Down the street from my office, sandwiched between ads for upcoming concerts, are 3-foot posters of pink-bra-clad breasts advertising the new Washingtonienne novel.
The book has been eviscerated by most critics, save the Washington Post‘s Jonathan Yardley, who advances some criticism but argues in an online discussion that Ms. Cutler, if she actually wrote the book, is a good writer with a future.*
Her book looks unusually insightful, I daresay. Why, in the brief excerpt (scroll down) provided at Amazon alone, we learn that if a man offers to give you money for sex, and then fucks you twice before handing you an envelope, his affections may feel false.
Say it isn’t so.
And in another excerpt at Wired, we see Washingtonienne reacting to her instant, undesired fame:
I showered and went back to my office, ready to put in a solid afternoon of data entry. I sat down at my desk to find an Instant Message from April:
OMG you’re famous!
washingtonienne is on blogette!
I immediately began to shit myself.
One mouse-click on Internet Explorer opened Blogette.com. (I had set it as my homepage.) This is what it said:
A Girl After Our Own Heart
(She’s So Getting a Book Deal Out of This)
This didn’t seem like such a bad thing.
* Here it seems she diverges from the “smug, self-referential and self-obsessed, literal-minded and careerist” MFA droids whose titles Mr. Yardley tends to shred.