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Days spent trying to finish book — errrm; pages read — 386; bad thoughts had about book — 250; times wanted to slap Bridget or hit her with a club — 200; times caught self laughing — 20; times checked to see how many pages left — 50; time it will take to forget book — hopefully not long!
The news that Helen Fielding was writing another instalment of Bridget Jones sent me into a tizzy. I loved the first book, Bridget Jones’s Diary, and have read it again and again. I was not that kicked about The Edge of Reason, the second book, but the fact that every-girl’s-dream-come-true Mark Darcy and the-girl-who-could-have-been-me Bridget have a happily-ever-after made up for all that was wrong with it. So, of course, I couldn’t wait to see the smug-married Bridget and Mark in the third instalment.
Then came the news that Fielding had killed off our epitome of the happily-ever-after man Mark Darcy. My world shook and I wasn’t sure I wanted to read Mad about the Boy [Random House India, Rs 499]. But, then again, I loved Bridget too. So, of course, I had to read it. Now I wish I hadn’t and I wish I could go back to the Bridget who, though ditzy as ever, was adorable, funny and definitely not a whiner. Unfortunately, the book, unlike the second one, did not even have Mark Darcy as the saving grace. At least he died a fitting death, in a landmine blast in Sudan.
Still written in the trademark diary format, the book sees Bridget as a 51-year-old, widowed mother of two — Billy and Mabel — struggling to get back on course after the death of Mark. She is still counting calories and, encouragingly or horrifyingly, depends on your perspective, losing weight. She hasn’t smoked a cigarette for many years (there is hope!), she is still late for everything and just getting back in the dating circle. So far, so good but then bad things start to happen.
Not to her, to the book. She actually has it rather good, if you discount the fact that she still misses Mark terribly — those flashbacks and emotional moments are done really well. She lives in a nice house in the suburbs, doesn’t have to work or worry about expenses, all thanks to super thoughtful and organised Mark, who took care of everything. How convenient!
So Bridget just sits on her ass and pretends to write the screenplay of “Hedda Gabbler by Anton Chekov” (yes, it’s Bridget, remember?). What is even more improbable is that it actually gets picked for a film! And all those meetings with agent/ producer/actress get really repetitive and boring.
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She is also obsessed with nits, first on her children, and then on everyone else. There are no less that 50 pages which have references to lice. My scalp was itching by the end of it!
The book also finds Bridget totally at sea with technology (completely understandable), fumbling with three remotes for one television and bungling on Twitter, thanks to little knowledge of Twitter etiquette. Sometimes funny but mostly very irritating. Oh! and Daniel Cleaver is not only back but is the children’s godfather to boot! Really?!
What is worse is that the friends, Jude, Tom and Talitha, instead of being Bridget’s grounding forces only make matters, well, worse. They still get drunk (wonderful!), still come to each other’s rescue and still have ‘project Bridget’ meetings but all of them are about being single or date disasters or getting a man! I didn’t see anyone having an emergency thanks to their work. It is sad to see people in their 50s behaving like 18-year-olds. And I miss Shazzer and her feministic rants!
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Enter @Roxster, the 30-year-old toy boy, one of the good things about the book actually, and we say goodbye to Twitter (thank god) and hello to texting (actually not that bad). But while @Roxster is a good guy, funny, sweet, lovable, he is too hung up on puking and farting. There are no less than five references to either, whenever Bridget and @Roxster interact, whether it is face to face or on text.
And those graphic sex descriptions! My eyes! Fielding has just stopped short of jumping on the latest cash cow — mummy porn! Ugghh.
And the ending is soooooooooo predictable. I knew that Bridget was going to — and this is a spoiler — end up with Mr. Wallaker — the good-looking but gruff teacher in Billy’s school — the moment they got off on a bad foot with him appearing judgemental about her parenting skills, all snooty and uppity. Does that remind anyone else of Mark Darcy? Why kill him in the first place if you have to replace him with someone just like him? He even has a similar dialogue, you know THE one delivered by Darcy, “I like you very much. Just as you are”.
All said and done, my main contention with the book is its portrayal of Bridget. Yes, she was socially awkward. Yes, she was clumsy. Yes, she was silly. But she was not a clutz whose IQ was somewhere in the negatives. The only thing good about her in this book is that she is a good mother. As a mom she fumbles, she stumbles but she still comes out shining. Somewhere along the line Fielding took it for granted that we would love Bridget. But I want to say: Sorry ma’am, we don’t root for whiny women.
While the other books made me think it was okay to be like Bridget, this one makes me wish fervently that I never turn into Bridget when I turn 50. Thank you very much!
RIP Mark Darcy
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The human rights lawyer stole our hearts in the first book with the dialogue “I like you very much. Just as you are”, and became the PERFECT man for many.
Despite their break-up and Bridget’s less-than-nice behaviour, he was the one who came to her rescue in Thailand in the second book.
He is still the best thing about yet another Bridget Jones book, despite being dead!
This means only snatches of Colin Firth, if they ever decide to make a movie out of the book... v.v. bad.
