It's FINALLY here: the week you marked on your calendar months ago with a red Sharpie. (Or was that just us? ... Never mind.) Lauren Conrad's semi-autobiographical fiction novel, about a girl who finds herself on a hit reality show, arrived stores on Tuesday -- and because we are givers, we ran out and picked up a couple copies so that we could report back to all of you about whether it's dreadful, delicious, dull, or dishy. The answers, by the way, are: Not at all, not particularly, not as much as we thought, and not as much as it could be:
Click here to check out our entire breakdown of the merits and demerits of L.A. Candy, as spoiler-free as possible (but not completely, so beware). Or at the very least, pop on over to take a peek at the author photo. It's so STERN.
The gold standard, Nicole Richie's secretly awesome The Truth About Diamonds, refers to the Paris Hilton character as functionally retarded; compared to that, L.A. Candy is practically a love letter. [...] But the first 70 or so pages do include copious jabs at girls who move to L.A., bleach their hair, plump their lips, get boob jobs, and become generic, useless bimbos. Hello, Heidi!
Click here to check out our entire breakdown of the merits and demerits of L.A. Candy, as spoiler-free as possible (but not completely, so beware). Or at the very least, pop on over to take a peek at the author photo. It's so STERN.
