Shopaholic and Sister Review
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I’ve been long intrigued by Sophie Kinsella’s Shopaholic books—but I was reluctant to pick up a copy. Part of me—the part of me that studied the classics and has always hated any male who dared to comment about “chicks and their shoes” in front of me—didn’t want to encourage the stereotype of women as shopaholics. But another part of me—the part that still loves to hang out at the mall anyway, the part that can’t get enough of chick lit—was the part that won.

And both parts agree that they enjoyed reading it.

Becky Bloomwood Brandon has been honeymooning around the world with her new husband, Luke, for ten months. Along the way, she’s picked up a few little mementos—handmade dining room tables with ten matching chairs, huge giraffes, Chinese silk dressing gowns, a bronze Buddha, a papoose carrier, porcelain urns—most of which her husband knows nothing about. When she returns to London, she expects life to return to normal. But her parents seem anything but excited to see her, and her best friend appears to have found a new best friend (and an obnoxious one, at that!).

  
 
Then Becky discovers that she’s got a long-lost sister named Jessica. Becky’s convinced that Jess will quickly replace her old best friend—until she actually meets Jess, a penny-pinching nature girl who hates shopping and chick flicks. Determined to become best friends with her new sister, Becky plans a disastrous sisters’ weekend.

Meanwhile, Becky realizes that the honeymoon really is over. Luke doesn’t exactly react well to the two trucks of souvenirs that arrive at their home. And when Becky tries to help him with his business, things get even worse…

Becky Brandon is like Bridget Jones with a platinum card (and a wedding ring). She’s sweet and well-meaning but almost totally clueless. Yet no matter how many times she messes up, you can’t help but love her anyway. I laughed from the beginning of the book—when Becky achieves spiritual enlightenment in Sri Lanka—to the end. And though I don’t live in an expensive penthouse—and none of my friends own helicopters—I could still relate to Becky’s experiences and mishaps.

My classics-loving side may consider Shopaholic and Sister a guilty pleasure, but my chick-lit-loving side sees it as a pleasure, pure and simple.

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