Back when I was on crutches, I checked out a huge stack of books closest to the check-out area at the library because it is hard to carry books with your teeth, especially under the watchful eye of dour librarians. (Shouldn’t there have been an ADA-funded valet to follow me around, recommend books, check out books for me, and waive all late fees due to my disability? But I digress.) In any event, this was not the worst book in the stack, but it was not my favorite.
This brings up several questions for me. First, how come some trash is so addictive and fun to read and some trash is boring? I adore Jacqueline Susann’s entire ouevre and I heart all Aaron Spelling shows and I read all the ladies fashion magazines every month even though I know they will give me the same dumb tips every time, etc. I do not think these things are qualitatively better than Jackie Collins, but somehow the Jackie Collins book was very boring and I read the whole thing with grim determination, as though it were a job I did not like very much.
Still, one thing I can say about this book: her characters’ names are f$&@) awesome. The first person we are introduced to is named Jett Diamond. Jett Diamond! Why didn’t I think of this myself? Then we meet his father, Red Diamond, a Sumner Redstone type. (I feel like this is one of those books where every character is a thinly veiled verson of a real person except I know too little about New York society people to get it.) And just when I was about to throw the book across the room in irritation with how Ms. Collins has a supposedly American 8-year-old girl talking like a retarded robot speaking its second language (“Lulu want ice cream! Lulu hungry!“) , she produced the best name ever: a sinister blackmailing guy named Vladimir Bushkin. So subtle, I love it. (In general, a lot of characters in the book seem to speak about themselves in the third person. Is this something rich fancy people do? Maybe I should start practicing for when I become a tycoon.)
In any event Ms. Collins taught me some valuable lessons I should apply to the Serialist. First, I should keep writing it because more than 400 million copies of her books have been sold in more than 40 countries and I am falling behind. Second, perhaps I have become too dour and, well, realistic. I think I need more hysteria and drama, possibly a knock-down, drag-out fight between two female characters, and the chief’s suggestion of a white slavery ring is not bad. (Why is it always white slavery in soap operas? I have a lot to learn, I guess.) And the names! My character names suck! I need to introduce some cool new people. Stay tuned.
