Super in the City

Super in the City

by Daphne Uviller


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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780385342698
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Publication date: 01/27/2009
Series: The Zephyr Books Series
Pages: 304
Sales rank: 891,637
Product dimensions: 5.17(w) x 8.26(h) x 0.67(d)

About the Author

Daphne Uviller was superintendent of her family’s building in the West Village for ten long years. She is a former Books/Poetry editor for Time Out New York and has written for the New York Times, Washington Post, Newsday, New York, Allure, and Self. A third-generation Greenwich Village resident, she now lives in her childhood apartment with her husband and two children.

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Chapter One

The night I went to the St. Regis hotel and accidentally crashed the birthday party of the Princess of Spain was the same night I was crowned superintendent of 287 West 12th Street. Both events took me completely by surprise and both led me to Gregory the exterminator, who wound up saving me in ways I didn't even know I needed to be saved. (I don't mean saved in a Jesus way. This is not a Jesus-saving kind of story.)

To be honest, I was not even aware that Spain still had a princess until I was standing under the chandeliers in the hotel's Cavendish Room with my mouth stuffed full of her free tapas. I thought modern royalty was the purview of the British—Charles, Harry, William, tragically dead Di—something to keep the international tabloid business afloat. And I certainly didn't know I was at a birthday party. My black silk Ann Taylor sheath with cracked rhinestone brooches on the shoulder straps, a fifteen-dollar score at Housing Works Thrift Shop, was not meant to be employed in a way that would infringe upon a personally meaningful event: birthday parties, like wedding receptions, were off-limits under a set of hastily conceived crashing criteria. Tag and I had agreed upon this moral distinction a year ago, beneath the Akoustolith tiles outside the Oyster Bar in Grand Central Station, right after we were unpleasantly outed at the sixtieth birthday party for the CEO of a door-hinge distribution company.

Tanya Granger, known as Tag to distinguish her from a nursery school classmate named Tanya Tokowsky, had called me an hour earlier to announce that she was hungry.

"I've got frozen pizza and orange juice," I told her, proud of my stocked fridge.

"Julia Child would have been thrilled. No, we're going to the St. Regis for croquetas and calamares," Tag informed me. "King of Spain. An anniversary of some kind of truce. Or a trade agreement. Something."

Tag's days were bookended by strong coffee and even stronger alcohol, and not always in the order you'd expect. We'd begun crashing out of financial necessity—finding free food and drink in New York City was a crucial means of survival—but the entertainment value of our pursuit had rapidly become apparent. And Tag had been in dire need of entertaining around the time we'd started freeloading. Usually rational to a fault, she had impulsively married a Swedish businessman and divorced him six months later, all before the age of twenty-four. "Never accept a marriage proposal made immediately upon surviving the sinking of a Thai ferryboat," she'd warn me sternly, as if this was a peril that regularly presented itself.

Since her narrow escape from wedlock, she had approached fun very seriously, as seriously as she did her work on behalf of the Museum of Natural History, which required her to slit open the bellies of sharks in places like Madagascar and Borneo. Whether she had a Fallkniven F2 fisherman's knife in her hand or a dirty martini, Tag was all business, and she took charge of the ground rules.

In the bowels of Grand Central, decked out and slurping cheap chili in the food court, we agreed that proms were acceptable crash targets. Even though at twenty-seven we were hardly past our prime, we were just old enough to instill some Mrs. Robinson excitement among the restless male members of the Teaneck/Mamaroneck/New Rochelle senior class, who would otherwise be slamming into each other to the beat of "Rock Lobster." They knew we were interlopers and they welcomed fresh blood. The chaperones kept mum because our enthusiasm on the dance floor—we hit proms for the eighties music—lured the future of America into chaperonable view. Occasionally, one of the boys would look up from texting a girl on the other side of the room and approach us, probably on a dare from his friends. I would tell him I'd just served time in a federal penitentiary—self-defense, I assured him, glancing modestly at the floor—and that this was my first night of freedom. I considered it a service I was providing, making his prom night memorable for something other than a white limo and some contraband flasks.

