Even though it seems like women writers often find themselves exiled to the "chick lit zone," it's not the exclusive province of shitty writing by women, according to this column by Jill Ingram of the Asheville Citizen-Times. Her hilariously dead-on commentary concerns a new novel by the editor in chief of Maxim:

The book has much of what you might expect from one aimed at the Maxim demographic. There's overt sex, starting with the double entendre of the book's title, and an undercurrent of sexism. Supporting characters are shallow stereotypes. There are cliches to negotiate. And I realize today's man is up on fashion, but it will always be strange to read sentences like, "Nick, the lady-killer, looked tanned and dashing in tailored ocean-blue pinstripes, with an authoritative, almost swashbuckling jade tie and a patterned, yet somehow coordinated, shirt." Ick.

Nick sounds like quite the "lady-killer," as in: I think I'm about to die laughing. I should knock it off, though. It'll probably win a National Book Award.


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