My Best Friend's Girl by Dorothy Koomson

Maybe I'm totally thick, and perhaps my fast reading got the better of me, but despite the MASSIVE clue on the front cover, I didn't realise that the main character of this book was black for the first third of the book. And then, once I did realise, it was only in a shocked stream of consciousness kind of way. Here is a representation of that realisation process: 'Oh my gosh, how come this protagonist has much major self-image issues, this is really boring, is she meant to be fat or ugly, oh she's being portrayed as both, and how come the love interest looks at her with revulsion, is it because she's black, I mean, really that's kind of weird, and not very empowering to women, larger women and black women. Hmm, I'm not sure if I like this book.'

So, I'm not sure if I liked this book. I read it, but I read food packets, the newspaper, teletext, leaflets about the Gospel left on the tube, the fact that I continued reading it even though I thought it was a bit weird was not an indication of quality. It was an indication of lack of difficulty. It had a couple of things I really don't like in books: cutesy character names for no reason, and children portrayed in a very unrealistic way. I didn't believe that the author knew any children of the age of the 'girl' character at all. I also felt that the settings didn't ring true - mostly 'Leeds', but it might as well have been 'Exeter' or 'Bristol' for all the authenticity the setting had. Perhaps I'm envious but I went to the author's website and she splits her time between Sydney and South London... I reckon this would have been better set in Sydney!

The premise of the book is great, but that's the hook, the real story is the protagonist's self growth to self love (sounds like a tumour and masturbation), and the love story. The narrative was a bit all over the shop (a couple of interjections in italics from the Best Friend were actually not that helpful), and there were some PS I Love You Notes from the Dead moments, in fact quite a few times when the whole thing stretched my capacity for suspension of disbelief. They were very small things, too, like the little girl being locked in a room at her grandparents' with rotting food, it just didn't ring true. The ending felt rushed, too.

And yet, this book was chosen as a Richard and Judy Summer Read. And clearly this lady's been published and I haven't. The only thing to do is to use it to spur me on to better things.