This is probably a cut above most "chick-lit" (a term I hate, because it was originally coined as one of empowerment, and has been co-opted for a great deal of bad writing that rivals Modern Career Romances, (see childhood reading) as far as I can tell) -- I actually almost picked it up in hardcover, but wound up passing until the paperback, which pleases me.
Set in the New York art world, the title refers to a gigantic painting of a young girl creating her own painting, which becomes the centerpiece of an exhibit by a barely known artist, her uncle, who is mowed down in front of the gallery by a cab hours before the opening.
Yes, it's a comic novel.
There is a clever, wry, perhaps even smart novel struggling to emerge out of whatever this one is--I didn't hate it, but I found the narrator, Mia, just a little too self-consciously naive. She has worked in the gallery for a number of years while trying to become a painter herself, but much of what she announces is transparently foreshadowing. As soon as she declares she will not fall for the photographer who is hanging around, and who must not really like her, yeah, well, of course she will, and of course he does, and it will all turn out just fine in the end, as all chick-lit must.
Which is not to say there aren't some very good moments, not the least of which are the entire description of the Lulu painting itself, the snobby, mysterious gallery owner, all the players who converge to fight over the ownership of Lulu, including the now adult niece herself (the friendship that grows between Mia and Lulu is wonderfully drawn) and the obvious inside knowledge the author has of the milieu.
So, sort of fun, definitely attentive to detail, particularly of the ridiculously over-the-top habits of the art world, and a nod to how art can shape and transform our life.
But, no masterpiece. Yeah, I did just say it.
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