There's no reader as jaded as a bookseller. Continually bombarded with press kits and promotional items, they live in a world where everything is slickly packaged and touted as "the next big thing." Is it any wonder that many booksellers are in despair of the state of publishing? That's why this unsolicited review from Mark Farley, a bookseller in charge of front-of-store and displays at the Waterstone's in Notting Hill Gate in London, meant so much to Martha and why she's chosen to include it on her site. (The Bitch Goddess Notebook is the British title for The Bitch Posse.) "The Bitch Goddess Notebook" by Martha O' Connor We all went to one of those schools, didn't we? The popular kids, the cliques, the bullying, the tears, the torment. I know I did and so, I suspect, did Martha O'Connor. Chick-Lit. Now there's a topic. I can almost feel the nervous twitching of the buttholes of the large publishing houses at just the mere frightful whisper of the term. The book world, fickle and tormented in its own self, ragged in its urine stained winter clothes and pushing an old shopping trolley laden with old rubbish and a traffic cone, crawls out from under its rock after every Christmas, mumbling, "Agenda, agenda. Summer promotional title to sell millions? Desperate for Richard and Judy's acceptance... Must see sales... Must see sales..." So many female authors seem to have distanced themselves and their precious baggage from the tag these days, in fear to be associated with the Bridget Jones adaptations that have put Chick-Lit firmly and squarely into the stratosphere that is popular culture, giving it the long awaited iconic staus and tip of the glass of chardonnay it yearned for on screen. By the second of the films of course, it looks like Chick-Lit feels right at home in Hollywood, cosy with its slippers on and a nice cup of tea. Everything seems rosy for now but to gain mass acceptance and to avoid the droning cynicism of the broadsheet reviewers back home, you must now submit like the slut you are to the slave names, 'genre fiction' and 'general fiction.' Lick my boots... Then a book comes along that changes everything. It sets a whole new benchmark for "sassy" women writers and runs to a completely new ballplate, knocking over pathetic female characters in its way with its passion, attitude and clarity. The book that will do that and stick an icy finger up the ass of every unsuspecting and curious reader this year is "The Bitch Goddess Notebook." Of all the publishers who have suited and booted for this year's assault on the Summer, Orion have a secret weapon up their sleeves and have truly hit the nail on the head. The Bitch Goddesses are not Chick-Lit. The Bitch Goddesses are not Genre Fiction. The Bitch Goddesses are not General Fiction, brothers and sisters, but yet in so many ways, they are all of the above. A walking contradiction that will comfort you and make you respect the writer for what is an amazing debut. The heart and almost anti-relationship between the characters echoes of the hard schooling of our upbringing and has a sense of the dyke pulp fiction of the 50's and the Anne Bannons of this world. Truly great contemporary feminism writing that spins subtle arias and tales of bobby socked beauty school dropouts, the pantyless Beebo Brinkers. It's storytelling that resonates some Machiavellian sense that this book will be a great modern classic in years to come, even if it means myself alone having to sell every copy to the hapless droning, promotion hunters that are so easily led, "Here, have a taste of this sweet candy..." "From which tree hast this befallen to my worn, rock scraped hands?" Part intertwined friendship drama and part coming of age thriller, Martha's rock n' roll soundtrack followed me around for days as she namechecked and referenced the likes of The Sisters of Mercy, The Smiths and They Might Be Giants. Add a little touch of Degrassi Junior High and Mark's in nostalgia heaven. He's a happy man. Ah, the eighties.... If this was a movie it would rock albeit a fairly difficult one to watch in its current format. The three main characters are featured in both 1988 and 2003, each of them as their younger and older selves, so in essence this is 6 stories, but it's gripping in its reading and surprisingly easy to follow. Never has a book had me so eager to sneak forward and find out what has happened to each person. But, you can't as all the stories are beautifully intense. I read it and had to read it again straight away. It's just so refreshing to see something come out with balls and spirit. From the very first page, I was like, "Fuck, this is good." I really hope that this has a first class campaign behind it with some energy that the book deserves because with all the marketable dross and biographies about nobodies that came out last summer, it really stagnated the industry. If I get to see "The Bitch Goddess Notebook" in the window of our vast bookstore next to the next Dan Brown and Michael Palin, I will have not have lost my faith in bookselling after all, thus dying a little happier. As for the book, I'm not telling you what happens, hell, you can find out for yourselves. "If you want something simple, you're in the wrong place. This is about revealing secrets, not tits and ass. Say it aloud: screw fairy tales and chick-lit and all forms of lying." Stuck up middle finger punk fiction. More from Mark Farley: www.geocities.com/markfarleyauthor/reviews.html www.markfarley.blogspot.com