What do we mean by “fluffy” here? Something light, frothy, insubstantial, I assume, but are we giving that a negative connotation? Fluff goes both ways, I find.
My first instinct was to list Emily Giffin’s oeuvre, which I read in July. But I hesitated because, as light and fluffy as the books were at times, they also addressed some very real concerns for women, concerns to which I could relate. That streak of authenticity and sympathy which appears in all of her books–and in all good “chick lit”–made it impossible for me to dismiss them outright.They’re fluffy, but heavy fluff. Not great, but these bubbles aren’t made of soap and water, but rather that toxic goo you blow up with a straw.
Another book that sprang to mind was Ballerina, a scathing slice of the New York ballet world. Though I adore it for its bitchiness, I must admit that is pure fluff. But oh, such fun, interesting, wickedly amusing fluff!
But fluffiest of all would be To Dream of Snow and Captive Bride, both books I loathed for their almost contemptuous dismissal of their readers, as though readers of romance novels cannot discern good writing–and as though they do not deserve it. While romance does not make up a large part of my reading these days, I retain a healthy respect for the many excellent craftswomen in the genre, writers who seem to enjoy both their readers and their readers’ enjoyment of their work. These were fluff not because they were romance novels, but because they were worthless, with no redeeming qualities.*
Actually, I take that back; Captive Bride is hysterically funny at times.
*I really do sound like such a hater when it comes to these two. I better read something else sucky soon before yawl get tired fo my endless griping.