Burn After Reading

"To whom the fat rolls...I'm tired of books where a self-loathing heroine is teased to the point where she starves herself skinny in hopes of a fabulous new life. And I hate the message that women can't possibly be happy until we all fit into our skinny jeans. I don't find these stories uplifting; they make me want to hug these women and take them out for fizzy champagne drinks and cheesecake and explain to them that until they figure out their insides, their outsides don't matter. Unfortunately, being overweight isn't simply a societal issue that can be fixed with a healthy dose of positive self-esteem. It's a health matter, and here on the eve of my 40th year, I've laerned I have to make changes so I don't, you know, due. Because what good is finally being able to afford a pedicure if I lose a foot to adult-onset diabetes?"

^That's how the back cover of Such a Pretty Fat by Jen Lancaster reads. I found the passage so inspiring and empowering that I set down my copy of Chuck Palahniuk's Snuff that I was about to buy and got Lancaster's book instead. Well, another reason is that I'm an incorrigible bargain hunter and Palahniuk's book was $24 for 200 pages of huge font and Lancaster's book was $15 for 373 pages of medium-sized font. I went with the better bargain. Big mistake.

I started the book last night and am into it 211 pages, and honestly, I can't believe I've made it this far without chucking it across the room. Jen Lancaster is a non-fiction writer who is attempting to write fiction for the first time - a kind of Veronica Mars meets The Net book for the young crowd (a book I would have much rather read than this one). She eventually abandons this concept and decides, with the urging of friends and her husband (Fletch), to write word-by-word coverage of her attempted weight loss. She feels that if she sells this book then she will have the motivation necessary to complete her goal, as any inner impetus to do it for health reasons is completely non-existent.

She is an overweight, self described "mean" woman with a heaping portion of self-confidence that is almost bizarrely misplaced. She decides in the first chapter to lose weight, but I'm at page 211 and barely any actual weight loss has gone on. Not that it's important to me that she loses weight, but if that's the stated goal of a book and nothing toward that goal is accomplished except bitching and moaning, it's going to make for a very irritating read. There are hundreds of pages dedicated to this woman complaining about anything and everything. She hates her neighbors, she hates the suburbs, she love/hates New York, she hates health food, she hates Atkins, and she hates barking dogs. She is ultra-defensive about all of this too, which really grates on my nerves. The way she treats her husband shocks me and really I want to write him a note and tell him what a saint he is to put up with it all. If someone was on Atkins and started glaring at me and getting pissed off at me because I was eating food in front of them that they couldn't have, you'd better believe we'd have a blow-out confrontation about how shitty it is to treat someone that way.

Jen Lancaster: Get A Grip.

She completely lacks personal responsibility for her actions. If she's cranky and taking it out on Saint Fletch, it's because she isn't eating much and the food deprivation is making her irritable. If a dog's barking causes her so much annoyance that she can't concentrate to work, she'll call and complain to everyone about it instead of investing in....EARPLUGS! Or turning her music up! I've done this before. It works. I've dealt with barking dogs, crying and screaming babies, blaring music, crazy parties and had neighbors macing each other in the eyes, fighting tooth-and-nail and slamming each other against walls while I was trying to study for exams. I was still able to study because of earplugs or music at high volume. There were so many things she could do to make positive changes in her life, but she was far more comfortable bitching about things to change them. She liked being miserable. That message was very clear. Unfortunately, for the reader, an author who not only liked being miserable but complained constantly about her misery for hundreds of pages only serves to make the reader want to chuck the book across the room (I didn't do this though, because I want to return it and need to keep it good condition).


Granted, she is funny, a good writer, and really knows how to turn a phrase. This book had more promise than any I've picked up lately, and it just flat-out sucks balls so far. I find myself wanting to strangle the author and smash her face in a plate of butter-soaked mashed potatoes she loves so dearly. I'm not usually like this, and I try not to be critical, but goddamn is this book ever annoying. I wanted so very hard to like it and the message that it purported to have was so very good, but it DOES NOT DELIVER.

I know at around page 372 she will lose some weight and feel better, but this book was phoned-in from the get-go. It chronicles her manipulation and her bitchiness in an unflattering way. No one needs a play-by-play account of every conversation with your friends as you try to fill up pages of a book that in actuality shouldn't be more than 75 pages. I don't believe in filler, baby, so I really resent Lancaster trying to pad her book with non-sequitur trips to the thrift store (which, natch, she complained about) or phone conversations about reality tv shows. None of the lead up was interesting or entertaining.

I know I'm only 211 pages in, and I am going to finish the book on principle. If it ends up totally redeeming itself and the author admits to being a total nightmare of a person and a total Complainasaurus Rex, then I might turn around my critique. I imagine if she read this criticism I am writing, she would defend it with, "I was very upfront about how mean I am. If you don't like mean people, don't read my book," but Jen Lancaster, here is a wake-up call: You are not mean. You are simply strainingly neurotic, entitled, whiney, and delusional.

[Also, all of those pop culture references that the footnotes award "points" for the reader recognizing are widely known and totally insulting to the reader's intelligence to assume that we wouldn't know them.]

The thing that pisses me off is that the author acknowledges a very true statement: "until they figure out their insides, their outsides don't matter." That is absolutely true. However, she had her insides figured out and was truly and completely okay with how she looked and really seemed to love herself. It was only after trying to lose weight (changing her outsides) that she started all of the circular self-loathing nonsense. Fuck the what??? Color me confused! Changing her outsides suddenly meant turning her insides all dismal and rotten. I don't get it. She clearly did not heed her own message.

As it stands, I am finishing this book only to stave off boredom at work. After which, I will promptly return it to Borders for a refund.