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Bridget Jones's Diary
     

Bridget Jones's Diary

4.2 295
by Helen Fielding
 

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The iconic #1 bestseller by Helen Fielding; Bridget Jones is now the inspiration for the September 2016 Working Title film release of Bridget Jones's Baby, starring Renee Zellweger, Colin Firth, Patrick Dempsey and Emma Thompson.  

Bridget Jones's Diary is the devastatingly self-aware, laugh-out-loud account of a year in the life

Overview

The iconic #1 bestseller by Helen Fielding; Bridget Jones is now the inspiration for the September 2016 Working Title film release of Bridget Jones's Baby, starring Renee Zellweger, Colin Firth, Patrick Dempsey and Emma Thompson.  

Bridget Jones's Diary is the devastatingly self-aware, laugh-out-loud account of a year in the life of a thirty-something Singleton on a permanent doomed quest for self-improvement. Caught between the joys of Singleton fun, and the fear of dying alone and being found three weeks later half eaten by an Alsatian; tortured by Smug Married friends asking, "How's your love life?" with lascivious, yet patronizing leers, Bridget resolves to: reduce the circumference of each thigh by 1.5 inches, visit the gym three times a week not just to buy a sandwich, form a functional relationship with a responsible adult and learn to program the VCR. With a blend of flighty charm, existential gloom, and endearing self-deprecation, Bridget Jones's Diary has touched a raw nerve with millions of readers the world round. Read it and laugh—before you cry, "Bridget Jones is me!"

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
“Screamingly funny!”
—USA Today

“Bridget Jones is channeling something so universal and (horrifyingly) familiar that readers will giggle and sigh with collective delight.”
—Elle

“Fielding . . . has rummaged all too knowingly through the bedrooms, closets, hearts, and minds of women everywhere.”
—Glamour

“Hilarious and poignant.”
—The Washington Post

“Bridget Jones’s diary has made her the best friend of hundreds of thousands of women.”
—The New York Times

