Princess Mia (Princess Diaries Series #9) by Meg Cabot, Hardcover | Barnes & Noble
Princess Mia (Princess Diaries Series #9)
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Princess Mia (Princess Diaries Series #9)

4.4 113
by Meg Cabot

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Now that Michael has broken things off, Mia can barely get out of bed, and her parents are making her see a therapist.

Just when things couldn't get worse, Mia uncovers an old family secret that could change the fate of the Renaldos forever.

The ninth -- and next-to-last! -- installment of the #1 bestselling Princess Diaries series is the most exciting yet.


Now that Michael has broken things off, Mia can barely get out of bed, and her parents are making her see a therapist.

Just when things couldn't get worse, Mia uncovers an old family secret that could change the fate of the Renaldos forever.

The ninth -- and next-to-last! -- installment of the #1 bestselling Princess Diaries series is the most exciting yet. With the destiny of the kingdom of Genovia in the balance, Mia has more to write about than ever -- and readers won't want to miss a minute!

Editorial Reviews

AGERANGE: Ages 12 to 18.

Mia Thermopolis, teen princess of Genovia, is in the clutches of a genuine bout of depression. Her ex-boyfriend Michael has accepted a job in Japan following Mia's ill-advised dumping of him. Her best friend refuses to speak to her, and there are libelous tabloid reports about her (nonexistent) love life. Amid this chaos, she retreats to her room, clad in ripe Hello Kitty pajamas for days. Her concerned parents force her to go to a therapist, and soon after, Mia is asked to speak to an exclusive club of influential businesswomen. In preparing for the speech, she discovers the long-lost diary of her teenage ancestor, which holds information that can permanently shake up both her family and the kingdom of Genovia. This ninth (and penultimate) book in the popular The Princess Diaries series continues in the vein of the earlier volumes and is sure to please longtime fans, but previous knowledge of the series is not required to enjoy it. Cabot's trademark humor is present, even as slightly "heavier" topics are explored. Mia's depression and subsequent treatment are presented in a light but realistic manner. As familiar characters barrel toward adulthood, they display a charming and true-to-life mix of personal growth and brooding teen angst. Readers will be drawn into this book's satisfying story and will no doubt be left waiting anxiously for the finale. Reviewer: Sherrie Williams
April 2008 (Vol. 31, No. 1)

Children's Literature - Caroline B. Hopenwasser
Life is not going smoothly for Princess Mia. Her boyfriend has broken up with her and flown off to Japan, her best friend has stopped speaking to her, and some one has started an "I Hate Princess Mia" website. No wonder she is too depressed to get out of bed. To Mia's great dismay, her father drags her to see a therapist to deal with her depression. If all this is not bad enough, Mia's grandmother is on her case to make a speech to an audience of 2000 highly successful woman, all part of an elite group that Grandmere wants to join. Though this is the ninth installment of the Princess Diaries, the story is still as fresh and interesting as ever. Though Mia is a princess she deals with all the issues and drama with which "regular" girls her age deal: a newly developing body, lost love, changing friendships, and family dynamics. Meg Cabot portrays Mia's depression with compassion and realism, providing an example for her readers as they navigate their way through the travails of high school. The reader roots for Mia as she struggles to find the inner-strength she needs to make her own way in the world. Cabot provides a believable and satisfying ending that leaves us proud of Princess Mia and wanting more. Reviewer: Caroline B. Hopenwasser

Product Details

HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date:
Princess Diaries Series, #9
Product dimensions:
5.50(w) x 8.25(h) x 0.97(d)
790L (what's this?)
Age Range:
13 - 17 Years

Read an Excerpt

The Princess Diaries, Volume IX: Princess Mia (international edition)

Friday, September 10, 9 p.m., Beauty and the Beast,
Lunt-Fontanne Theater, ladies' lounge

He hasn't called. I just checked with Mom.

I don't think it's completely fair of her to accuse me of believing the entire world revolves around my breakup with Michael. Because I don't. Really. How was I supposed to know she'd just gotten Rocky down for the night? She should turn off the ringer if he's turning into that much of a problem sleeper.

Anyway, there were no messages.

I guess I shouldn't have expected there to be. I mean, I checked on his flight, and he's not due to arrive in Japan for another fourteen hours.

And you aren't allowed to use cell phones or PDAs while you're actually in the air. At least, not for calls or text messaging.

