Dear Jenny:
I can call you Jenny because a)I have know you since years B.D. (before my divorce, i.e., 1994). A beautiful young woman I once babysat told me about Getting Rid of Bradley (GRB) in a bar in downtown Watkins Glen, NY I think over Christmas break. My two beautiful grown nieces concurred: I HAD to read it.
Unbeknownst to the bevy of beauties, I had already begun to think of GRD (Getting Rid of Danny). Those of you unfamiliar with the Crusie canon, GRB is about a woman trying to break up with a boyfriend. So it was not that I wanted to kill my then husband; I was a bit worried he wanted to kill me. Turned out it would have been quicker, easier, cheaper, and tidier to have killed him. Or at least have put him in jail. But no, I was a nice woman, and I didn't want my darling, beautiful daughter to have a dad in jail. As it was, in the end, through his decisions, she didn't really have a dad.
So I was one of the many women who have turned to romance literature for fantasy and comfort. I started quite young (8?) on my grandmother's Emily Loring mass market paperbacks. But wait! I haven't gotten past a)!
b) I actually have met Jenny, and shared some laughs (see photo). I attended the Romance Writers of America librarians day in 2002, I think, in Washington DC. I always recommend that any librarian who can get to it should go. So I saw Jenny on a panel, then hung out with her at the cocktail party/literacy fundraiser. It's a treasured memory for me, though I doubt she remembers it. Up until recently, I could saw I owned every title published by Jennifer Crusie. She was one of the few authors I collected. The others are Thomas Pynchon, Sheri S. Tepper, and William Gibson--books I can reread, happily.
I was not at all pleased with Don't Look Down I didn't think I'd read another Crusie/Mayer collaboration. But once again, the cover caught my eye, and I needed something that wasn't a challenge. When I started it, the Boyfriend and I had a discussion of how Jenny was cheapening her brand (a favorite topic with us--think Harry & David corn chips or Old Navy outlet). He accused Jenny of just phoning it in. I did not think that was the case, but I worried that in reaching for a larger, different audience, she'd lost what made her fabulous. Well, the first couple of chapters were to slog, but then Agnes started cooking her sumptuous breakfasts and trying to write her food column. I started laughing. Then I marked pages. I tried to memorize some of Doyle's curses on Brenda. ("Call on the devil to save you, you limb of satan. God couldn't see you if he tried, you black-hearted whore.") I worried about the flamingos, the wedding dress, you name it.
Contrived and crazy. Anger management. The mafia goes Southern. More plots and dead bodies everywhere, plus of course, assassins. And guns. Chase scenes. Government-sanctioned killings--I didn't think we did that. It was a perfect companion for one of my bouts with insomnia. I did follow up with a good breakfast, though not one of Agnes level.
Jenny, forgive me for anything bad I have even considered. I'm so happy to have you in my life. I'll end with one more quote. "the Cranky Agnes Theory of Holiday Cooking can be summed up in two words: More Gravy."