“A brilliant comic creation. Even men will laugh.”
—Salman Rushdie

Philadelphia Inquirer
Bridget's voice is dead-on . . . will cause readers to drop the book, grope frantically for the phone and read it out loud to their best girlfriends.
Glamour
Fielding. . .has rummaged all too knowingly through the bedrooms, closets, hearts and minds of women everywhere.
Entertainment Weekly
This juicy diary tells the truth with a verve as appealing to men on Mars as it is to Venusian women.
Newsweek
An unforgettably droll character.
San Francisco Chronicle
[W]ith satirical glee...and sharp, laugh-out-loud observations of contemporary life...Bridget Jones's Diary charts a year in the life of an unattached woman in her 30s.
New York Times Book Review
Good-bye Rules Girls, hello Singletons...Endearingly engaging...v. funny..
Daphne Merkin
[The book is] the sort of cultural artifact that is recognizably larger than itself. . . .[It] sits so lightly on the reader that it is easy to overlook the skill with which it has been assembled.
The New Yorker
Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
A huge success in England, this marvelously funny debut novel had its genesis in a column Fielding writes for a London newspaper. It's the purported diary, complete with daily entries of calories consumed, cigarettes smoked, "alcohol units" imbibed and other unsuitable obsessions, of a year in the life of a bright London 30-something who deplores male "fuckwittage" while pining for a steady boyfriend. As dogged at making resolutions for self-improvement as she is irrepressibly irreverent, Bridget also would like to have someone to show the folks back home and their friends, who make "tick-tock" noises at her to evoke the motion of the biological clock. Bridget is knowing, obviously attractive but never too convinced of the fact, and prone ever to fear the worst. In the case of her mother, who becomes involved with a shady Portugese real estate operator and is about to be arrested for fraud, she's probably quite right. In the case of her boss, Daniel, who sends sexy e-mail messages but really plans to marry someone else, she's a tad blind. And in the case of glamorous lawyer Mark Darcy, whom her parents want her to marry, she turns out to be way off the mark. ("It struck me as pretty ridiculous to be called Mr. Darcy and to stand on your own looking snooty at a party. It's like being called Heathcliff and insisting on spending the entire evening in the garden, shouting `Cathy!' and banging your head against a tree.") It's hard to say how the English frame of reference will travel. But, since Bridget reads Susan Faludi and thinks of Goldie Hawn and Susan Sarandon as role models, it just might. In any case, it's hard to imagine a funnier book appearing anywhere this year.
Library Journal
In the course of one year, Bridget Jones will consume 11,090,265 calories, smoke 5,277 cigarettes, and write a series of delightfully funny diary entries. This will be no ordinary year in the life of this single, on-the-cusp-of-30 Londoner. She's going to keep at least one New Year's resolution, have dates with two boyfriends, create legendary cooking disasters, and be seen on national TV going up a firehouse pole instead of the planned dramatic slide down. If that isn't enough, her mom is getting a new career as the host of the TV program 'Suddenly Single' and will disappear with a Portugese gigolo. Supported by friends and confused by family, Bridget emerges, if not triumphant, at least hopeful about life and love. Already a best seller in Britain and winner of the 'Publishing News' Book of the Year Award, this book should be equally popular in the United States. Jan Blodgett, Davidson Coll., NC
NY Times Book Review
Good-bye Rules Girls, hello Singletons...Endearingly engaging...v. funny..
The New York Times
Bridget Jones's diary has made her the best friend of hundreds of thousands of women who recognize her closet drawers crammed with a fury of black opaque pantyhose twisted into ropelike tangles as their own.
J. Jofre
Personally, I was afraid to meet Bridget Jones. She was a British phenomenon, a character out of author Helen Fielding's column in The Independent (now in The Telegraph), which I had never read, a character embodying English girldom so perfectly that women all over Britain were buying the book -- not just for themselves but for their mothers, their sisters, their bosses, and their friends who hate fiction. Bridget Jones's Diary swung up the English bestseller lists, and its reviews swelled the pages of serious newspapers as well as makeup mags with free beach pillows attached. There were giant posters in the tube stations proclaiming it "Nick Hornby for Girls." (I felt relieved to have known who Hornby was: the author of obsessive boy books like High Fidelity and Fever Pitch). At first, I adopted a cool expat's stance: As a married, childed American, I didn't expect to identify with Bridget-mania, plus as a literary snob I refused even to look. My British pals thought it was a great laugh, a fab read (well, actually, one of them said, "Yeah, it was all right," and when I said I'd expected a rave, she said, "That was a rave. I'm British; that's as enthusiastic as I get"). Then, irony of ironies, an American girlfriend sent it to me. It was coming out soon and it was hilarious; had I heard of it?

I had heard of it.

Well, I was hooked immediately. And who wouldn't be? As Salman Rushdie's jacket blurb proclaims, "Even men will laugh." But it does seem to have become a women's book -- women who have dreamed about a kick-ass job, a choice figure, a cool boyfriend; women who have ever wanted to shop at posher stores, quit smoking, win the lottery, be free of their mothers while still having their support; women who have ever laughed at another's misfortune, who have ever loved a friend through humiliations. Women everywhere will find something familiar in this book, even if only a small thing: The friend who gave me the book recognized Bridget's frustration as she proposed weekend getaways to her boyfriend, who refused to plan anything in advance (the weekend was a disaster). A thing like that.

Fielding's book is a year in the life of Bridget Jones, from New Year's Day to Boxing Day. Single, 30-something Bridget keeps a down-to-the-minute journal of her thoughts, ideas, and obsessions. She tracks her daily intake of cigarettes, calories, lottery tickets, 1471 calls (that's *69 to you and me), negative thoughts. She seeks a weight of 8 1/2 stone (OK, some terms might baffle American readers) and Inner Poise. She confides in us, along with her friends, Sharon and Jude and "hag fag" Tom, about her affair with the boss (some Americans might also stumble over the blatant sexual harassment that's considered charming here in Europe, even if Bridget recognizes it as such and enjoys it), her pregnancy scare, her resentment of the "Smug Marrieds," and her mother's relentless efforts to set her up with a rich argyle-clad friend-of-the-family.

