If I think of this novel as being a palette-cleanser of the relative intensity l've been reading recently, I almost become a lot less critical of it. I needed a novel that was a bit lighter, fluffier and less self-aware of demonstrating a million and one literary mechanisms. However, note the word almost. There was still something sorely lacking for me, or maybe because I like Lauren Graham so much I wanted it to be better and it just wasn't. 
 Graham has the tools to be a great writer. If we include her credentials (BA in English from Barnard, the ability to portray highly literate, lightening-speed talking Lorelai Gilmore) amongst the moments of truly witty, evocative writing, it's almost difficult to believe that this novel wasn't better. However, the novel is formulaic. Frances Banks is like every Bridget Jones esque character of the last twenty years: infinitely likeable but only saved because the author relies on the tired old thing of deus ex machina. Graham does this too many times. (view spoiler)[Whether it be Franny just in time realising James is abhorrent and Dan is the man of her dreams or somehow managing to extend her self-imposed deadline a week before the end because she just so happens to score a television pilot, at times it seems a bit contrived. (hide spoiler)] 
 That's not to say I didn't like it. As I said, Franny is sympathetic and the friendship between she and Jane comes off as very believable. I read the book in very quickly; it was easy reading and I'm sure that's what Graham intended it to be. It was fun and didn't take itself too seriously. It's certainly not going to change the world of literature, though, and it tells nothing new about its rather trite subject matter.