Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Writing for Fun and Profit.

So, it's not news that boring old chick lit author Candace Bushnell has been working on a prequel to her book Sex and the City. The book, uncreatively titled The Carrie Diaries, is a young adult novel about Carrie Bradshaw's teenage years. You know, relationships, clothes, the beginning of her interest in writing. Admittedly, while I'm not particularly interested, I'd argue the young adult book is a more interesting forum for Carrie Bradshaw's story than some sort of sequel, and if she can manage to write it properly, it could make for a fascinating commentary on how a character like Carrie's perspective is formed by her high school environment.

Ultimately, though, no good can come of this. I shouldn't have to tell you that I have little faith in Bushnell. Yes, i am ashamed to admit that as someone now devoting copious hours to the study of literature and writing that from ages 14-16 I read essentially all of what is now considered the basis for the 'chick lit' canon (between the consumption of the major Russian novels). Fielding, Kinsella, Green, the lot. And though Bushnell is better than most (and perhaps not as fluffy), I wasn't impressed. Somehow, though, out of the wreckage, Darren Star's HBO adaptation did wonders with the source material. I'm a big fan of Sex and the City as a television show (not as a book, not, repeat, not, as a movie....eegads). It was consistently entertaining, had strong character development and a core of really solid ladies with perspectives that kept things moving. The show has already been partially corrupted by the heavily edited reruns and the absurd big screen moneymaker, and now this, The Carrie Diaries, could be the blow that transforms it into a parody of itself.

Following the release of this book (April, 2010 for those curious), it's only a matter of time before someone ::cough:: The CW::cough:: decides to adapt it into a television series. And when we have a high school Sex and the City (complete with 80's ensembles!), then we open the floodgates for all sorts of other quagmires and issues. Personally, i think i'd like to live in my little bubble. In my bubble, the events of the movie never occurred (because they're absurdly out of character, all of them, every woman). In my bubble, the 8th and 9th seasons of The X-Files never happened. In my bubble, Lindsay Weir went to college instead of getting on that damn bus.

Also, i really hate to devote this much space to this, but i've just gotta make a prediction. People claims that the Stephen Sprouse-esque cover art of the book "specifically references an incident between the character and her mother" [source]. Right, so, here's what's totally going to happen. Tell me if i'm wrong. Carrie Bradshaw's mother has high hopes for her daughter, a respectable career, a respectable school, because Carrie's no dummy. So, she gets her some sort of nice gift. A respectable bag/wallet/briefcase/portfolio, likely to bring to interviews and such. Carrie, fashionista that she is, is disappointed. The item just isn't her. She wanted something else, something edgy. Carrie decides to put her own personal flair on said item and deface it. Mom gets pissed. Eventually, both reconcile and reflect on Carrie being her own person. Am i right, or am i right?

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