Bridget's voice and her diary shorthand are appealing and compelling; she manages to reveal a lot of intelligence and wit while focusing almost entirely on her weaknesses. On Saturday, August 12th, for example, having recently caught her boyfriend with a "bronzed giantess" and with a job interview looming, Bridget writes, "129 lbs. (still in very good cause), alcohol units 3 (v.g.), cigarettes 32 (v.v. bad, particularly since first day of giving up), calories 1,800 (g.), lottery tickets 4 (fair), no. of serious current affairs articles read 1.5, 1471 calls 22 (OK), minutes spent having cross imaginary conversations with Daniel 120 (v.g.), minutes spent imagining Daniel begging me to come back 90 (excellent)." At 8:35am she writes "No fags all day. Excellent." At 4:45pm, an old boyfriend calls with news of his engagement: "No-smoking policy in tatters.... Exes should never, never go out with or marry other people but should remain celibate to the end of their days in order to provide you with a mental fallback position.... Ugh. Have just smoked entire packet of Silk Cut as act of self-annihilating existential despair. Hope they both become obese and have to be lifted out of the window by crane."

Bridget's escapades are hilariously pathetic. She holds a dinner party designed to impress her date -- the menu is choked with veloutés and coulis and confits -- and ends up making her guests an omelet with the disastrous remains of the food. I dare anyone to say they've never gotten behind the eight ball like that. This exposé of human foibles has universal appeal -- after all, it's not just women who screw up dinner parties. And of course, Bridget does not represent all women, identify as we may with bits and pieces of her. Her story, though, lightheartedly reveals the frailties and the possibilities that are in all of us.

Laura Jofré is a freelance writer and reviewer living in London.

USA Today
Screamingly funny.
Elle
[R]eaders will giggle and sigh with collective delight.
The Washington Post
Hilarious but poignant.
Elizabeth Gleick
[E]ndearingly engaging...v. funny.
New York Times Book Review
Kirkus Reviews
Newspaper columnist Fielding's first effort, a bestseller in Britain, lives up to the hype. This year in the life of a single woman is closely observed and laugh-out-loud funny. Bridget, a thirtysomething with a mid-level publishing job, tempers her self-loathing with a giddy (if sporadic) urge toward self-improvement: Every day she tallies cigarettes smoked, alcohol units consumed, and pounds gained or lost. At Una Alconbury's New Year's Day Turkey Curry Buffet, her parents and their friends hover as she's introduced to an eligible man, Mark Darcy. Mark is wearing a diamond-patterned sweater that rules him out as a potential lust object, but Bridget's reflexive rudeness causes her to ruminate on her own undesirability and thus to binge on chocolate Christmas-tree decorations. But in the subsequent days, she cheers herself up with fantasies of Daniel, her boss's boss, a handsome rogue with an enticingly dissolute air. After a breathless exchange of e-mail messages about the length of her skirt, Daniel asks for her phone number, causing Bridget to crown herself sex goddess. until she spends a miserable weekend staring at her silent phone. By chanting "aloof, unavailable ice-queen" to herself, she manages to play it cool long enough to engage Daniel's interest, but once he's her boyfriend, he spends Sundays with the shades pulled watching cricket on TV and is quickly unfaithful. Meanwhile, after decades of marriage, her mother acquires a bright orange suntan, moves out of the house, and takes up with a purse-carrying smoothie named Julio. And so on. Bridget navigates culinary disasters, mood swings, and scary publishing parties; she cares for her parents, talks endlessly with hercronies, and maybe, just maybe, hooks up with a nice boyfriend. Fielding's diarist raises prickly insecurities to an art form, turns bad men into good anecdotes, and shows that it is possible to have both a keen eye for irony and a generous heart.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780140280098
Publisher:
Penguin Publishing Group
Publication date:
06/28/1999
Edition description:
Reprint
Pages:
288
Sales rank:
79,968
Product dimensions:
5.13(w) x 7.99(h) x 0.56(d)
Age Range:
18 Years

Read an Excerpt


Chapter One

129 lbs. (but post-Christmas), alcohol units 14 (but effectively covers 2 days as 4 hours of party was on New Year's Day), cigarettes 22, calories 5424.

