I was a singleton in the 90’s when the original Bridget Jones books came out. I loved them. On one hand I could relate to the trials and tribulations of being single. And on the other hand I could be a bit snug about not being quite as old as Brig. Fast forward a small lifetime of years and I am now happily married and Brig…well she’s got my worst nightmare.
Bridget Jones, Mad About the Boy by Helen Fielding was a hard book to read. Brig is still herself. Funny and charming. Totally wrapped up in the appearance of things more than the essential functionality. That was one of the best parts of the previous two books. Despite Bridget’s quirks she found a man who loved her for them and steadied her life.
I’m just gonna slap it out there, the book is several years old and you figure it out quite early on, so it’s not exactly a spoiler. Darcy is dead. They got married, had two adorable little children and then wham. Unexpected horror. My worst nightmare. And I relate because in some way I was Bridget in my 20s. I think that’s Helen Fielding’s gift. She makes you feel like the story is about you. Even in her non Bridget books which I read and loved. The story feels like it’s about me. If I was English, obviously.
℘℘℘℘ – Four Pages. Charming Brig at her most chaotic. 380 pages I breezed through in three days with all the normal things I must do.
T.A. Henry 