The Finishing Touches

By Hester Browne
Gallery

I consider myself a feminist yet I read chick lit like it's going out of fashion—is that strange? I'm aware this genre is often problematic from a certain feminist point of view, but it also provides ample material for a proper discussion. Hester Browne's The Finishing Touches really brought out the feminist in me and made me think about how things have changed—or have they?

The Finishing Touches is an incredibly witty and adorable story that I nearly stopped reading after the first few chapters. What bothered me so much, you ask? The novel is mostly set at Tallimore Academy, a finishing school in London that is running out of business. Prior to this reading, I was unfamiliar with finishing schools and I got my education as I turned each page. At finishing schools, young girls were taught how to be the most ladylike, perfect wives, which was to be their main purpose in life. This might sound terribly old fashioned nowadays, but this book puts a modern spin on the matter.

Our main character Betsy is called to the rescue; her adoptive parents own Tallimore Academy and she grew up there. Betsy's father asks her to save the school from its sure demise, and so she decides to update the courses to meet the needs of modern girls. The new classes include money management, parking properly, looking good in photos, walking in high heels, dressing for various occasions, and behaving well on dates. I think the reader was meant to be appalled by the original concept of finishing schools, but are these new courses really so different? Or are they just an updated version of old sexist ideas?

I'm sure you'll agree that mastering the above mentioned skills certainly can't hurt in today's shallow society. Personally, I find myself divided on whether I should be offended or consider them a clever idea (in a way). I certainly think these courses could be aimed at both sexes; after all, it's not just girls who need lessons in parking and relationships. I'm aware that these courses do nothing for female emancipation as a whole, and while a part of me rejects them immediately, another part asks, "Why not?"

The truth is that "being yourself," while a worthwhile goal, will often get you nowhere in our superficial society, so why not adapt? Why not make the best of your looks, get yourself noticed, and then show people what you're capable of instead of being dismissed before even getting a chance to succeed? Should a feminist stay true to herself by focusing more on intellect than appearance and counting on this being enough to reach her goals? Or should she make yourself as pretty and likable as possible (maybe even with the help of courses similar to those in this book), even though she knows the rules of this game are dictated by men and consumerism?

Personally, I've tried both. And I've been forced to do the latter quite often because I've found that the first method just doesn't seem to be enough. Nonetheless, I like to think I'm not betraying my feminist beliefs, and I feel that paying attention to my appearance gives me a confidence boost that helps me succeed. Maybe that's the trick: maybe it all just comes down to confidence. How confident are you to be yourself?

The Finishing Touches is an escapist read, and thus meant to be taken lightly, but it did a pretty good job of making me think about the predicament of modern women.

Review by Suzana @ Bookalicious Ramblings

Does this book sound interesting enough to read? Well, Suzana is giving away a copy on her blog. Click here to enter the giveaway.

The Butcher and the Vegetarian: One Woman's Romp through a World of Men, Meat, and Moral Crisis

By Tara Austen Weaver
Rodale

Food writer Tara Austen Weaver was raised in a vegetarian home since her birth. As an adult, she unexpectedly gets diagnosed with thyroid disease. What’s she to do? Fast for forty days? No. Go macrobiotic? Nope, not that either. Instead, Weaver must eat meat—by doctor’s order. So she turns to a carnivorous diet. What unfolds is part chick lit-cookbook and part treatise on farm animal rights.

Weaver’s introduction to the world of animal flesh brings her into contact with many meat-industry types. Some she casts in an ethical light. These include kind butchers and organic cattle ranchers. She also comes to know a charming meat blogger. Readers may object to the notion of ethical, caring cattle ranchers and butchers, but I can assure you these characters would cause anyone to re-examine their assumptions.

Throughout the The Butcher and the Vegetarian, Weaver’s writing is lively and clever. Readers will enjoy her wit and keen use of hyperbole. At one point she describes a Holy Grail-like experience wherein she smothers her steak in a rapturous chimichurri sauce.

The Butcher and the Vegetarian’s cover art depicts tiny hearts and cute cartoon characters, but the book offers up several dark and unexpected twists. One minute I was reading about pork tenderloin; the next thing I know, Weaver is describing how her mother's boyfriend molested her when she was thirteen and her two subsequent suicide attempts. Woah! Hold it right there, meat lady. I need a minute to digest!

Although surprised by the confession, I appreciate Weaver's honesty and think the topic of abuse deserves a place in the book. Weaver's relationship with meat mirrors her relationship with men. To her, meat is a very masculine experience.

In passing, Weaver mentions that she doesn't consider fish to be meat. And as for chickens, I was equally shocked to find out she puts them in the category of "almost not a meat." Still, The Butcher and the Vegetarian shares some good information about the treatment of farm animals and the truth about our (and their) sources of food. These facts are of great value to readers.

Although once a vegetarian, Weaver is no activist, and she also makes her preference for food over animal welfare transparent from the beginning. It does strike me as suspicious, however, that someone so horrified at eating a steak and so knowledgeable about the farming industry would be okay with consuming eggs and dairy. I wonder if she doesn't recognize the incongruity.

Personally, I could care less about how to prepare meat; it’s simply not part of my life. Though The Butcher and the Vegetarian is well written, Weaver lost me at each mention of fine cuts of X or a special preparation of Y. What I did find fascinating (and thoroughly graphic) was Weaver’s research visit to the farm where she witnesses the process of slaughter. She writes that seeing this occur repeatedly has a desensitizing effect, that it becomes ordinary, or even "normalized."

