Spoiled - Heather Cocks and Jessica Morgan

If you are on the internet (blogging that feels redundant) and don't read Go Fug Yourself then you have been DOING IT WRONG.  Seriously, get on that.  I will not wait; you will be gone for days.  Go, and return to the class when you are caught up.

I have been on eagerhooks for this book.  I went to BEA last week (you may recall) and came home with 84 brand new ARCs, all of which are like, Hullo, see my potential and shiny cover (and occasionally, illustrations).  But I came home TO an ARC of Spoiled.  And then I flailed.  And then I opened a Diet Coke and forgot about everything else (sorry, other books).

Ok so.  Molly is a country mouse from Indiana whose mom just died but not before revealing TAWDRY FAMILY SSSSSSECRETS!  Namely that Molly's father is not, in fact, a Dead Army Something but world-famous actor and epigramizer Brick Berlin!  Star of such films as Deadly When Prodded and It Takes a Pillage (heee!).  And when your mom is dead and your dad turns out to be not-dead, you move to LA.

So Molly moves to LA.  Hi-jinks ensue!  Paparazzi!  Manolos!  Quippy stylists!  I was fully braced for a make-over montage.  But all is not peaches and skin cream because Brick has another daughter whose shiny, LA hair is full of secrets (and mommy issues.  And daddy issues.  And spite).  The two girls clash, as country and city mice are wont to do, there is no small amount of sabotage (both intentional and accidental), and a bonnet is stabbed.

But Brooke is not pure bitch, which would have made for a soapier but less-interesting read.  As breezy and beachy as Spoiled is, it has a palpable, genuine heart, and issues that extend beyond cute boys and queen Bs. Brooke has one moment in the first chapter w/r/t her absentee mom that, though injected with a hilariously shallow aside, is legitimately sad and prevents you from being able to haaaaate her like you think you want to.


And the whole kaboodle is very Go Fug Yourself: The Novel.  Kardashians!  Outfits!  Scorn!  Brick Berlin is reminiscent of the Fug Girls' own Karl Lagerfeld, one of my favorite recurring FugCharacters, and is strongly desirous that the 'fruit of [his] loins come together in the same bowl' (HA! but also ick).  Brooke's soothing inner monologue sounds 'eerily like Tim Gunn' (personal aside: did I mention that in NY I went to mood and I PETTED SWATCH!  The proof is in the petting, you guys).

In sum: rife with Heather and Jessica's signature wit, pop culture relevancy, and penchant for puns.  No drinks are thrown into faces, but it is strongly implied, and the whole thing is campy, bitchy good times.  If you dig them you will dig this (if you do not dig them then you need to get off my lawn).

Eight and a half caterpillars.

Requisite ass-covering: book recieved for review from authors.