content: Paint-by-the-numbers plot that reads like a third-rate gossip column stretched out over a couple hundred pages; a bland, boring protagonist who's a thinly disguised stand-in for the author herself; two-dimensional characterizations; and trite plot "twists" that don't surprise anyone: this novel manages to hit every trendy bar on its way down the Bad Novel Cliche Street.And most irritating of all (to me, anyway), the arbitrary dismissal of anyone from below the Mason-Dixon as an ignorant, tacky, stupid redneck with an unintelligible accent and no fashion sense (despite the fact that her insipid heroine is supposed to be an aspiring writer for "The New Yorker" and therefore above such trivial concerns as fashion).