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The Devil Wears Prada |  |
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The Devil Wears Prada | |
This kind of thing is delicious fun to read about, though not as well written as its obvious antecedent, The Nanny Diaries. And therein lies the essential problem of the book. Andrea''s goal in life is to work for The New Yorker--she''s only sticking it out with Miranda for a job recommendation. But author Weisberger is such an inept, ungrammatical writer, you''re positively rooting for her fictional alter ego not to get anywhere near The New Yorker. Still, Weisberger has certainly one-upped Me Times Three author Alex Witchel, whose magazine-world novel never gave us the inside dope that was the book''s whole raison d'' etre. For the most part, The Devil Wears Prada focuses on the outrageous Miranda Priestly, and she''s an irresistible spectacle. --Claire Dederer --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
From Publishers Weekly
Most recent college grads know they have to start at the bottom and work their way up. But not many picture themselves having to pick up their boss''s dry cleaning, deliver them hot lattes, land them copies of the newest Harry Potter book before it hits stores and screen potential nannies for their children. Charmingly unfashionable Andrea Sachs, upon graduating from Brown, finds herself in this precarious position: she''s an assistant to the most revered-and hated-woman in fashion, Runway editor-in-chief Miranda Priestly. The self-described "biggest fashion loser to ever hit the scene," Andy takes the job hoping to land at the New Yorker after a year. As the "lowest-paid-but-most-highly-perked assistant in the free world," she soon learns her Nine West loafers won''t cut it-everyone wears Jimmy Choos or Manolos-and that the four years she spent memorizing poems and examining prose will not help her in her new role of "finding, fetching, or faxing" whatever the diabolical Miranda wants, immediately. Life is pretty grim for Andy, but Weisberger, whose stint as Anna Wintour''s assistant at Vogue couldn''t possibly have anything to do with the novel''s inspiration, infuses the narrative with plenty of dead-on assessments of fashion''s frivolity and realistic, funny portrayals of life as a peon. Andy''s mishaps will undoubtedly elicit laughter from readers, and the story''s even got a virtuous little moral at its heart. Weisberger has penned a comic novel that manages to rise to the upper echelons of the chick-lit genre.
Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
From AudioFile
Just out of college, with aspirations to be a writer, Andrealands an ill-defined job as assistant to the editor of RUNWAYmagazine--Miranda Priestly (rhymes with beastly). Soon Andrea is socaught up with Miranda''s outrageous errands (pick up her dog, her car,her just-so lunch) and the world of fashion that she neglects herboyfriend and her needy roommate. Rachel Leigh Cook reads thisfirst-person nightmare at a rapid pace, capturing Andrea''snaïveté and skewering the city weirdos she encounters. But it''sher performance of the insipid and demanding "boss from hell" thatwill stick with you. Eventually Andrea tells the devil off but notbefore you''ve had a highly entertaining listen. J.B.G. ©AudioFile 2003, Portland, Maine-- Copyright © AudioFile, Portland, Maine --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
From Booklist
In this debut novel (part of a wave of exposes about bad bosses that is sweeping the publishing world), former Vogue assistant Weisberger provides a telling account of life as an underling at the fictional Runway magazine. Here we meet Andrea Sachs, a recent Ivy League graduate hoping to break into the magazine business, with her ultimate goal being a job at the New Yorker. She accepts an entry-level position at Runway as personal assistant to the editor, Miranda Priestley (rumored to be based on Vogue ''s Anna Wintour). However, her new job has nothing to do with writing or editing, and everything to do with predicting and fulfilling every outrageous whim her prima donna boss might have. While the job makes incredible demands on Sachs'' personal life, the perks are undeniable: rubbing elbows with celebrities, being outfitted in designer clothes, and jetting off to Paris for fashion shows. Yet Weisberger''s characters are all uniformly shallow and two-dimensional, and she seems to be worshiping this lifestyle at the same time that she is supposedly skewering it. However, the book is garnering lots of press, with a film deal also in the works, and Weisberger''s dishy style will appeal to many readers. Kathleen Hughes
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
Review
"[A] funny, biting, low-cal treat."