Food consumed today:

2 pkts Emmenthal cheese slices
14 cold new potatoes
2 Bloody Marys (count as food as contain Worcester sauce and
   1/3 Ciabatta loaf with Brie
coriander leaves--1/2 packet
12 Milk Tray (best to get rid of all Christmas confectionery in
    13 cocktail sticks securing cheese and pineapple
Portion Una Alconbury's turkey curry, peas and bananas
Portion Una Alconbury's Raspberry Surprise made with
  

Noon. London: my flat. Ugh. The last thing on earth I feel physically, emotionally or mentally equipped to do is drive to Una and Geoffrey Alconbury's New Year's Day Turkey Curry Buffet in Grafton Underwood. Geoffrey and Una Alconbury are my parents' best friends and, as Uncle Geoffrey never tires of reminding me, have known me since I was running round the lawn with no clothes on. My mother rang up at 8:30 in the morning last August Bank Holiday and forced me to promise to go. She approached it via a cunningly circuitous route.

    Christmas."

   

   

   

   

   

    know, like air hostesses have."

   

    thing. You look like some sort of Mary Poppins person who's fallen on hard times. Just a little compact case with a pull-out handle. It's amazing how much you can get in. Do you want it in navy on red or red on navy?"

    I don't want an air-hostess bag."

   

   

    that's got that super-dooper job at Arthur Andersen ..."

   

   

   

    and get you a proper new big suitcase and a set of wheels?"

    the missionary luggage-Christmas-gift zeal had stemmed from. When I put the phone back she was saying: "... in actual fact, you can get them with a compartment with bottles for your bubble bath and things. The other thing I thought of was a shopping cart."

    blinking in the dazzling Bank Holiday sunlight.

    darling," she suddenly hissed, "you will be coming to Geoffrey and Una's New Year's Day Turkey Curry Buffet this year, won't you?"

    be doing? "... think I might have to work on New Year's Day."

    mention? Malcolm and Elaine Darcy are coming and bringing Mark with them. Do you remember Mark, darling? He's one of those top-notch barristers. Masses of money. Divorced. It doesn't start till eight."

    burgeoning from a side-part. "Mum, I've told you. I don't need to be fixed up with ..."

    Year buffet since you were running round the lawn with no clothes on! Of course you're going to come. And you'll be able to use your new suitcase."

11:45 p.m. Ugh. First day of New Year has been day of horror. Cannot quite believe I am once again starting the year in a single bed in my parents' house. It is too humiliating at my age. I wonder if they'll smell it if I have a fag out of the window. Having skulked at home all day, hoping hangover would clear, I eventually gave up and set off for the Turkey Curry Buffet far too late. When I got to the Alconburys' and rang their entire-tune-of-town-hall-clock-style doorbell I was still in a strange world of my own--nauseous, vile-headed, acidic. I was also suffering from road-rage residue after inadvertently getting on to the M6 instead of the M1 and having to drive halfway to Birmingham before I could find anywhere to turn round. I was so furious I kept jamming my foot down to the floor on the accelerator pedal to give vent to my feelings, which is very dangerous. I watched resignedly as Una Alconbury's form--intriguingly deformed through the ripply glass door--bore down on me in a fuchsia two-piece.

    about to start without you."

    banister, wipe her lipstick off my cheek and make me feel incredibly guilty all in one movement, while I leaned against the ornament shelf for support.

   

   

    shouting, "She got lost, everyone!"

    diamond-patterned sweater. He did a jokey Bob Hope step then gave me the sort of hug which Boots would send straight to the police station.

    up by the waistband. "Which junction did you come off at?"

   

    added an hour to your journey before you even started. Come on, let's get you a drink. How's your love life, anyway?"

    polite question to ask? We wouldn't rush up to them and roar, "How's your marriage going? Still having sex?" Everyone knows that dating in your thirties is not the happy-go-lucky free-for-all it was when you were twenty-two and that the honest answer is more likely to be, "Actually, last night my married lover appeared wearing suspenders and a darling little Angora crop-top, told me he was gay/a sex addict/a narcotic addict/a commitment phobic and beat me up with a dildo," than, "Super, thanks."

