Disclaimer: This post contains my review of The Devil Wears Prada, by Lauren Weisberger. To make some of my points clear, I make specific references to the book; thus the review contains spoilers. If you don’t want to know, don’t read any further. This review is also my opinion. If you don’t agree, good for you! Post an intelligent differing opinion, and we can discuss it like grown-ups. Post any deliberately inflammatory comments, and I will mercilessly make fun of you in my next post!
I completely misread the book’s cover synopsis when I picked it up- I thought the boss was going to turn out to actually be, well, the Devil. Oops.
Due to this misunderstanding, The Devil Wears Prada became the newest entry in my Masochistic Literature list. There was a slight bit of payoff when Andrea told Miranda to go fuck herself, but only because I dream of doing the same thing. I especially hated the way everything got wrapped up in a nice, neat, little package- way too quickly and easily- at the end. All of a sudden- TADAH!- she becomes a writer for a national magazine?!? Whatever.
There was much skipping around the timeline of this book, and I found myself having to reread certain parts to figure out why Weisberger had placed them where they were. The author is very good at capturing the feeling of unbearable stress- that was, in part, what made reading the book so difficult for me. Unfortunately, I have vast experience with this kind of stress (being asked to do tasks in an impossible amount of time, being given vague instructions and having it implied that you will be severely punished for seeking clarification), and her depictions of it made me relive these feelings acutely. Not comfortable.
In several instances, the heroine states that she “doesn’t care about fashion;” yet she knows the names and brands of every piece of couture she comes across. There are a number of annoying paragraphs comprised solely of lists of names of people in the fashion industry. Major skim-over material.
To the book’s credit, there were several funny bits, but they weren’t numerous enough to improve the overall reading experience.
I fully intend to recycle my copy.
Today, I started looking for reviews of it online, to see whether anybody else thought it was the piece of crap I thought it was, or if all the reviewers had been brainwashed into fawning all over it because it’s “a national bestseller!” (Yes, I do realize the irony that I bought it, too- but I got mine at Half Price Books, so… HAH?)
While conducting my search, I came across the disturbing news that there is going to be a movie made about this awful book. It would seem that Hollywood’s decline into the crapper continues. Given the writing style, I can’t really envision how this movie would play out. Two hours of name-dropping doesn’t seem like something I’d want to spend cash on.
Perhaps I just lack the genius necessary to bring such a classic to the big screen.