I read somewhere that your main character shouldn’t be a writer. Nowhere is that more apparent than in Alyson Noel ‘s “Fly me to the moon”.
The novel is your typical chick-lit stuff: a cute sassy heroine by no means glassy or glamorous or gorgeous, a cheating boyfriend, as well as perfect, fun, supportive friends. The plot follows the predictable outline: girl walks away from said boyfriend, girl meets another boy, girl fails to recognise the boy as The One, girl looks for love in all the wrong (but fabulous) places like Paris and Mykonos, girl sorts out the misunderstanding and hooks up with boy.
What attracted me to the book was that they girl was an air hostess - pardon me, a flight attendant - and right there on page one she told it as it is (the gruelling training, the polyester uniform, the polyester aeroplane food). Now that was a world I wanted to find out more about. In that sense, the book didn’t disappoint, and I now have a new respect for flight attendants (not to mention a new fear of flying).
But why oh why did the flight attendant have to turn novelist? That just read too much like an autobiography for my liking.
Still, it was an enjoyable - if fluffy - read. The author has a nice style and her characters are alive, and I’ll probably end up reading her other book too.