Yes, for years, i have engaged in a dirty, sordid activity; I have been ashamed about my behaviour, and have hidden it furtively. Well, the time has come when I need to come clean, and admit to my addiction: my name is Sara and I'm a fan of Chick-lit. There, I've said it aloud. What? No lightening bolts? No angry mob outside my door? How disappointing...
Now, in the great scheme of literary works, Chick-lit is right at the bottom of the pecking order; I think it rates slightly higher than a prostitute's phone number scribbled on a grubby table napkin, but I'm not entirely sure. It's one of those phrases that seems to send perfectly normal people into a state of animated distress: "Me? No! Christ! Never! Bloody hell! No!"
My argument is this: sometimes, you want to put on a posh, designer dress, meet your stockbroking buddies, and book a supper table at an exclusive restaurant. Sometimes, it's life-enriching to discuss art, and attempt to identify the various nuances of flavour in your coq au vin.
And sometimes, you just want egg and chips in front of the telly.
Chick-lit is exactly that: egg and chips in front of the telly. It's easy; it's quick; it's comforting.
Never before, in the history of literary fiction, has a heroine been able to 'pull a face' or 'roll her eyes' with such meaning. I just love it. And as the pace of life increases, more people will be turning to light fiction for escapism and relaxation. These days, nobody has the time nor the headspace to labour through Hard Times.
I urge you all: come out of the closets; stand tall; be proud. March with me, Chick-litters; together we will change the world.
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