In Her Shoes
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leileil, Angela Brandt, Berrylicious877, and Heather.
Book Details
Written by Jennifer Weiner.
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($15.00)
Editorial Review (from Amazon.com)
Meet Rose Feller, a thirty-year-old high-powered attorney with a secret passion for romance novels. She has an exercise regime she's going to start next week, and she dreams of a man who will slide off her glasses, gaze into her eyes, and tell her she's beautiful. She also dreams of getting her fantastically screwed-up, semi-employed little sister to straighten up and fly right.
Meet Rose's sister, Maggie. Twenty-eight years old and drop-dead gorgeous. Although her big-screen stardom hasn't progressed past her left hip's appearance in a Will Smith video, Maggie dreams of fame and fortune -- and of getting her big sister on a skin-care regimen.
These two women, who claim to have nothing in common but a childhood tragedy, DNA, and the same size feet, are about to learn that they're more alike than they'd ever imagined. Along the way, they'll encounter a diverse cast of characters -- from a stepmother who's into recreational Botox to a disdainful pug with no name. They'll borrow shoes and clothes and boyfriends, and eventually make peace with their most intimate enemies -- each other.
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Shelley Rees thinks this book is Excellent.
Weiner serves up Bridget Jones with more emotional resonance and less slapstick. Her characterizations are lovely, her humor genuine laugh-out-loud, her highs and lows worthy of a cathartic pile of used tissues.
Overall, In Her Shoes is a more than fitting follow up to Weiner's fabulous Good in Bed. The first novel addresses the life and body issues of Cannie Shapiro, a “full figured†woman; In Her Shoes, however, covers much more territory, juggling three story lines, one of which explores the psyche of a woman who considers her body her only worthwhile quality. Weiner has given plenty of interviews on the subject of her own insecurities about weight, and her perspectives on the subject are fresh, honest and ultimately very affirming. In this second book, though, she models something even more brave—sympathy and understanding for everyone who has bought into the obsession with appearance, anyone who measures her self worth by an arbitrary superficial standard, and she acknowledges that this is a contest even the apparent winners usually lose. Weiner never allows the “imperfect†among us to vent misdirected rage on the privileged thin and beautiful, and I admire her as much for that as for anything. The expanded scope of this second novel does not appear to intimidate Weiner at all. In fact, her dead-on pacing places every character and every scene so perfectly that the novel unfolds almost organically, as if it were torn from the thigh of Zeus in exactly its present form and no change could improve upon it. And Weiner flat understands people. She knows what funny people say when they really are funny, not contrived sit-com funny. She knows feelings and compulsions; she gets relationships with family, friends and lovers and how real people negotiate them.