    Geoffrey, "Fine," at which point he boomed, "So you still haven't got a feller!"

    girls! I don't know! Can't put it off forever, you know. Tick-tock-tick-tock."

    married?" roared Brian Enderby (married to Mavis, used to be president of the Rotary in Kettering), waving his sherry in the air. Fortunately my dad rescued me.

    "Your mother has the entire Northamptonshire constabulary poised to comb the county with toothbrushes for your dismembered remains. Come and demonstrate your presence so I can start enjoying myself. How's the be-wheeled suitcase?"

   

   

    hadn't turned up, but Mark Darcy ... Yuk. Every time my mother's rung up for weeks it's been, "Of course you remember the Darcys, darling. They came over when we were living in Buckingham and you and Mark played in the paddling pool!" or, "Oh! Did I mention Malcolm and Elaine are bringing Mark with them to Una's New Year's Day Turkey Curry Buffet? He's just back from America, apparently. Divorced. He's looking for a house in Holland Park. Apparently he had the most terrible time with his wife. Japanese. Very cruel race."

    darling? Malcolm and Elaine's son? He's one of these super-dooper top-notch lawyers. Divorced. Elaine says he works all the time and he's terribly lonely. I think he might be coming to Una's New Year's Day Turkey Curry Buffet, actually."

    do shag Mark Darcy over the turkey curry, won't you? He's very rich."

    had time to get a drink down me. Being set up with a man against your will is one level of humiliation, but being literally dragged into it by Una Alconbury while caring for an acidic hangover, watched by an entire roomful of friends of your parents, is on another plane altogether.

    his back to the room, scrutinizing the contents of the Alconburys' bookshelves: mainly leather-bound series of books about the Third Reich, which Geoffrey sends off for from Reader's Digest. It struck me as pretty ridiculous to be called Mr. Darcy and to stand on your own looking snooty at a party. It's like being called Heathcliff and insisting on spending the entire evening in the garden, shouting "Cathy" and banging your head against a tree.

    got someone nice for you to meet."

    harmless navy sweater was actually a V-neck diamond-patterned in shades of yellow and blue--as favored by the more elderly of the nation's sports reporters. As my friend Tom often remarks, it's amazing how much time and money can be saved in the world of dating by close attention to detail. A white sock here, a pair of red braces there, a gray slip-on shoe, a swastika, are as often as not all one needs to tell you there's no point writing down phone numbers and forking out for expensive lunches because it's never going to be a runner.

    all pink and fluttery. "Bridget works in publishing, don't you, Bridget?"

    Capital radio phone-in and was about to ask Una if I could "say hello" to my friends Jude, Sharon and Tom, my brother Jamie, everyone in the office, my mum and dad, and last of all all the people at the Turkey Curry Buffet.

    "Durr! I expect you're sick to death of us old fuddy-duddies."

    attempt at a smile, at which Una, after rolling her eyes, putting a hand to her bosom and giving a gay tinkling laugh, abandoned us with a toss of her head to a hideous silence.

    lately?" he said.

   

    book. The trouble with working in publishing is that reading in your spare time is a bit like being a dustman and snuffling through the pig bin in the evening. I'm halfway through Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus, which Jude lent me, but I didn't think Mark Darcy, though clearly odd, was ready to accept himself as a Martian quite yet. Then I had a brainwave.

    haven't exactly read it as such, but feel I have as Sharon has been ranting about it so much. Anyway, completely safe option as no way diamond-pattern-jumpered goody-goody would have read five-hundred-page feminist treatise.

    you find there was rather a lot of special pleading?"

    a way to get off the subject. "Have you been staying with your parents over New Year?"

