In this novel, through a constellation of various bloggers, writers, screenwriters and columnists, Bushnell gives us a glimpse into what’s inside the hearts of people who have made it, kind of made it, made it but in the wrong way, still wants to make it, can no longer make it, have friends who made it or just starting to formulate their dreams of making it. “Good luck kid.” The ultimate prize in this novel is a beautiful Manhattan apartment: the penthouse of One Fifth Avenue.
The characters seemed so real, only their names seemed fictional which became slightly irritating because they were obvious ones like Diamond and Fabrikant, distracting me from the depth of the character development.
In one sentence, Bushnell makes a casual self-referential statement about the cultural phenomena of my generation known as Sex and the City that she helped spawn and immediately you realize the phenomena for Bushnell is much like the bus with your picture on it splashing you with rainwater.
“Lola had watched every single episode of Sex and the City at least “a hundred times,” and adored the idea of moving to the city and finding her own Mr. Big. If Mr. Big weren’t available, she would happily take fame, ideally becoming the star of her own reality show.” Bushnell
I don’t think Goethe ever wrote about all the crazy copycat Werthers his romantic novel The Sorrows of Young Werther inspired but if he had, it would have also been really cool.
Bushnell describes the strivers down to their weakest, ugliest bone, something I found Balzacian, but she also casts a sympathetic eye to all, keeping the story human and cyclical. The story of New York lives beyond its characters; it is linear and shows no mercy. The people are the recycled parts.