-Rush & Molloy, The New York Daily News
"A deliciously witty and gossipy first novel."
-Publishers Weekly
"[An] on-the-money kiss-and-tell debut.
-Kirkus
From the Hardcover edition.
Review
"[A] funny, biting, low-cal treat."
-Rush & Molloy, The New York Daily News
"A deliciously witty and gossipy first novel."
-Publishers Weekly
"[An] on-the-money kiss-and-tell debut.
-Kirkus
From the Hardcover edition. --This text refers to the Paperback edition.
Customer Reviews
Amazon.com
It''s a killer title: The Devil Wears Prada. And it''s killer material: author Lauren Weisberger did a stint as assistant to Anna Wintour, the all-powerful editor of Vogue magazine. Now she''s written a book, and this is its theme: narrator Andrea Sachs goes to work for Miranda Priestly, the all-powerful editor of Runway magazine. Turns out Miranda is quite the bossyboots. That''s pretty much the extent of the novel, but it''s plenty. Miranda''s behavior is so insanely over-the-top that it''s a gas to see what she''ll do next, and to try to guess which incidents were culled from the real-life antics of the woman who''s been called Anna "Nuclear" Wintour. For instance, when Miranda goes to Paris for the collections, Andrea receives a call back at the New York office (where, incidentally, she''s not allowed to leave her desk to eat or go to the bathroom, lest her boss should call). Miranda bellows over the line: "I am standing in the pouring rain on the rue de Rivoli and my driver has vanished. Vanished! Find him immediately!"
This kind of thing is delicious fun to read about, though not as well written as its obvious antecedent, The Nanny Diaries. And therein lies the essential problem of the book. Andrea''s goal in life is to work for The New Yorker--she''s only sticking it out with Miranda for a job recommendation. But author Weisberger is such an inept, ungrammatical writer, you''re positively rooting for her fictional alter ego not to get anywhere near The New Yorker. Still, Weisberger has certainly one-upped Me Times Three author Alex Witchel, whose magazine-world novel never gave us the inside dope that was the book''s whole raison d'' etre. For the most part, The Devil Wears Prada focuses on the outrageous Miranda Priestly, and she''s an irresistible spectacle. --Claire Dederer --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
From Publishers Weekly
Most recent college grads know they have to start at the bottom and work their way up. But not many picture themselves having to pick up their boss''s dry cleaning, deliver them hot lattes, land them copies of the newest Harry Potter book before it hits stores and screen potential nannies for their children. Charmingly unfashionable Andrea Sachs, upon graduating from Brown, finds herself in this precarious position: she''s an assistant to the most revered-and hated-woman in fashion, Runway editor-in-chief Miranda Priestly. The self-described "biggest fashion loser to ever hit the scene," Andy takes the job hoping to land at the New Yorker after a year. As the "lowest-paid-but-most-highly-perked assistant in the free world," she soon learns her Nine West loafers won''t cut it-everyone wears Jimmy Choos or Manolos-and that the four years she spent memorizing poems and examining prose will not help her in her new role of "finding, fetching, or faxing" whatever the diabolical Miranda wants, immediately. Life is pretty grim for Andy, but Weisberger, whose stint as Anna Wintour''s assistant at Vogue couldn''t possibly have anything to do with the novel''s inspiration, infuses the narrative with plenty of dead-on assessments of fashion''s frivolity and realistic, funny portrayals of life as a peon. Andy''s mishaps will undoubtedly elicit laughter from readers, and the story''s even got a virtuous little moral at its heart. Weisberger has penned a comic novel that manages to rise to the upper echelons of the chick-lit genre.
Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
From AudioFile
Just out of college, with aspirations to be a writer, Andrealands an ill-defined job as assistant to the editor of RUNWAYmagazine--Miranda Priestly (rhymes with beastly). Soon Andrea is socaught up with Miranda''s outrageous errands (pick up her dog, her car,her just-so lunch) and the world of fashion that she neglects herboyfriend and her needy roommate. Rachel Leigh Cook reads thisfirst-person nightmare at a rapid pace, capturing Andrea''snaïveté and skewering the city weirdos she encounters. But it''sher performance of the insipid and demanding "boss from hell" thatwill stick with you. Eventually Andrea tells the devil off but notbefore you''ve had a highly entertaining listen. J.B.G. ©AudioFile 2003, Portland, Maine-- Copyright © AudioFile, Portland, Maine --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
From Booklist
In this debut novel (part of a wave of exposes about bad bosses that is sweeping the publishing world), former Vogue assistant Weisberger provides a telling account of life as an underling at the fictional Runway magazine. Here we meet Andrea Sachs, a recent Ivy League graduate hoping to break into the magazine business, with her ultimate goal being a job at the New Yorker. She accepts an entry-level position at Runway as personal assistant to the editor, Miranda Priestley (rumored to be based on Vogue ''s Anna Wintour). However, her new job has nothing to do with writing or editing, and everything to do with predicting and fulfilling every outrageous whim her prima donna boss might have. While the job makes incredible demands on Sachs'' personal life, the perks are undeniable: rubbing elbows with celebrities, being outfitted in designer clothes, and jetting off to Paris for fashion shows. Yet Weisberger''s characters are all uniformly shallow and two-dimensional, and she seems to be worshiping this lifestyle at the same time that she is supposedly skewering it. However, the book is garnering lots of press, with a film deal also in the works, and Weisberger''s dishy style will appeal to many readers. Kathleen Hughes
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
Review
"[A] funny, biting, low-cal treat."
-Rush & Molloy, The New York Daily News
"A deliciously witty and gossipy first novel."
-Publishers Weekly
"[An] on-the-money kiss-and-tell debut.
-Kirkus
From the Hardcover edition.
Review
"[A] funny, biting, low-cal treat."
-Rush & Molloy, The New York Daily News
"A deliciously witty and gossipy first novel."
-Publishers Weekly
"[An] on-the-money kiss-and-tell debut.
-Kirkus
From the Hardcover edition. --This text refers to the Paperback edition.
文摘 1
The light hadn't even officially turned green at the intersection of 17th and Broadway before an army of overconfident yellow cabs roared past the tiny deathtrap I was attempting to navigate around the city streets. Clutch, gas, shift (neutral to first? or first to second?), release clutch, I repeated over and over in my head, the mantra offering little comfort and even less direction amid the screeching midday traffic. The little car bucked wildly twice before it lurched forward through the intersection. My heart flip-flopped in my chest. Without warning, the lurching evened out and I began to pick up speed. Lots of speed. I glanced down to confirm visually that I was only in second gear, but the rear end of a cab loomed so large in the windshield that I could do nothing but jam my foot on the brake pedal so hard that my heel snapped off. Shit! Another pair of seven-hundred-dollar shoes sacrificed to my complete and utter lack of grace under pressure: this clocked in as my third such breakage this month. It was almost a relief when the car stalled (I'd obviously forgotten to press the clutch when attempting to brake for my life). I had a few seconds--peaceful seconds if one could overlook the angry honking and varied forms of the word "fuck" being hurled at me from all directions--to pull off my Manolos and toss them into the passenger seat. There was nowhere to wipe my sweaty hands except for the suede Gucci pants that hugged my thighs and hips so tightly they'd both begun to tingle within minutes of my securing the final button. My fingers left wet streaks across the supple suede that swathed the tops of my now numb thighs. Attempting to drive this $84,000 stick-shift convertible through the obstacle-fraught streets of midtown at lunchtime pretty much demanded that I smoke a cigarette.
"Fuckin' move, lady!" hollered a swarthy driver whose chest hair threatened to overtake the wife-beater he wore. "What do you think this is? Fuckin' drivin' school?
……