Corporate Christmas parties were also permissible. Company shindigs were, for Tag, all about the top-shelf liquor. For me, they were glorious opportunities to gossip with people I didn't know, which made it less like gossip and more like . . . honing my empathy skills. Selena from accounts, while complaining about her new boss, Andrea, would let slip some details about her affair with her old boss, Susan—yes, that's Susan—who was married to her former boss, Robert. It was like being inside a soap opera for a few hours, and I usually couldn't resist helping myself to a cameo role. I'd pretend I was a therapist specializing in workplace conflict—Why didn't they know me? Oh, I was a friend of Tom's—and they'd listen intently to my suggestions, which I secretly thought were pretty inspired. Tag suggested more than once that this might actually be some kind of crime, but again, I preferred to think of my advice as a gift, or at least as payment for the free mini quiches we were scarfing in lieu of dinner.

Diplomatic functions, like the one we thought we were currently at: we attended those for the superb international hors d'oeuvres. We also went with open minds, receptive to the possibility of meeting people who might happen to own yachts and castles. We were not gold diggers, but rather, equal opportunity seekers: Tag wanted to give wealthy foreign dignitaries a chance to fund her next research project, while I remained open to finding true love and life-guiding inspiration at any income level. Soul, I generously acknowledged, was capable of flourishing in bodies other than those of starving writers and musicians.

These ambassador bashes were my favorites because I got to play Extreme Make-Believe, which was even more gratifying than commiserating with Selena the accountant or Sam the senior headed for SUNY Binghamton. Call it acting, call it lying, but don't knock it until you've raved to a sheik about the heather-filled fields that line your father's property in northern Scotland.

"I'm so thrilled that Papa was the younger brother," I might confide over a plate of caviar, "because although there's less, you know, money, he has fewer responsibilities. More time to herd sheep and go on quail hunts. No harm, no foul!" The sheik might or might not get the pun. (Bonus points if he did.)

Finally, I always had my own personal agenda at these parties. Aside from maybe canoeing the globe solo, there was almost nothing I wouldn't try to stop myself from thinking about Hayden Briggs for even a few hours. Crashing a party at the St. Regis didn't register high on the list of antidotes, but here I was, yet again hoping for a life-altering experience to wipe that sanity-skewering redhead from my memory.

Tonight, as Tag and I cased the crowd from the safety of the coat check room, I took in all the dark hair, dark eyes, and caramel skin and immediately began constructing a story about my brother's chain of pubs in Iceland. Because of my unmistakably non-exotic features, I could never invent a brother who owns a Middle Eastern refinery or even a measly olive grove. I'm five-foot-eight—an inch too tall for a lot of guys' tastes—and I reek of second-generation American robust good health. In the old country, I'd probably have great bone structure, but here, among the fortified cereals and protein boosts, my model potential is safely squirreled away beneath a layer of comfortable padding. I long for Jennifer Aniston's upper arms, but am secretly quite pleased with my legs, which would look spectacular in the high heels I can never bring myself to endure wearing. I have a thick mass of honey brown hair that would look similarly stunning if I could bother to blow it out. Instead, I keep it just short of nest status with a collection of bent, chipped, fifty-cent Goody barrettes. I have what Tag calls "ish" eyes—big and round (I would kill for a hint of an almond shape), but of indefinable color: greenish, grayish, blueish.

Now, I opened my ish eyes as wide as I could, threw a giant smile at the stocky scion manning the door, and made a beeline for the buffet. To crash successfully, you must move confidently.

Tag and I grabbed plates and went to work. As I reluctantly passed over the shrimp—their farming requires the destruction of mangrove trees, which are natural filters for coastal waters; ergo, shrimp farming equals death (bibliography: three-Amstel-Light lecture, Tag, 11th Street Bar, circa 2004)—a male specimen to my right asked me something in a voice so bedroom-savvy I felt the polish slide off my toenails.

I looked up. Square jaw—my weakness. Cheekbones that could have cut diamonds, another weakness. A huge flop of, yes, black hair. An Achilles'-heel trifecta.

Alas, I understood not a word out of his beautiful mouth. He smiled at me and pointed, his eyebrows raised in polite inquiry. No doubt it was the same look he gave to fellow NATO members when discussing nuclear proliferation. I could travel the world with him, starting out as his lover/assistant, and learning the ropes. Within a few years, I'd be indispensable to the entire organization. One day, I'd wield the gavel as Secretary General.

