I randomly picked up this book thinking about my long evenings in the countryside, when I needed some small connection to the world of glamour, and gossips and the memories of New York City. That kind of sparkling chick lit that makes you feel envirous and longing for the life you traded once in exchange of comfort and predictibility.
A Dangerous Age had a promise and filled a secret desire, but until the very end of it, disappointed. It lost its mundane sparkle in discussions about art, desire and fantasy, misplaced in the wrong life episodes, or broke down delicious descriptions of euphoric meals with absurde or - again - misplaced dialogues. You have the gracious life of New York celebrities in the summer, but they are not even vane, just happens to pop-up in the story as someone dropping names of the establishment in a discussion about children rearing. It is also a bit delusional assuming that an anynomous blogger posting daily metaphorical/philosophical posts will ever be world famous.
In the end, all is overpassed, the superficial moments of tension and suspense are just superficial moments and life goes on again at the end of the season. Glamorous life can be vain, but for sure more eventuful and less hysterical than those girls meeting up every week with country girls ambitions.
That's all about this book.
Maybe, as one of the characters in the book said, I need to learn to live my own disappointments. And to be more careful the next time I decide to spend my time with a book. Not all the glitter about New York is really worth literary gold.
Rating: 2.5 stars