A N N A J O H N ' S D I A R Y

Review: Unsuitable "Suits"

Suits: A Woman on Wall Street by Nina Godiwalla
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

I wanted to like this book, I really did. A Parsi-American female I-Banker struggling with her priorities and obligations? Sold! Except...I wasn't. Not once I started reading.

I feel awful disclosing this, but it took me four attempts to get through this relatively brief, easy-to-consume book. And it's not because life got in the way or I temporarily forgot how to read. No, it's because it's...not...very...good. :( And I feel cruel for saying that, because I write too, and I know how disciplined Nina had to be to finish this book. I just wish it had been better. I also wish completing it didn't require sitting myself down and forcing myself to get through it before I'd allow myself to read anything else.

I didn't care about the characters. I could barely keep them straight, which is a dangerous sign-- if they're not memorable, why would I make time to read about them?

One of the only things that stood out to me about "Suits" is the screaming. Bizarre, I know, but there are several situations where Nina screams something, usually as a child or during a flashback. Yes, kids are loud. But "screaming" is a jarring, seemingly inapposite word. Kids tend to shout. Holler. Yell. In my admittedly minimal experience, kids who scream are either developmentally challenged or pre-verbal spoiled babies.

See? There. There is the most passion I could muster during this review, and it's to tell you about something glaring, which nagged me so thoroughly, I couldn't move past it and get lost in this story.

This book had potential, but the finished product did not convey it. The ending is abrupt, which isn't surprising, given how choppy some of the writing was. At that point, I rolled my eyes, muttered "predictable" and just shook my head, that it took me so long to read something that should have been fun, easy, infectious. It's a really bad sign when my reaction after finishing something is, "Huh. Maybe I CAN get a book deal, if this got published!" Eek, right? :(

View all my reviews

For V, who asked

On Language. And Puppy-wuppies.

"Who's a poop-ity, poop-ity baby? Who's a pooper?" I sang this to my puppy, five minutes ago, in the stupidest voice possible.

A moment later, I marveled at the fact that I speak to infants and toddlers as if they are grown ups, but when it comes to my five-month old dog, I communicate like a language-challenged moron. Maybe it's because I subconsciously know that Jubby is not depending on me to teach her how to speak English, so I don't have to model proper pronunciation for her...or maybe I'm just a fool for ittle-wittle, poopity puppy-dogs..either way, I am starting to get used to odd, amused looks when we're out in public. Sometimes, I just can't help it. She looks at me and I commence with the babbling, as if commanded to do so. My only consolation? More than half the time, those strangers join in the chant. :)

Call the wambulance, I dislike CoHei

The difference between my old neighborhood and new one can be summarized as succinctly as this; in Georgetown, street vendors hawked Gucci knock-offs. In Columbia Heights, someone just tried to sell me a "new", large, "Betty Boob" vinyl purse; it came in three tacky colors. There are so many things wrong with that sentence, not the least of which is that someone thought it a wise idea to counterfeit "Betty Boop". What kind of market is there for this shit? And why did I choose to live among them/it?

I'm going to shower off my distaste, the "afterglow" of my super-shitty "Bollywood Masala" dance class (first time! might be the last!) and my disappointment and go back to my old neighborhood, for brunch and an appointment. /end pathetic whine

Happy Anniversary, Parent(s).

I love St. Patrick's day, but not for any predictable reason.

Thirty-six years ago today, an 85-lb woman and a 110-lb man were married in a Greek Orthodox church somewhere in California. The bride wore cream, then peacock blue. Her hair was glamorously piled up; his massive collar pointed down.

A year later, the tiny couple would have a suitable 8-lb baby who would grow up to be much taller and fatter than either of them.

The end. ;)