Or answering e-mails.

But that's okay. Really, it is. He'll call.

He'll get my e-mail and then he'll call and we'll make up and everything will go back to the way it was.

It has to.

In the meantime, I just have to go on as if things were normal. Well, as normal as things can be while waiting to hear back from your boyfriend of two years with whom you've broken up, but to whom you sent an apology e-mail because you realized you were completely and unequivocably wrong.

Especially since if you don't get back together you know you'll only live a sort of half life and be destined to have a series of meaningless relationships with supermodels.

Oh, wait. That's my dad. Never mind.

But, you know. It's me, too. Minus thesupermodels.

Watching Beauty and the Beast tonight with J.P. has made me realize how completely stupid I've been this past week.

Not that I hadn't realized it already. But the show has really driven it home.

Which is especially weird, since Michael and I have never exactly seen eye to eye on the theater. I mean, I could barely get Michael ever to go with me to see the kind of shows I like, which are primarily ones involving girls in hoop skirts and things that fly down from the ceiling of the theater (such as The Phantom of the Opera and Tarzan: The Musical).

And on the few occasions he DID go with me, he spent the whole time leaning over and whispering, "I can see why this show is closing. No guy would really stand around singing to a talking teapot about how much he likes some girl. You know that, don't you? And where is the full orchestra supposed to be coming from? I mean, they're in a dungeon. It just doesn't make any sense."

Which I used to think actually ruined the whole experience. As did Michael's excusing himself every five minutes to go to the men's room on the pretense of having drunk too much water at dinner. But really he was just checking for World of Warcraft alerts on his cell phone.

But even though I'm having a nice time here with J.P. and all, I can't help wishing Michael were here to complain that Beauty and the Beast is just a cheesy Disney musical targeted at little kids, who are hardly discriminating viewers, and that the music's really bad and the whole thing is just to get the tourists to spend money on expensive T-shirts, sippy cups, and glossy theater programs.

It's especially sad he's not here, because I realized tonight that the story of Beauty and the Beast is really the story of Michael and me.

Not the beauty part (of course). And not the beast part, either.

But the part about two people who start out being friends and don't even realize they like each other until it's almost too late. . . .

That is totally us.

Except, of course, that Belle is smarter than I am. Like, would it really have mattered to Belle if the Beast, back before he ever held her captive in his castle, had hooked up with Judith Gershner, then failed to mention it?

No. Because that all happened BEFORE Belle and the Beast found each other. So what difference did it make?

Exactly: none.

I just can't believe how stupid I've been about all this. I swear, even as cheesy as it is—and, okay, I have to admit, I can see the cheese factor in it now—Beauty and the Beast has brought new clarity to my life.

Which shouldn't be all that surprising since it is, after all, a tale as old as time.

Anyway, I know in the past I've said my ideal man is one who can sit through an entire performance of Beauty and the Beast, the most romantic and beautiful story ever told, and not snicker in the wrong places (such as when the Beast is undergoing his onstage transformation into the Prince, or when the fake stuffed wolves come—well, they can't make them TOO scary, since there are little kids in the audience).

But now I realize that the only guy I've ever attended the show with who has passed that test is J.P. Reynolds-Abernathy the Fourth. He even—I couldn't help noticing— had a single tear trickling down his cheek during the scene where Belle valiantly exchanges her own life for her father's.

Michael has never cried during a Broadway show. Except in that scene where Tarzan's ape father is brutally murdered.

And that was only because he was laughing so hard.

But here's the thing: I'm starting to think that isn't necessarily a bad thing. I think guys just might be different from girls. Not just because they actually care about things like whether or not there'll ever be a Nightstalkers movie starring Jessica Biel reprising her role as Abby Whistler from Blade: Trinity.

Or because they think it's okay to sleep with Judith Gershner and never mention it to their girlfriend because it happened before they started going out....

The Princess Diaries, Volume IX: Princess Mia (international edition). Copyright © by Meg Cabot. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

Meet the Author

Meg Cabot was born in Bloomington, Indiana. In addition to her adult contemporary fiction, she is the author of the bestselling young adult fiction The Princess Diaries and The Mediator series. Over 25 million copies of her novels for children and adults have sold worldwide. Meg lives in Key West, Florida, with her husband.

Brief Biography

New York, New York
Place of Birth:
Bloomington, Indiana
B.A. in fine arts, Indiana University, 1991

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