The Carrie Diaries

If you were a child of the late '80's, early '90's, you may associate the title, The Carrie Diaries, to your mother telling you about the movie where a vat of pig's blood is ceremoniously empties on top of the most unpopular girl in school. But your primary association is that of the always-iconic-to-our-generation Carrie Bradshaw, fictional character created by Candace Bushnell, electrified on television, and legend-ized through books, movies, fashion, and pop culture in general.

Candace Bushnell is a clique-hold name, millions of women all over the world fantasizing the life that only the upper East coast can provide (and only a Western girl like myself can fantasize about). Her bestseller, Sex in the City catapulted her to fame on the coattails of 4 women who were an adequate sampling of women the world over. Although it was unwritten, character Carrie led the pack, in culture, politics, and fashion, so it was only natural we would want learn from whence she came.

I must be having some sort of mid-life crisis, or something, because I seem to be gravitating towards these coming-of-age novels. There is nothing that really separates The Carrie Diaries from any other book of it's kind, but I don't think that's the point. It's fun, and fluffy, with just the right amount of heart, soul, humility, and wit; never mind that sometimes you forget you're reading about Carrie Bradshaw until another character says her name.

Like we learned from the television series, Carrie met Samantha first, and I was pleased to find a link between adult Carrie and this new one I was learning about. But, what bothered me, was that I seemed to recall a scene in which a very pregnant Miranda was sitting on Carrie's stoop as they contemplated their roles in the ultimate demise of their relationships with men. Carries asks poignantly, "Do you think it's as simple as my father left so I'll always be messed up about men?" But now that I think about it, I suppose there was nothing to indicate she was referring to herself over a rhetorical question.

Like Judy Blume's Summer Sisters, Candace Bushnell was able to perfectly capture what us young women know about certain aspects of life, this particular lesson being that the best people you meet in life will be after high school. Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda were sisters from another mother, while her supposed best friends since birth treated her like shit. I'm sure I'm not the only one who can sympathize.

Bushnell keeps the pages turning because you want to know what happens next, even though you know already and could see it coming a mile away; you want to know how it all unfolds. I have to admit, though, the book's description makes it seem grossly more interesting than it is. The writing style is a bit all over the place, an entire chapter completely devoid of pronouns.

Since the characters spend most of their time in school, I think of it as a fun fall read. It's definitely a book you can get absorbed in, not feel guilty about, and have a more sunshine-y outlook on the world once you're done.