   

    actually." I gabbed nervously so that Una and Mum wouldn't think I was so useless with men I was failing to talk to even Mark Darcy. "But then I do think New Year's resolutions can't technically be expected to begin on New Year's Day, don't you? Since, because it's an extension of New Year's Eve, smokers are already on a smoking roll and cannot be expected to stop abruptly on the stroke of midnight with so much nicotine in the system. Also dieting on New Year's Day isn't a good idea as you can't eat rationally but really need to be free to consume whatever is necessary, moment by moment, in order to ease your hangover. I think it would be much more sensible if resolutions began generally on January the second."

    bolted off toward the buffet, leaving me standing on my own by the bookshelf while everybody stared at me, thinking, "So that's why Bridget isn't married. She repulses men."

    that. They kept making me walk round with trays of gherkins and glasses of cream sherry in a desperate bid to throw me into Mark Darcy's path yet again. In the end they were so crazed with frustration that the second I got within four feet of him with the gherkins Una threw herself across the room like Will Carling and said, "Mark, you must take Bridget's telephone number before you go, then you can get in touch when you're in London."

    up my neck. Now Mark would think I'd put her up to it.

    Mrs. Alconbury," he said. Humph. It's not that I wanted him to take my phone number or anything, but I didn't want him to make it perfectly obvious to everyone that he didn't want to. As I looked down I saw that he was wearing white socks with a yellow bumblebee motif

    genuine reason for coming over, which was quite definitely gherkin-based rather than phone-number-related.

   

   

   

   

   

   

    marched him over toward me and stood just behind while he said stiffly, "Do you need driving back to London? I'm staying here but I could get my car to take you."

   

   

   

    my trains in the morning."

2 a.m. Oh, why am I so unattractive? Why? Even a man who wears bumblebee socks thinks I am horrible. Hate the New Year. Hate everyone. Except Daniel Cleaver. Anyway, have got giant tray-sized bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk left over from Christmas on dressing table, also amusing joke gin and tonic miniature. Am going to consume them and have fag.

130 lbs. (terrifying slide into obesity--why? why?), alcohol units 6 (excellent), cigarettes 23 (v.g.), calories 2472.

9 a.m. Ugh. Cannot face thought of going to work. Only thing which makes it tolerable is thought of seeing Daniel again, but even that is inadvisable since am fat, have spot on chin, and desire only to sit on cushion eating chocolate and watching Xmas specials. It seems wrong and unfair that Christmas, with its stressful and unmanageable financial and emotional challenges, should first be forced upon one wholly against one's will, then rudely snatched away just when one is starting to get into it. Was really beginning to enjoy the feeling that normal service was suspended and it was OK to lie in bed as long as you want, put anything you fancy into your mouth, and drink alcohol whenever it should chance to pass your way, even in the mornings. Now suddenly we are all supposed to snap into self-discipline like lean teenage greyhounds.

10 p.m. Ugh. Perpetua, slightly senior and therefore thinking she is in charge of me, was at her most obnoxious and bossy, going on and on to the point of utter boredom about latest half-million-pound property she is planning to buy with her rich-but-overbred boyfriend, Hugo: "Yars, yars, well it is north-facing but they've done something frightfully clever with the light."

    tight red skirt with a bizarre three-quarter-length striped waistcoat strapped across it. What a blessing to be born with such Sloaney arrogance. Perpetua could be the size of a Renault Espace and not give it a thought. How many hours, months, years, have I spent worrying about weight while Perpetua has been happily looking for lamps with porcelain cats as bases around the Fulham Road? She is missing out on a source of happiness, anyway. It is proved by surveys that happiness does not come from love, wealth or power but the pursuit of attainable goals: and what is a diet if not that?

    chocolate tree decorations and a 3.69 [pounds sterling] bottle of sparkling wine from Norway, Pakistan or similar. I guzzled them by the light of the Christmas tree, together with a couple of mince pies, the last of the Christmas cake and some Stilton, while watching Eastenders, imagining it was a Christmas special.

    fat splurging out from my body. Never mind. Sometimes you have to sink to a nadir of toxic fat envelopment in order to emerge, phoenix-like, from the chemical wasteland as a purged and beautiful Michelle Pfeiffer figure. Tomorrow new Spartan health and beauty regime will begin.

    being v. successful and clever. He was being v. funny today, telling everyone about his aunt thinking the onyx kitchen-roll holder his mother had given her for Christmas was a model of a penis. Was really v. amusing about it. Also asked me if I got anything nice for Christmas in rather flirty way. Think might wear short black skirt tomorrow.

