"I am sick and tired of people asking how married life is treating me."
This first sentence from Ann B. Ross's Miss Julia's School of Beauty should have been my first clue. This was simply not the book for me.
I like to pick books outside my preferred genres to find out how other writers and readers live. I previously read Miss Julia Hits the Road (Southern Comedy of Manners). I found most of the characters mildly amusing and enjoyed the setting in the South where I lived for ten years. It wasn't my favorite book, but it was a fun jaunt to hear during my daily commutes. I could understand how Ross built a following of loyal southern readers.
Unfortunately The School of Beauty book left me cold. I actually skipped three of the CD discs and went straight to the final CD to confirm my view of how it would all end.
The first sentence of complaint should have been enough foreshadowing for me to have stopped the audio book immediately. Let me explain. I have been single for over eighteen years. If I had met someone since that time who was worthy of marriage, I am sure I would be married. I understand marriage is not day after day of wedded bliss. It is work, courage, understanding and a choice every day of your life.
Yet the lead character, Miss Julia, follows this complaint with page after page of lament. And, she has only been married for three weeks. She does her best to try to lose the best thing that ever happened to her. Miss Julia has plenty of money to live without working for the rest of her life. She has friends and family and a man who loves her (only God knows why) at her side. Her rants about her perceived problems continue until the final page of the book. I think the better title for Miss Julia's School of Beauty should more aptly be Miss Julia's School of Ungratefulness.
I realize Ross's followers may disagree but I cannot find humor nor interest in this book or its outcome. I only hope her other books do not follow this same pattern. There is a lot to be said for gratitude and I hope Miss Julia finds it.