In my experience, there was nothing normal about it. When I was in veterinary school, I witnessed the slaughtering process several times, and the blood of those poor cows still floods my nightmares. Maybe that makes me overly critical. But it’s the truth.

Review by Laura Koffler

The Opposite of Me

By Sarah Pekkanen
Washington Square Press

Lindsey Rose’s life is perfectly in order when The Opposite of Me opens: She’s hours away from being made a vice-president at a large advertising firm, she weeks away from owning a piece real estate in a tony New York neighborhood, she’s got a closet full of designer clothes, and, oh, she’s only twenty-nine years old. Sarah Pekkanen’s debut novel may sound like a familiar chick lit story, but over the course of nearly 400 pages, it wades into deeper waters.

At the book's beginning, the heroine is comfortable with being the successful, smart, and serious twin to Alex's breathtaking beauty, charm, and popularity. The two have orbited around each other since birth, but were never able to connect until an unexpected and catastrophic chain of events bring Lindsey back home to the DC suburb of Bethesda. Here, with her two hilarious and long-bickering parents, sister, and a childhood friend who’s always had a not-so-secret crush on her, Lindsey begins to discover and embrace her true self. Though The Opposite of Me is billed as being about sisters (and it is, in a way), the central theme seems to be identity, which even the four markers that divide the book suggest: “Success,” “Home,” “Jump,” and “Trading Places.”

Lindsey’s characterization of her twin was disturbing to me at first because the smart = ugly and pretty = dumb stereotypes for women are, generally, false. Because readers meet Alex first through Lindsey’s jealous eyes, I found the prettier twin to be unreal. Yet, I identified with the sisters. As the story unfolds and Alex is allowed to speak and feel and express herself on her own terms, readers see that there’s a lot more to her than meets Lindsey’s eye, including a devastating diagnosis that throws the entire trajectory of the novel a-plop.

As grown women, some of us would like to believe we were born with our personalities, that all of our little quirks were predestined by nature. But anyone with a sibling—particularly one of the same sex—knows that, as much as our DNA plays a part, our identities can also be formed by a desire to compete with or be different from our familial relations. In this regard, Lindsey’s extreme Type A personality juxtaposed against Alex’s seemingly carefree and lovable nature seems a lot more believable and relevant, as if years of rubbing against each other had molded polar opposite personalities.

The meat of this story involves many of the issues that engross twenty-somethings: career, family, and relationships. Both women are initially presented as perfect fodder for bragging parents, but as each begins to discover hidden talents, the sisters commit to the rough-and-tumble work of living lives of passion. Pekkanen successfully leaves many of the genre’s cliches in the trash, but that didn’t stop the writer from indulging in a few tried-and-true chick lit plot points, including The Makeover. After sexifying her image and going on a six page shopping spree, our heroine makes one last stop for new shoes.

"Your boyfriend’s going to love them," a salesperson tells Lindsey.

"Boyfriend?" I said, winking. "Don’t you mean boyfriends?"

"You go girl!" she said.

What’s not to love about that?

Review by Whitney Teal

Cross-posted from Uptown Literati

Lunch in Paris: A Love Story, with Recipes

By Elizabeth Bard
Little, Brown and Company

While the memoir fad is nothing new, Elizabeth Bard’s new book confirms the emergence of a memoir subgenre to contend with: the memoir with recipes. In May 2009, the New York Times proclaimed these books as the brainchild of the “money-making imagination of the publishing industry.” Certainly, a spate of globe-spanning titles have followed, many born from blogs. However, the story of the American in Paris has long been a favored literary subject. It has sparked writers’ imaginations from Henry James to Anais Nin to Elaine Dundy to David Sedaris. Elizabeth Bard’s adventures in Paris have a more chick-lit feel to them than even Nin or Dundy, and have a liberal sprinkling of Julia Child and Peter Mayle throughout. In this recipe-infused book, Bard navigates a long-distance relationship with a French archivist, decides to move to Paris, and eventually gets married and builds her writing career.

At first, Elizabeth Bard’s life seems impossibly charmed, complete with buying the perfect apartment on the increasingly trendy Rue Oberkampf and negotiating cultural differences that seem more endearing and eye-opening than frustrating. However, what sets Bard’s writing apart from others of her nascent genre is her thoughtfulness and realism. She paints a very true and convincing portrait of herself as a driven, New York striver, bent on academic, artistic, and financial success at an early age and agonizing over why it has not yet arrived. While she is highly educated, she does not come from a place of easy breezy privilege, and in between recipes inspired by fresh finds at her Parisian market, Bard contemplates her family and personal history.

As much as it documents her courtship, relationship, and marriage to Gwendal, a digital archivist and entrepreneur, Lunch in Paris is about Bard’s acclimatization to a Parisian pace of life and ultimately, self-acceptance. Bard finds her stride by finally finding a peaceful balance between her Parisian and New York lives and selves. While this revelation is not particularly groundbreaking and her feminist-tinged reflections stay in safe mainstream territory, Lunch in Paris satisfies readers with a good story, intelligent and heartfelt reflections, and mouth-watering recipes. It’s not clear if these recipes have been kitchen tested the way one would for a professional cookbook, but they serve as solid guidelines for readers interested to add a French twist to their cooking.

While it may not become part of the Americans in Paris literary cannon, Lunch in Paris is a satisfying, straightforward read that feels like a good friend telling you a particularly tasty—and truthful—story.

Review by Eleanor Whitney