About the book:
Bridget Jones's Diary is the devastatingly self-aware, laugh-out-loud account of a year in the life of a thirty-something Singleton on a permanent doomed quest for self-improvement. Caught between the joys of Singleton fun, and the fear of dying alone and being found three weeks later half eaten by an Alsatian; tortured by Smug Married friends asking, "How's your love life?" with lascivious, yet patronizing leers, Bridget resolves to: reduce the circumference of each thigh by 1.5 inches, visit the gym three times a week not just to buy a sandwich, form a functional relationship with a responsible adult and learn to program the VCR. With a blend of flighty charm, existential gloom, and endearing self-deprecation, Bridget Jones's Diary has touched a raw nerve with millions of readers the world round. Read it and laugh--before you cry, "Bridget Jones is me!"
I haven't seen the movie. But, it was so popular that I thought the book would be good.
Wrong. I hated it. I think I'm just too old and too happily married to enjoy a whiny, albeit somewhat funny, vulgar, lonely heroine. If she can even be called that. Given the film's R-rating, I shouldn't have been surprised by the book's foul language and sexual exploits. But, I was. I found nothing to relate to, which is something that I have found I need, in order to enjoy most books.
I couldn't even enjoy it as simple, light-hearted chick-lit. Don't bother.
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