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Monday, August 22, 2005

Pop Culture and Poetry

Weiner, Jennifer. In Her Shoes. New York: Washington Square Press, 2002.

Yes, this is decidedly chick lit, which most certainly does not have the best reputation in the world. I would suggest, however, that in some ways that reputation is undeserved. Certainly the cover is a bit pinkish, and there are indeed shoes on it, but really, is that a crime? Besides, the novel itself started out as chick lit, and Jane Austen has always been one of its most successful practitioners.

Actually, in many ways this book is relatively self-affirming, complex, and literate. I certainly have respect for Jennifer Weiner's intelligence, which was evident in throughout the novel. This book does have a lot in common with Sex in the City and romance novels, but it is well aware of the fact and references both in the course of its story. These are all things that women can share, ways to bond even across generations when there aren't a lot of ways for women to connect non-competitively anymore, if there ever were. I certainly never spent my adolescence in the kitchen with my mother teaching me to cook. My mom gave me In Her Shoes, however, and she wants to pass it on to her mother as well. She watches Sex in the City and we will probably go see the film version of In Her Shoes together, and that's a good thing. Weiner is telling the story of women's lives, common everyday stories of people who are well-meaning and deeply flawed. People's lives that change in sometimes subtle and sometimes drastic ways. The kind of stories that occasionally become great literature when they are about men, but rarely so when they are about women.

What I found fascinating about this book was how it pulled all the right strings to trigger all of my materialistic impulses and my brain as well. It left me longing for a new wardrobe and also send me searching my poetry books to visit old familiar verses. The combination of pop culture and materialism and literary references dazzled me and left me wishing that I could afford to go shopping, could afford shoes like these or these. They seem like such harmless, luxurious indulgences. I found myself wandering around my bedroom trying on my most daring clothes, and it felt good, even though I know these are dangerous impulses. There's a mysterious confidence hidden somewhere in this book, and though it may be a little bit appearance-based, it's a good thing nonetheless.

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