Ah. He couldn't reach the shrimp. As I forked one, then two, then—raising an inquiringly seductive eyebrow back at him—a third, I began wondering how long it would take to regain a grip on my high school Spanish, and whether there was a quickie Berlitz course in Spanish-for-flirts. As I deposited the last shrimp onto his plate, Ferdinand (why not?) gave me a questioning look regarding my shellfish abstention. Foreseeing the difficulties of miming "mangrove," I just smiled as coyly as I could while balancing a Coke in one hand and a plate of mini sardine cakes in the other. He gave me a little elbow in the side and grinned in lieu of conversation. Our kids will be gorgeous and bilingual, I thought.

Tag appeared at my side, heartlessly derailing my burgeoning courtship. "Zephyr, did they slip you one of these at the door?" She shoved a picture frame in my face. I glared at her, but she was sipping sangria and frowning at her party favor. I cast Ferdinand a helpless look. He puckered his lips, blew me a little kiss, then slipped away into the crowd. Ciao, my beloved! I mentally called after him. I mean, Adios!

"Did they?" Tag repeated, unaware that she had in all likelihood reduced me to permanent spinsterhood. The frame she was studying displayed a collage of photos of a pale and slightly bulgy-eyed beauty. There were shots of her as a grinning infant, as a pre-adolescent waving from a balcony above a herd of charging bulls, and one of her as a teenager, holding a scepter.

"Miss Spain! The party is for Miss Spain 2006," I concluded reasonably. I spotted a waiter and mentally dug around for the phrase "Do you have any more of those red and green meat things?"
"Well, if it is, they've done a lousy job. We should be able to tell right away who the celebrant is, what the occasion is, and how we're supposed to feel by being in the same room as her." Tag frowned. "I can't tell who Miss Spain is, can you?"

Tag had recently dumped the vice president of a branding company (I had eventually come to understand that his job didn't involve cattle). Evidently, he wasn't completely out of her system. She tugged at her party-crashing uniform—her wedding dress, hacked off at the thighs and dyed a Rockettes-at-Christmas red—and looked at me impatiently.

I scanned the room, but none of the women was sporting a tiara or cradling a bouquet of roses. A number of them, though, looked like Tag, which meant that the pulchritude percentage in the room was abnormally high.

It was a testament to my self-confidence that I considered Tag one of my closest friends (the label "best" friend, we had decided, was too sixth grade), because she was drop-dead gorgeous, and to stand next to her was to make yourself virtually invisible to most men (save for my loyal Ferdinand). With her full-moon brown eyes, lashes out to Jersey, lanky body with curves in only the right places, and Claudia Schiffer-like stature, all topped off by a fountain of inky black curls, Tag made even the straightest woman go tongue-tied. But when you threw in her genuine obliviousness to her beauty, proven by the fact that instead of earning a fortune on runways, she studied sharks' intestinal tapeworms and did a little dance every time she lit upon a new species, then she was someone around whom you often found your mouth actually hanging open, as if your upper and lower teeth were magnetically repelling each other.

"No idea which one she is," I said, spraying a mouthful of crumbs down my dress. As I was brushing them off, though, I got a clue. Like a punch in the gut, a brass band struck up behind us, causing Tag to spray out a mouthful of sangria.

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Super in the City 4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 22 reviews.
harstan More than 1 year ago
In New York City, twenty-seven years old Zephyr Zuckerman has quit school and a relationship so is undecided what to do next especially since unemployment makes her choices somewhat limited. Her friends encourage her to be all that she can be, but offer nothing specific as they have issues too. Divorced scientist Tag travels the world in search of a party to crash. Lucy the social worker seeks Mr. Right via ten dollar bills. Mercedes the violinist has a famous boyfriend and plenty of doubts. Professor Abigail tries the Internet for her dates.

When the super at her parents¿ Greenwich Village brownstone is taken away by the cops, Zephyr takes the job as she figures how hard is using a plunger. She begins to learn the dark criminal secrets of the tenants, which leads to two groups investigating her as the Feds assume she is working for the mob in the Village and the Mob assumes she is working for the Feds in the Village. The behavior of her friends only affirms what the Feds and the Mob believe.

Over the top of the Empire State Building, SUPER IN THE CITY is perhaps the best urban chick-lit tale in the last few years. The story line is fast-paced from the opening lies and transgressions and never slows down until the final desperate effort to clear her name before either undercover group takes drastic action. Humorous and satirical with no respites, fans will enjoy Daphne Uviller¿s irreverent biting of the Big Apple.

