Oh, what a glorious surprise the New York Times held for me this morning! Helen Fielding, after a slightly disastrous turn as a spy thriller/comedy novelist (a vapid journalist becomes involved with and is whisked from exotic locale to exotic locale by a man she suspects to be Osama bin Laden? Sweet Jesus Mary and Joseph) has returned with her heroine who redefined what it is to be a middle class thirtyish woman in search of romantic and physical perfection. I remember when Bridget Jones's Diary was first published and I was prepared to be rightously indignant over the portrayal of unmarried women as diet-obsessed, druken neurotics who want nothing more than a man to define them. If the novelist and heroine were American, I'm sure my rancor couldn't have found a better home, but they were both English, and consequently full of a seemingly contradictory mixture of self-loathing and unflappable self confidence. I love Bridget, and she's back, but only in the Independent (my favorite British paper), conveniently available for purchase at a pound an entry (woo hoo!), published in diary form, as was the original novel, every Thursday.
I have to say, I'm terribly depressed that she and Mark Darcy are, alas, no longer in shag heaven. I had such high hopes for the de-sterilization of the detached wedding cake style house with the deranged housekeeper's son. Hmmm...that sentence sounded better in my head.
I've saved the first three to PDF (ha!), so I'm happy to share. I can't republish them as THAT WOULD BE ILLEGAL SO DON'T ASK ME, but email me, girls, and I'll be happy to pass along each installment as I get them. Yay!