✅ Poštovné ZADARMO nad 39€ ✅ Knižná akcia každý mesiac ✅ Bezpečný nákup
7:15 am Hurrah! The wilderness years are over. For four weeks and five days now have been in functional relationship with adult male thereby proving am not love pariah as previously feared. So begins The Edge of Reason, Bridget Jones' hilarious foray into the not-so-sexy realities of relationships, the laughable legions of self-help theories and a television career that would have her model "tiny shorts next to a blow-up of Fergie in gym wear". Picking up where Bridget Jones' Diary left off, everyone's favourite singleton has finally landed her love, Mark Darcy. However, she's finding--among other things--that her dreamboat is less than ideal. Aside from never doing the washing up or foraging through the isles at Tesco, Mark, it seems, has taken an interest in the viperous "jellyfish" Rebecca, who has "thighs like a baby giraffe" and a penchant for boyfriend snatching. If that isn't enough, Richard "I'm thinking bunny girl! I'm thinking Gladiator! I'm thinking canvassing MP!" Finch, Bridget's smarmy, cocaine-encrusted boss and Executive Producer of Sit Up, wants her to be the show's clown, in effect making her the arse of television. What's more, a builder who has an obsession for large, slimy fish seems to have forgotten about the hole he knocked out in her flat, putting her entire life on display for the neighbours. Not to mention a mother who wants her to go to see Ms. Saigon with a Kikuya tribesman hijacked from Kenya. Never fear, Bridge's singleton posse--Shazzer, Jude and Tom--are always a phone call away and armed with bottles of Chardonnay, packs of Silk Cut, pizza and a cornucopia of self-help literature. Whether they're decoding acronyms in singles ads (GSOH and WLTM? "Giant sore on head. Willy, limp, thin mollusc."), developing the ground-breaking "Pashima theory" or dolling out unsolicited advice, the FOBs (friends of Bridget) make up most of the comedy. Although The Edge of Reason is filled with signature B.J. manoeuvres, such as drunken Christmas card writing and wearing an unruly rubber girdle, it's a departure from the original. Throughout most of its 422 pages the plot clips at a steady rate, then, much like Bridget's train of thought, the ending skitters, careens and breaks off into two incoherent tracks--one more absurd than the other. The outcome is a metamorphosed Bridget, one more reminiscent of a British Alley McBeal than the personification of England's everywoman. --Rebekah Warren
