Bridget Jones: Mad About The Boy Book Review

I have been reading this book for almost a month now, yet I haven’t finished it.

I loved Bridget Jones’ series as I enjoy a healthy dose of voyeurism.

I love reading the diary type of books and people’s blogs.

In short, I want to know what’s in other people’s minds, be it fictional or my neighbor.

But Bridget’s mind (in the form of her diary) doesn’t appeal to me.

There are plenty of self-pitying/self-destructing thinking and behaviors. It’s like Bridget doesn’t have her shit together. Even in her 50s she is as helpless and clueless as she was in her earlier years.

I am tired for and of her.

The book is still damn funny and has a healthy dose of wittiness, but I have clicked the off button on my Kindle more than usual ever since I started this book.

I still intend to finish it. I keep telling myself that at least it isn’t as bad as the Shopaholic series which I considered as the equivalent of the TV series Keeping It With The Kardashian. Or in a word: trash.


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