Tag Archives: Sophie Kinsella

Rest In Peace Sophie Kinsella, Confessions of a Shopaholic

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“…nothing haunts us like the things we didn’t buy.” Quote from Becky Bloomwood/Confessions

There’s sad news to report from the literary world.

Author Sophie Kinsella died yesterday. I didn’t know that she had been diagnosed with a glioblastoma in 2022, which is one of the deadliest and most aggressive types of brain cancer.

I loved all of her books and probably have read everything she’s ever written. The first two novels in the Shopaholic series were adapted for the 2009 film Confessions of a Shopaholic, starring Isla Fisher. It’s one of my all-time favorites.

“That moment. That instant when your fingers curl round the handles of a shiny, uncreased bag–and all the gorgeous new things inside it becomes yours. What’s it like? It’s like going hungry for days, then cramming your mouth full of warm buttered toast.” Becky Bloomwood/Confessions

Those who dismiss her books as merely frivolous rom-com or chick lit don’t take into consideration the amount of work and talent it takes to write great dialogue and create characters that come to life.

RIP Sopie Kinsella. She’s survived by her husband and their five children.

And me? I’m still searching for that perfect green scarf. IYKYK

“You speak…PRADA?” Becky Bloomwood/Confessions

Here’s a trailer for the film, Confessions of a Shopaholic. I’m going to watch it again this weekend.

Side by Side | Cormac McCarthy vs Sophie Kinsella

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This time I was unlucky enough to be in the middle although in sniffing distance of first class. I cherished the almost princess moment with my wistful view of the curtains that separated THEM in their rarified air from US, the hoi polloi.

To my left was an older-than-me male; slightly obnoxious. He moved around a lot, didn’t settle down, and then THIS: he attempted to man-usurp the shared armrest.

OH NO HE DINT.

I might be all of five feet tall and my feet might BARELY reach the floor, but NOBODY has the right to hog the shared armrest. Bad form, lack of etiquette, and not on my watch, buddy.

I strategically waited until he reached down to get something from his under-the-seat bag and I FIRMLY planted MY arm on the arm rest. HAH! I thought to myself, that’ll teach him. I let him have it back after I felt my point had been made and received.

He finally decided to nap and covered himself with his jacket which invaded MY territory, so I shoved it back over to his side- that’s when I got “Sorry.” After about fifteen minutes or twenty minutes, I must confess that I took a certain amount of pleasure in waking him up so I could use the restroom. Just a CERTAIN amount of joy, not a lot. Not too much. (Tee hee.)

Harrumph. Don’t ever mess with a short curly haired girl, old man.

To my right was a young guy who had an edition of Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian wedged in the little pocket attached to the seat in front. It stared at him, unblinking, willing him to pick it up and read, but for two hours he resisted the allure of McCarthy and the urge to absorb those tortuous words. First he tweeted A LOT and then he fell asleep, woke up, and cracked open the novel. I wonder if he had any idea what he was getting himself into, and felt like telling him this might NOT the best time to read McCarthy as he’s the antithesis of a light, not-too-demanding author, but I kept my own counsel this time. His mistake, though. Cormac is the stuff of nightmares.

On the other hand, I was firmly immersed in one of my fave authors, Sophie Kinsella. This time it was her 2017 book, My Not So Perfect Life. It was like drinking the perfect cocktail on a balmy summer evening. Kinsella rarely disappoints and I was immediately drawn into the characters, their situations, and relationships. Like all great reads (in my opinion) it ended with the main character finding her happily-ever-after true love.

I read nonstop until we landed.

Home. There’s no place like it.