ladies. At some point they were shallow, stupid, mean, rude like all New Yorkers (supposedly I suppose) are and they are also kind, sweet, nice, loving towards one another. The book on the other hand was far more edgier than the TV series which tried to gloss things over to make it seem a 'little' better.
To get to the point I bought One Fifth Avenue expecting and hoping that it was as edgy as Sex and the City. At first, the story got too long and droned and after awhile, about exactly halfway it started to take one a life of its own. The details were endless and I think a bit meaningless, it was a version of chicklit but in this version the writer is not some hopeful or hoping female feeding the masses and masses of women images of a romance, a career and havin it all (i.e. Shopaholics Anonymous, Little Black Books???) as a girl makes their way into the big city. No, like her I do love the cynicism and the put down, I love the sound of dreams crushing under the heels of shoes either high or low. Well here it is, and I think despite its slowness and those hopeful and hoping for a good romantic ending, there is but it doesn't even matter,the whole point is this. This is a story of women who try to play by the rules of men and living in a man's man's world. It is not a radical feminist story BUT, as these women, the late Mrs Houghton, the gossip columnist Enid Merle, Schiffer Diamond, Mindy Gooch and ofcourse, Annalisa Rice are women made of steel, unencumbered like Lola Fabrikant, experienced, hard as nails and are pretty damn sure that there is no such thing as true love.
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