I’m not a reader of the books that are commonly called ‘Chick Lit.’ Even that name is jarring to me, and at the bookshop, my eyes tend to just skip over the brightly hued paperback covers with their cutesy clever titles that seem to epitomize the genre, looking for more substantial reading fare. With the exception of the Bridget Jones books and The Girls Guide to Hunting and Fishing, I don’t think I’ve read anything in recent memory that would be called Chick Lit. It’s not that I’m trying to come off as some pretentious snob (I disavow any reading of Danielle Steele for that), but the typical subject matter (men, shopping, dating, etc.) just doesn’t interest me.

But, in my searches for my last blog post, a book came up called The Reading Group, by British author Elizabeth Noble. I admit, the title sucked me in, and after a cursory look through it, I started reading. It’s certainly no high brow intellectual feat, but it was a pleasant enough read. I liked that I knew of the books that were discussed (and had even read some myself), the women were all likeable in their own way, and dealing with real life issues. I think most women reading this would recognize themselves in at least some aspect of the characters – I certainly did, whether it was the pain of dealing with the loss of a mother or having the sometimes sensation of feeling the grass must be greener elsewhere. Still, there’s no big soul searching for the reader, or pondering deeper meanings or anything like that, but sometimes it’s nice to get into a story that doesn’t make you do that, while still being a good read.