Harriet Klausner
Bookloverextrodinare More than 1 year ago
Enough romance and great plot. Fun to read!!!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Uviller's first novel is the kind of chick-lit I've been waiting for. Young women trying to find their way in the world are so often portrayed as spoiled, materialistic, and hungry for money and power. Uviller's novel instead focuses on the honest details of being a 20-something woman in today's New York- trying to choose a life path, indecision about work and love, flirtation, and most of all, the deep bonds of friendship that see us all through these confusing and tumultuous years. Uviller isn't afraid to be truthful- from fretting over whether to leave the tampons exposed when a new beau comes calling to the lonely feeling of a fridge filled with nothing but cheese and Ben and Jerry's, Uviller shows a New York less concerned with glamour than with the sometimes painful paths of young people finding themselves in the day-to-day and trying to discover their places in that bustling Metropolis that defines so many of our youths.
LucyB More than 1 year ago
Super in the City was fantastic! A page-turner from start to finish.

Daphne Uviller's prose is tightly crafted and her characters so real I felt like I was catching up with old friends. The rich details of life in New York City also rang true and made me love the book (and the city) even more. Good on so many levels.

A gem!!
PJPJ More than 1 year ago
Such a fun read!
Ewildflower More than 1 year ago
City girl fiction hits a high note. Entertains and edifies. Can't wait for the next one from Daphne Uviller!
jatrees on LibraryThing 24 days ago
If you like Lauren Weisberger's novels, you'll enjoy this book - Uviller shares a similar writing style, but the plot is all her own. Uviller's characters are likeable and accessible, like the sexy pest control man, the mysterious French woman with a secret door and a plethora of gentlemen callers, and the elderly neighbor who is convinced the next building-related tragedy is knocking at her door. The main character, Zephyr, is a plucky, sweet heroine who doesn't necessarily know what she wants out of life, and often feels inadequate next to her accomplished friends. With the arrest of the super in her parents' apartment building, Zephyr takes on the job and quickly learns it's not as easy as it looks.Overall, a good read for a cold winter night!
samaree on LibraryThing 24 days ago
Even though I reviewed this book soon after I received and read it (2/18 as evidenced by the rating I had given it) somehow the review has been lost. I will review this book from memory as I lost my physical library in an apartment fire May 3. The main character, Zephyr, is immature and vacuous. She is trying to unravel a mystery which turns out to be seamy and distasteful. Her love interest is brooding, distrustful and, yet somehow, way too good for the inept wannabe detective. I think this book could have focused more on her responsibilities as a super and the interesting tenants in her building without having to resort to a "Nancy Drew" whodunit plotline.
Audacity on LibraryThing 24 days ago
Super in the City has waited patiently upon my bookshelf for months, and this week I finally had a chance to sit down and consume Uviller's fun and fluffy NYC novel. I was pleased to find that the novel was not nearly as cheesy as I had anticipated, and although it often seemed a bit unorganized and cluttered, Uviller's useage of fun and creative phrases and descriptions kept me interested. The heroine, a high-strung and imaginative 20-something, was easy to relate to and charmingly scatterbrained. However, the real gems of Uviller's novel were her fun turns of phrase that popped up when least expected. This mystery/chick-lit novel boasts a unique plot and an array of characters that seem to fit certain stereotypes, but then end up surprising the reader again and again. The romantic in my squealed in delight over the $10 scene at the court house (but I'll say no more about that), and the mysterious happenings in the brownstone held my attention far more firmly than I ever expected. I look forward to reading more of Uviller's work in the future!
MissTeacher on LibraryThing 24 days ago
For lovers of fluffy chick lit far and've found a great book. For lovers of mystery or anything with more than half a brain...not so much. While the premise of the book is entertaining, and pretty much all of the supporting characters are likable, the main character Zephyr made me want to bash my head against a wall. There isn't a page in the book where this ditzy twelve-year-old in a twenty-seven-year-old's body didn't run off on some outlandish fantasy involving a random man, and fantastic career, or both. She obsesses over inane crap, and figures out the mystery a good ten pages after most intelligent readers would. The supporting cast of friends, families, lovers and ex-lovers are much more interesting and entertaining, and it would have been nice to cut Zephyr out of the book all-together to just focus on them. They, and their respective stories, are why I gave the book so high a rating. This book is light, fluffy, and fun to read, and perfect if you like to listen to grown women whining about how they don't want to grow up.
beserene on LibraryThing 24 days ago
