The reviews are in

There's nothing I enjoy better than an entertaining and scathing review of anything. I especially enjoy this kind of review when it's about something or someone who drives me crazy. Reviews of CDs by teen pop stars, or movies starring Jennifer Lopez, and of course reviews of anything Leah McLaren does.
So when I stumbled upon the review of Leah McLaren's new book in the Toronto Star, I was filled with glee and then rushed to my copy of the Globe's book section to see what they had said. Since I haven't read the book, and probably will avoid it with a ten-foot pole, I will give a brief review of the reviews, because they both entertained me on a different level.
To say that the Star trashed the book is an understatement. It's never a good sign when the review barely mentions the work being critiqued. It's an even worse sign when the best thing that can be said about a book is that the font is nice to look at and easy to read.
"The font selected, Electra, is an eye-pleasing serif. Unfortunately, poor Electra has endured unspeakable molestation courtesy of McLaren's prose."
Ouch, that's gotta hurt. Reviewer Ryan Bigge can't even come up with an English word to desribe how bad the Continuity Girl is, and acknowledges that this review will likely have little effect on the sales of this book.
There is an unacknowledged bias in this review, the most obvious being that it is in the Star. The other, also obvious, flaw is that the reviewer is male and thus not McLaren's target audience. Still, the review is hilarious and likely a better read than the book.
I was disappointed to see the glowing review written by Joanna Goodman in the Globe (sorry it's not posted online). Goodman praises McLaren as the future of chick-lit. God help us all.
"Leah McLaren's positions herself at the forefront of this literary movement, proving that chicklit can be clever, poignant and insightful."
Those who read chicklit at all already know that it can be all the aforementioned things, and not new to McLaren. Those who read McLaren's column know that she is occasionally clever and insightful, but normally cliche, self-indulgent and pointless.
Though McLaren often annoys the hell out of me, I don't consider her a bad writer, but I also don't consider her to be a great writer. Apparently Goodman does.
"We forgive McLaren in large part because her prose is so witty and engaging and we can't put the book down."
This entire review blows proverbial smoke up McLaren's ass. Goodman calls the book a relevant and astute observation on the pressures on a modern career woman. Now, call me crazy, but McLaren is as far removed from the modern career woman as Sex and the City is from the reality of being a single woman.