Book 50: Twelve by Lauren Myracle (2007)

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I was very impressed when I picked up the first book in the series: Eleven. After reading a lot of books for girls, I was expecting for the main character to be whining over the most trivial things. As it turned out, eleven-year-old Winnie was a smart girl who knew what she was doing. She could be naive at times, but overall she was smart and I admired her.

After reading Twelve, though, I feel like Winnie is turning into one of those valley girls. Her narrative is sprinkled with the word “like” and the phrase “Oh God.” And at the end she decides she likes malls because she’s becoming a teenager.

She’s still bearable in this book, but I must wonder how the next book is going to be like. Should I give up on Lauren Myracle like I gave up on Meg Cabot? Stay tuned for the answer.

Book 8: Size 12 Is Not Fat by Meg Cabot (2006)

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This is actually pretty good. I was expecting for the main character to moan on and on over her weight and her inability to get a date and how shallow men are (it is a chicklit), but it is actually only part of the story. Heather Wells is a former pop teen star who now works at a dorm. She’s not that smart, but she’s not annoyingly stupid either. This book is also better because it’s not in a diary format.As far as mystery goes, I don’t know how good or not good the book is. I don’t read mystery. I’m going to give Meg Cabot some points though. After everything else she has written, this is totally a step up. Maybe she should start combining regular chicklit with something from now on.

(I was even almost tempted to pick up the sequel: Size 14 Is Not Fat Either. Maybe later.)

Book 2: Every Boy’s Got One by Meg Cabot (2005)

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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.