'Super in the City' is an indulgent piece of fluff -- a very entertaining indulgent piece of fluff. Realistically, that's all I really need to say, but I suppose since it was sent to me for free, I should repay the obligation with a few details.The novel has pretensions toward crime fiction/mystery, and in fact feels a little bit like the first in a sleuth series, so I won't be surprised if a few months down the road the early reviewers list features a "Zephyr Zuckerman, P.I." sequel. The problem here, however (and this is not unique to Uviller's book, but happens frequently in various ways to many "first" books) is that the novel isn't quite sure that mystery is what it wants to be when it grows up. It also quite likes the idea of being a modern romance novel, and spends much of its time developing in that direction. On the other hand, it feels obligated, having introduced the idea at the beginning, to develop its "Sex and the City"-esque homage to urban female foursomes (in this case, occasionally a fivesome) and its love affair with New York City (occasionally feeling like "The Local's Guide to the Village"). While I am a fan of both genre crossover and thinking outside of the box (and have no inherent issue with the concept of an urban chick-lit mystery romance), the trouble here is that the novel never quite finds its balance. It becomes so focused, often for chapters at a time, on one aspect of its multi-faceted nature that it and the reader forget about, say, the mystery that's supposed to be unfolding; the shifts to the next facet are therefore awkward and feel ill-timed.Beyond its genre-identity crisis, the novel has other balance problems. Few would expect originality in a piece with such a title, and the general lack of it here doesn't trouble me -- I'm all for Renaissance-style poetic license and I believe that a little artistic "borrowing" can make a story satisfyingly familiar -- but there are moments when the writing treads painfully near the tired and the cliche. Some of the moments are obviously deliberate (really, please be deliberate), as with the opening, which includes one hopeless gem ("Gregory.... who wound up saving me in ways I didn't even know I needed to be saved.") that is thankfully, if you will forgive me, redeemed by the words immediately following: "(I don't mean saved in a Jesus way. This is not a Jesus-saving kind of story.)" Yeah, I laughed at that too. There are some snappy, funny moments here, but there are also moments where Uviller seems to forget that the uber-cheese needs to be cut with a healthy dose of wit or sarcasm, lest the reader be injured by excessive eye-rolling.Still, unbalanced as it is (not unlike some people I know), Uviller's debut entertains with a quick pace and a light story that, even in its awkward moments, is pretty enjoyable. I don't anticipate that this one will be heaped with literary awards, but if you are in the mood for an urban chick-lit mystery romance, you could do a lot worse.
MissAlissa on LibraryThing 24 days ago
I really enjoyed reading this book! It was a quick, easy read, but not so much of a typical "chick lit" book that I felt embarrassed to be reading it on the train! I was occasionally frustrated by the characters and some of the things that they did and said, but overall I thought the plot was inventive and fun, and I definitely found myself rooting for the main characters to end up together in the end.Overall, even though this was more of a light-hearted, easy read than I usually choose, I couldn't put it down! I generally only make time to read on my commute to and from work, but I was picking this book back up every chance I got. Well worth your time if you like funny and slightly mysterious love stories!
anotherjennifer on LibraryThing 24 days ago
In the wake of the former superintendant's arrest, Zephyr Zuckerman finds herself in charge of the Greenwhich Village building she has occupied her entire life. At 27, Zephyr still hasn't decided what she wants to do when she grows up, but she has no difficulty concocting ambitious, albeit farfetched, plans for herself. Zephyr's new job as super is her first foray into true responsibility and sets her life into motion, even if it isn't as exciting as she imagined.I was expecting the book to be more of a more mystery, but with the exception of a sub-plot involving an exotic French neighbor, the story is largely about Zephyr (and her potential boyfriend and her girlfriends and their potential boyfriends). I don't usually enjoy novels in the "chick lit" genre, but I liked this book as a bit of escapist fun. Zephyr and her friends were witty, self-deprecating, and had lives that were comprised of more than their dates and fashion choices.
Jadesbooks on LibraryThing 24 days ago
I really liked this story. It was a very fun and easy read. One of my favorite things was the lead character, Zephyer, she was so zany and had a very active imagination. I think she was a little slow to catch on to some things around her, but that was only because she was imagining a conspiracy going on around her at all times. She was really someone that I would have been friends with in school, and her friends were all established in their jobs but were just as silly as she was. The only draw back that I thought of while reading this, was that I would have liked to see more of her work as the super of the building. It was almost glossed over that she was the super at some parts of the story, and I had really expected to read more of how she handled her new job. Other than that, I really did enjoy this light, funny, mystery chick lit book. Worth my time.
