“Amelia Falls in Love” is a charming modern day fairy tale about a girl who grows up on a Scottish island with everything she ever hoped for. In fact, “Gorgeous and enchanting, she was a cross between a young Audrey Hepburn and Bambi at his most vulnerable.” Unfortunately, Amelia ends up having to move to London and start over. She meets a boy and falls head over heels until it tunes out her perfect boyfriend is engaged to another woman. Ouch.
This book is fabulous, with little recipes scattered throughout like Creamy Comforting Risotto after her heart is broken and Amelia’s Banana Custard. Every chapter also ends with Amelia’s tips for something like finding your own style, having a beautiful home, and tips for a broken heart. The illustrations are gorgeous. So gorgeous in fact, that they have been incorporated into a series of stationary that goes along with the book. This includes a journal with lined paper to scribble down your deepest thoughts, and a pocket address book to write down all the phone numbers you get, you little minx, you. There is also a book for Household Notes that I’ve been using to jot down my grocery lists and a mini Notebook that’s great to leave beside the phone for messages. All of these together would make a lovely gift for your mom, girlfriend or little sister. Or, what the hey, how about just for you. Every girl deserves a fairy tale now and then.

“The Secret Supper” is the next to jump on “The DaVinci Code” bandwagon even though it was originally published in Spain in 2004 and became a European bestseller. It has finally been translated and pushed onto North American markets with a vengeance—marketing of all kinds all over the place. So is it any good?
I’m sort of not sure. On one hand, I found it laborious to read and incredibly slow-moving. On the other hand, the last 25 pages of the book really pick up, and leave you quite satisfied. So which is it? I wish I could read the original translation because something always gets lost when you switch up a language. I’m not sure if that’s the problem. Although someone like Jose Saramago has all his book translated and they retain their magic very well, so perhaps that’s not the problem.
“The Secret Supper” isn’t just a thriller like “The DaVinci Code.” It deals a lot with the spiritual questions and theological aspects of the painting and religion itself. It’s not a fast read by any means and simply put, if you like deep intellectual books, you’ll probably enjoy it. If you’re just looking for “The DaVinci Code” part two, this isn’t the book for you.

Jillian Siegel has a great job, hottie boyfriend, great apartment and an amazing shoe collection. She also has a little problem—she’s a little kleptomaniac. She goes into stores, thinks, “It is mine” over and over, and steals whatever she wants. Sound like your kind of story? I though so too, but finished this book feeling confused about whether I liked it or not.
For the most part, I did. The characters were believable and likeable, and there was enough intrigue, comedy and suspense to keep me reading. But unfortunately, this chick-lit novel pretty much glamourizes stealing. There are no serious consequences for Jill as she steals her way through New York despite the fact that they are hovered in front of her nose. She always gets away with it. I suppose that’s part of the allure of a chick lit novel—the happy ending. But I felt unsettled and unsatisfied as a I reached the conclusion. It’s a great vacation read and you’ll whiz through it and possibly, I’m the only one with this issue since the book was named as one of the New York Times’ Top Summer Picks. So perhaps I’m too conservative and should get over it—it is fiction after all. But I still think the idea of making shoplifting Chloe and Prada seem like nothing is kinda bad. So I stick to my guns and say, Jennifer Solow is a talented writer and I look forward to her next book very much, as long as it doesn’t involve women breaking into houses to steal diamonds and never getting caught. Or something like that. You know what I mean.

Yes, all chick lit is in some way shape or form, trite. But there is enjoyably trite and annoyingly trite. Which category do you think “Some Like it Haute” falls into? It’s crazy annoying. It goes beyond the typical superficiality of the genre, and trespasses into unbelievable territory. I could barely finish it.
The main character is Alex Simons, a fashion writer in Paris for Fashion Week. She makes a boo-boo at her first show where she ends up on the runway and collides with a supermodel, for all to see and reporters to tape and broadcast. She’s embarrassed so she decides to hide until a scrap between another editor and some mystery guy at another show makes everyone forget Alex’s gaffe. She ends up falling for the mystery guy and gets a goo-goo eyed and even more annoying. There’s some convoluted mystery plot thrown in that no one cares about and the new boyfriend has a secret that’s more ridiculous than that fact that this book got published in the first place. Skip it.

If you’re a fan of historical fiction, it doesn’t get much better than the books of Edward Rutherford. This is the second half of his stunning Dublin Saga, which began with "The Princes of Ireland" and has had us waiting with baited breath for the conclusion.
Rebels picks up where the other one left off, The Irish Revolt of 1534, the beginning of Protestantism and the burning of St. Patrick’s staff. The history is told through a variety of characters and families, each with a different experience. This is where Rutherford excels. Instead of telling the entire thing through one set of eyes (which would severely limit the potential for storytelling) he introduces us to an array of characters, and lets us form a bond with each. It’s not confusing as there aren’t that many (although the beginning of the book had us going back and flipping through the last section of the first novel to brush up since it’s been so long) and it lends itself to broadening the reader’s experience.
This is historical fiction at its best—thought provoking, educational and most importantly, a darn good read.

I will admit that I went into this book with a bias. I dislike Leah McLaren’s columns. I find her trite and a mediocre writer. So, as a young journalism student I went through the usual feelings of jealousy and pettiness and bad-mouthed her everywhere I could (of course, in a journalism program, I was far from the only one partaking in such heinous activities). So when I heard she got a book deal, I was fascinated in a ‘can’t take your eyes off a car wreck’ type of way.
I picked up the book and started reading. “A long night staggered into day.” Not bad. That’s a pretty good first line. I continued. And for the first three paragraphs or so, I was fine. But then the similes hit. Tons of them. Flying every which way like a Frisbee thrown by a drunk man. Get it?
The book isn’t bad. It’s not. It’s competently written with some original characters and dialogue. But it isn’t good either. The biggest issue I had with it is that it’s trying too damn hard. McLaren seems to be including every literary device she can to prove that she earned this book deal darn it, and she really is a member of the literati. She is a good writer. She’s not a great writer but she can certainly hold her own among all of the chick-lit competition out there. But she needs to relax. The constant insertion of similes gets tiresome and feels forced. Without all the fancy stuff, “The Continuity Girl” would have been a much better read. There’s always next time.