Meghan's Reviews > The Book Club

Every summer I read really crappy books. It's like eating a bag of chips. You don't want to do it often, but on occasion, it tastes really good. Usually after a book of two, I'm satisfied and ready to go back to all those "important" books. Read too many, and it's like eating the entire bag. You feel sick and bloated afterwards and willing to swear them off forever (and by forever, I mean until the next summer).

This was surprisingly not terrible. I can't really say much more than that. It's no Tolstoy but it's not meant to be. It's one of those nice, sweet books that middle aged Midwest ladies like to read. And as I am a middle aged Midwestern lady, I suppose that's why I didn't feel like it was a terrible waste of my time. The only thing that I take issue with books like these is I'm happily married, not overly stressed, satisfied with where life has taken me. So generally stories like these it can't relate to because they aren't ever talking about a reality that comes close to mine. But I remember a time when they did, so that's why I still read them. They remind me how far I've come and to be grateful that I've arrived.