I read this book in less than 24 hours. I was putting out the bargin bin at the bookstore where I work when suddenly a terrible title caught my eye. "How many pages 'til they reference Audrey Hepburn or Truman Capote?" I wondered, taking it behind the counter with me.
Never is the answer, by the way, unless I very much missed something.
The entire time I was reading this book I felt that I should not be. It was a guilty pleasure with more guilt than pleasure. A cutesy-but-creepy story about a girl, her imaginary friend and her drama-queen (literally) mother. And I LIKED it. How did this happen? Am I really so Cinderella-vs-Evil Stepmother BASIC? Maybe.
I cannot really recommend this book. It "happened" to me, it "followed me home" and, heck, I enjoyed it- but I would not dream of forcing that much literary sugar-coating down anyone else's throat.
Literary junk-foodie? Be my guest.