banderson1 on LibraryThing 24 days ago
I greatly enjoyed this book. Once I picked it up it was hard to put it down. At first I found Zephyr's over active imagination a little annoying nd felt that it was delaying the story. However, once I got sed to the author's style I found her imaginative scenarios rather funny. The way her different activities throughout the story come full circle in the end is very interesting and I think made for a good ending.
DanaJean on LibraryThing 24 days ago
Daphne Uviller, you rock! I really found this debut novel to be a wonderful adventure and just fun. The story was interesting and the language had a nice flow from beginning to end. She held me from page one with her witty sense of humor and I loved the fact she didn't dumb down her references or innuendos to people, places and things. I will admit, I was a bit apprehensive when the main character, Zephyr Zuckerman had to discuss everything with her girlfriends a 'la Sex and the City. But then I realized, Sex and the City doesn't have a monopoly on a girl having a close pack of girlfriends to discuss things with, and the title may have been a tongue in cheek reference to not only the fact that Zephyr ends up being the superintendent of her parents brownstone, but to the show also. I couldn't believe how long it took Zephyr to put the pieces together to solve the mystery swirling around her, but, the fact that she's a little ADHD and her focus is easily drawn away especially when fantasizing different scenarios, allowed me to suspend disbelief and just enjoy the ride. Really nicely done and highly recommended. Kudos!So, in homage to Zephyr Zuckerman -- I can just see the author Daphne Uviller reading this review and thinking, 'that Dana Jean is one cool bitch. I think I'll fly her to New York City for my book party and put her up for the weekend--at the publisher's expense--and I'll personally show her around the town and we'll become BFF's forever. Or at the very least, maybe I'll send her an advanced reader's copy of my next novel.' :-)
eggsnhm on LibraryThing 24 days ago
Uviller herself is clearly an "angel of snarkiness and sensitivity." The book does drag a bit in the middle, but still an enjoyable read.
skrishna on LibraryThing 24 days ago
I was excited to receive Super in the City from the LibraryThing Early Reviewers program. I've received some great books from this program and I had high hopes for the novel. I think the idea of a female super in a New York City apartment building is cute and has a lot of potential; unfortunately, Super in the City doesn't seem to measure up.I have to say, I didn't really enjoy this book. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't very good either. I wonder if I'm being too harsh, though. Did I expect too much and it just not meet my expectations? Was I just not in the mood for it when I was reading it? I can't say for certain. All I can say is that Super in the City didn't hold my interest and I didn't really like the characters.The mystery within the story is interesting enough, but it seems rather offhand, as if it was added in later. Still, it's well-written and provides additional entertainment. I'd love to see a sequel to the book in which Zephyr becomes a sort of PI for hire and solves crimes. I'd definitely read that one!My main character problem was with Zephyr; I felt like she had no direction. She seemed to have the maturity level of a much younger child. She couldn't commit to anything in life because she seemed to want to do everything. While this enthusiasm is understandable in a younger adult, it is difficult to accept that a 27-year-old refuses to do anything with her life because she can't do everything. It seems immature and tantamout to some sort of tantrum - "If I can't do everything I wanna do, I'm not going to do anything!"Like I said before, I don't know if I'm being overly critical and I feel bad because it definitely wasn't a bad book. It just definitely left something to be desired and didn't really hold my interest. The idea was extremely promising and I hope that Ulliver follows up on the threads she left dangling at the end of Super in the City. Though this novel wasn't for me, I would be more than willing to give any of her future books a chance.
jmaloney17 on LibraryThing 24 days ago
I enjoyed this book more than I thought I would. It was fun and I enjoyed the silly situations. I thought that the characters could be developed a lot more. I think this is a good start for a series of books. I am definately interested in what else could possibly go on in the apartment building. What other mysteries are there to be solved? I think the now that the main character is getting her P.I. licence and her boyfriend is a cop a lot more can come of the series. I particularly think a lot could come of the SGs too. There are a lot of good beginnings in the book. I really think that the author could really make something of the book if she directed it more towards the mystery of the book. Though I enjoyed it for what it was, I really thought a lot more could have been done with it. I hope the author and publisher take another look at it.
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