Confessions of a Serial Dater

It stumbled across this book over seven years ago. As is often the case in my life, I was early to meet someone. Luckily we'd arranged for our meeting place to be the bookstore, so I searched the shelves looking for a book to pass the next twenty minutes or so. I found a book that looked fun, silly, and perfect for passing the time.

How could I resist?

At the time my reading habits were very different than they are now. I mostly purchased non fiction; ancient history was my subject du jour. When I needed a fiction pick me up, I did some re-reading. Harry Potter and a selection from the Sweet Valley franchise got me through my early twenties, with some trashy Jackie Collins thrown in for kicks. This was my first flirtation with a genre that I would not only love, but strive to write. Chick-Lit.

Needless to say, seven years ago I adored this book. I read seventy pages, met my friend, left, returned to a different bookstore, finished the book, purchased it, and read it again once I got home. This became my back up book, the one that I would read when I needed to go to bed, or needed entertainment during Jury Duty.

In fact, when I found it in a box during the big move, it still had my Jury Duty information as a bookmark.

I last had Jury Duty in 2006, to give you a bit of perspective.

The other evening I decided to reread the book and I wondered, how would it hold up? Now that I was back on the fiction wagon, and reading book after book. Now that I was well versed in the world of British Chick-Lit, and understood the devices traditionally found within the genre.

As I read, I vividly remembered passages. The characters were still likeable, charming, and compelling. The book's weak points were more obvious this time around. I could do with further character development on some of the friends (which is often the case with me.) Some aspects of the story felt rushed, others felt sloppy. The antagonist's motivations were never clear to me, but this may have been a deliberate choice. Some people are just cold hearted, as this character appeared to be. As I did at the time, I found this book to be misnamed. The character is not a serial dater, not for the genre, and not for real life.

Revisiting this book is like finding a photo album of your youth. You expect to be embarrassed by your fashion choices, but instead you simply see a younger version of youself. If this had been my first read, Michelle Cunnah's book would easily receive four out of five stars.