131 lbs. (state of emergency now as if fat has been stored in capsule form over Christmas and is being slowly released under skin), alcohol units 5 (better), cigarettes 20, calories 700 (v.g.).

4 p.m. Office. State of emergency. Jude just rang up from her portable phone in flood of tears, and eventually managed to explain, in a sheep's voice, that she had just had to excuse herself from a board meeting (Jude is Head of Futures at Brightlings) as she was about to burst into tears and was now trapped in the ladies' with Alice Cooper eyes and no makeup bag. Her boyfriend, Vile Richard (self-indulgent commitment phobic), whom she has been seeing on and off for eighteen months, had chucked her for asking him if he wanted to come on holiday with her. Typical, but Jude naturally was blaming it all on herself.

    rather than need. Oh, if only I could turn back the clock."

    scheduled for 6:30 in Cafe Rouge. I hope I can get away without bloody Perpetua kicking up.

11 p.m. Strident evening. Sharon immediately launched into her theory on the Richard situation: "Emotional fuckwittage," which is spreading like wildfire among men over thirty. As women glide from their twenties to thirties, Shazzer argues, the balance of power subtly shifts. Even the most outrageous minxes lose their nerve, wrestling with the first twinges of existential angst: fears of dying alone and being found three weeks later half-eaten by an Alsatian. Stereotypical notions of shelves, spinning wheels and sexual scrapheaps conspire to make you feel stupid, no matter how much time you spend thinking about Goldie Hawn and Susan Sarandon.

    armor to wriggle out of commitment, maturity, honor and the natural progression of things between a man and a woman."

    of our mouths and sinking down into our coats. After all, there is nothing so unattractive to a man as strident feminism.

    holiday with him?" yelled Sharon. "What is he talking about?"

    are like Richard. At which point Sharon started on a long illustrative list of emotional fuckwittage in progress in our friends: one whose boyfriend of thirteen years refuses even to discuss living together; another who went out with a man four times who then chucked her because it was getting too serious; another who was pursued by a bloke for three months with impassioned proposals of marriage, only to find him ducking out three weeks after she succumbed and repeating the whole process with her best friend.

    daring to refuse to compromise in love and relying on our own economic power. In twenty years' time men won't even dare start with fuckwittage because we will just laugh in their faces," bellowed Sharon.

    in with a stunning blonde who was about eight times as attractive as him. He ambled over to us to say hi.

   

    we're just sleeping together. I ought to stop it really, but, well ...," he said, smugly.

    schmuck. Right. I'm going to talk to that woman," said Sharon, getting up. Jude and I forcibly restrained her while Alex, looking panic-stricken, rushed back, to continue his fuckwittage unrumbled.

    stop beating herself over the head with Women Who Love Too Much and instead think more toward Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus, which will help her to see Richard's behavior less as a sign that she is codependent and loving too much and more in the light of him being like a Martian rubber band which needs to stretch away in order to come back.

   

   

    gym and see her personal shopper before work starts at 8:30 (mad)--Sharon and I suddenly were filled with remorse and self-loathing for not advising Jude simply to get rid of Vile Richard because he is vile. But then, as Sharon pointed out, last time we did that they got back together and she told him everything we'd said in a fit of reconciliatory confession and now it is cripplingly embarrassing every time we see him and he thinks we are the Bitch Queens from Hell--which, as Jude points out, is a misapprehension because, although we have discovered our Inner Bitches, we have not yet unlocked them.

What People are Saying About This

Nick Hornby
Helen Fielding is one of the funniest writers alive and Bridget Jones is a creation of comic genius.
From the Publisher
“Screamingly funny!”
USA Today

“Bridget Jones is channeling something so universal and (horrifyingly) familiar that readers will giggle and sigh with collective delight.”
Elle

“Fielding . . . has rummaged all too knowingly through the bedrooms, closets, hearts, and minds of women everywhere.”
Glamour

“Hilarious and poignant.”
The Washington Post

“Bridget Jones’s diary has made her the best friend of hundreds of thousands of women.”
The New York Times

“A brilliant comic creation. Even men will laugh.”
Salman Rushdie

Meet the Author

Helen Fielding, a journalist and a novelist, is the author of three Bridget Jones novels, including Bridget Jones’s Diary, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, and Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy. Her other novels include Cause Celeb and Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination. She also co-wrote the screenplays for the blockbuster movie adaptations of the first two Bridget Jones books as well as for the forthcoming Working Titles film Bridget Jones's Baby (in theaters September 2016); which she is also an executive producer. Follow her on Twitter @bridgetjoneshf.

