Last week Meg Wolitzer wrote an essay for beatrice.com about the "Pink Ladies"....aka, the authors of chick lit.
Found here: http://www.beatrice.com/archives/001222.html
Here's a snippet of Wolitzer's thoughts on chick lit:
But the shame I want to write about here isn't sexual. It isn't graphic in any way, and yet I feel a deep unease. For I am a secret lover of chick lit. I know, I'm supposed to curl my mouth into a sneer whenever the term "chick lit" is mentioned. After all, I'm a so-called "literary" novelist, and like all such novelists I'm routinely asked to list my favorite books or influences. The names "Virginia Woolf" and "Thomas Mann" tend to spring to my lips. These are not lies; I love these writers. Yet those "other" writers--those fluffier, sunnier, pinker ones—are my guilty pleasure. Though all of them are marginally different from each other, their book covers are often pink of hue. For the sake of expedience, I will herein refer to them as the Pink Ladies.
Jennifer Weiner responded by coining Wolitzer and her "literary" sisters the "Gray Ladies." In her thoughtful essay, also for beatrice.com, she discusses the "formula" that more literary novels follow. Interesting comments.
Found here: http://www.beatrice.com/archives/001240.html#more
This fits right in with my ongoing thoughts about the worth of chick lit and how it meshes into the larger framework of literature. Read the articles and lemme know whatcha think, folks.