God damn- you know what I really do not want to do? Is read this fucking book for my boss. Yet another goddamn fucking 400 page book from (REDACTED AGENT) about rich women in New York, wives of bankers who live in the Upper East Side and in the Hamptons, jockeying for status over certain addresses and their ability to hire certain in-demand caterers for their weddings. But oh no, a slightly more old money WASPy family has secured this caterer, or worse still, some noveau riche provincial, or Russian, with much more money than the Jewish but still Spence and Harvard type WASP-assimilated protagonists. I cannot stand to read even one more word about this world. Particularly another word written by a wealthy woman who comes form one or more generations of prosperous artists or novelists. I cannot– this is some hideous punishment, you know, getting this call on Friday and knowing, knowing, that it was either (REDACTED WILLIAM MORRIS AGENT) or (REDACTED ICM AGENT) calling with another book written by a woman in her 40’s who grew up somewhat but not cartoonishly wealthy on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, lampooning in what they think is microscopic detail the quirks of this demimonde, of like, bankers and stuff, and you know, delightfully skewering this world in a way that they think will be relatable to some person in St. Louis whose house was foreclosed on by some financial entity three times removed from the employers of the male side characters in the book, so you know, it’s of the moment.
And we are satirizing them, see. So, if you hate these people, you will want to read about these people being satirized, except anyone who’s ever read a book before knows that this has already been so completely nailed by Tom Wolfe and Brett Easton Ellis, men who came from slightly outside this world. And let’s admit that it’s the men in this world who matter. This is a retrograde corner of society where the women don’t work; they jockey for position in the world of museum board fundraisers and etc., and and these marginal and identical women have had their marginalness and identicalness adequately lampooned in BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES and LESS THAN ZERO, to the extent that not one more word of lampooning and skewering is needed for them, I fucking get it.
And maybe the best thing to do here is not lampoon them, not skewer them, not make some kind of delightful biting social satire that requires going into great detail about the superficiality of their lives, and really delving as deep as the tiny minds of these writers are capable of delving into the superficiality, and then only suggesting at an undercurrent of humanity, or honesty, or in some cases AMERICAN PSYCHO-eque murderousness. Maybe the thing to do is approach these characters honestly and get into their minds in the only way this is possible, by getting into your own mind, and getting really honest with yourself about your own shallowness or whatever, but also your own pain and triumphs and insights, etc., and writing a real , honest novel about these people and their world, which is ultimately, you know, going to be a real honest novel about anyone’s world, and thus unbelievably compelling and make us all look at ourselves in insightful ways and feel less alone.
delicioustacos 
love it! when is your novel coming out?
Seconded.