This book reminds me as to why I gave up on Meg Cabot a long time ago. Jane Harris, the main character, is annoying as hell. She’s in her thirties and she sounds like a fifteen-year-old. Is being a cartoonist a reason to sound like an idiot? Which full-grown woman has all that spare time to constantly write in her diary anyway? She keeps jabbering and jabbering until I feel like slapping her.
The sad thing is, her narrative is the best part of the book. Everything else is in the form of e-mails, notes, and pure randomness – which is so annoying I started to skip them after a while. Before I completely abandoned the book, that is.
I already have with me another book by Meg Cabot, though, so maybe – maybe – I’ll give her another chance. At least this one doesn’t seem to have an annoying format.