There's infinite evidence that every good story gets murdered by its own success unless someone, a brave someone, takes the ax to the chopping block to save the good while it's still going strong. As famously said by Faulkner, "In writing, you must kill all your darlings."
If only HBO had put down the Manolos and grabbed something from Trash and Vaudeville instead, then Carrie, the most beloved sex and lifestyle columnist ever to put pen to paper, would have survived her Hollywood makeover to be a character with real idiosyncrasies, instead of self-conscious, contrived ones. The fresh, almost word-vomit style of author Candace Bushnell’s advice column stunned the world into agreement with its independently minded women navigating the sexual, and more importantly social, world of America’s elite. When her musings for the New York Observer were bound into the 1997 Sex and the City anthology, it was a skeleton of society happenings and afterhours adventures of independent, single women, NOT a girls quad, chick lit novel.
As some have rightly said, Bushnell belongs with canonized greats such as Edith Wharton for giving a voice to an entire generation of woman—ushering in what was deigned the "New Girl Order," and a freer, more complete look at what women want. Even Bushnell's choice to use the pseudonym Carrie does nothing to blunt the truths of her pen. Instead, in many ways, it makes the character more applicable to every woman.
For readers of the columns and the book, this is not a new truth. But to the viewers of the show, or even the big screen adaptations, it’s a good step away from the overall petty feeling of Darren Star’s adaptation, especially as Carrie’s narrative continues into the later seasons. Don’t believe me? Read the first paragraph of this article, and then watch the first five minutes of the movie (currently streaming on American Netflix) and tell me there isn’t an immediate difference.
In an endlessly sarcastic tirade, Bushnell breaks down the secret barriers in her fly-on-the-wall style and gives readers a portrait that sometimes, unapologetically, has no bright side. Men are after beautiful, easy to sleep with women, but the women are also openly chasing after beautiful, easy to sleep with men. It’s sometimes harsh and definitely unsympathetic about human tendency. It’s also unashamed. And it’s real.
One of my favorite columns comes at the end of Carrie’s and Big’s relationship—one that is not romanticized in the writings as it is on the television show and for good reason. It illustrates the long and painful process of Carrie and Big saying goodbye. There's no mention of shoes, no alluding to the materialism we've come to associate with Sarah Jessica Parker's portrayal; there’s only a woman on the brink of a major life change, grappling with her sanity and the implications of her decisions.
I don't think all fans of the show will love the book; in fact, I assume that most of them won't, even if some of the storylines are familiar. What readers take away is an undeniable sense that despite the glamour and the money and the parties, the people whose lives we dream of living have the same problems we do, and that's either a curse or a comfort.
About Cassie: Cassie is a culture junkie and digital nomad writing about fashion, books and entertainment. She’s a big fan of classic Adidas Superstars, boxer braids and Mom jeans, and she dares you to convince her otherwise.
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