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Bridget Jones's Diary 4.2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 295 reviews.
BANCHEE_READS More than 1 year ago
If you haven't read this book-- it's a must-- it's a classic early version of Chick Flick. This is an outrageously funny book and yet sincere in it's look at the inside view of a gal with a few extra lbs and being single in the 90's. Still a national best seller. It is so much fun for anyone who tries to lose weight or is on a diet (isn't that all of us) in the course of the book she loses 72 lbs and gains 74 -- hilarious or is it? A droll sense of humor, a strong emphasis on how we look and how we relate to men-- will give any female reader much to think about and chuckle about too. Do you want to lose 7 lbs, stop smoking and develop inner poise-- well see how Bridget does or doesn't do all of that in Bridget Jones diary.Fast summer read-- great airplane reading, fun reading for a mom who has to read in short breaks between kids, food, family and chaos! Good re-reading too....keep it at the summer house for guests.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I didn't go in with high expectations, but it was charming, cute, real and HILARIOUS! All in all, it was worth my time!
Nomad0321 More than 1 year ago
I really loved the movie Bridget Jones's Diary, so I was curious about the book. I read it over the course of 2 days and I loved it! There were several times throughout the book I busted out laughing. Of course, I am the target demographic (early 30's, single), so I could relate to a lot of what Bridget faced in the book. That's not to say women of most any age couldn't enjoy the read. I think if you liked the movie, you will like the book. And while some of the same scenarios happen in the movie as the book, they are generally in a totally different context. I'd go so far as to say the movie was "inspired by" the book rather than scripted from the book. If I'm ever feeling down-n-out, this will be my go to book. The reason I gave it 4 stars istead of 5 is that I believe $12.99 is too much to pay for 1) an eBook 2) a book which is a total of 205 pages and 3) has been around for 11 years.
Guest More than 1 year ago
This book is wonderful. If you find that you prefer classics to remain classics (the storyline is based on Jane Austen's 'Pride and Predjudice') then this book is perhaps not for you, but it is a book for anyone who loves to laugh. Bridget is the ultimate heroine and I find that any modern woman can relate to at least one of her excursions and revel in the humility and hilarity of them. Men too can also enjoy 'Bridget' as can teenagers (I know as I happen to be one), but best of all, no matter how many times you read this, you will still find it hilarious!
Bookworm1951 More than 1 year ago
Unusual but enjoyable. Very funny in parts and in others, not so much. Bridget obsesses about everything in life. There were times when I found the repetition somewhat overdone. Some foul language and sexual situation. Adult content and theme. Overall, a nice, rather light read.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
a great escape!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
The book was very British or whatever. Some parts/phrases were hard to understand. But it had some funny parts. Her life is one big 'FML' moment.
Lindsie More than 1 year ago
This was a good read, although I did enjoy the movie a bit more. Bridget Jones is very funny; I loved how she tracked EVERYTHING in her diary.. especially how she lost 72lbs and gained 74 throughout the whole year. All in all, the book had some funny moments, but others that just made me roll my eyes; like Bridgets mother becomming a criminal. C+
Readingmama2006 More than 1 year ago
I could not stop laughing! and sadly alot of it is relatable.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I have never said this before...I thught the movie was better.
LiteraryOmnivore More than 1 year ago
fluffy cotton candy for the brain. Enjoyable, but gone before you know it.
bonnie peine More than 1 year ago
A fun read.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I had to read this book because I absolutely LOVE the movie. This is one case where the movie is actually better than the book. The journal entry style of writing is cute at first but then became a bit tedious towards the end. Good or bad I still had to read it but I think this one will probably sit on my book shelf for a long time.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Absolutely loved this book. Witty humor and enaging throughout. Def recommend this novel..also better then the movie.
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I would read any b,j. zbooks
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