{"product_id":"my-not-so-perfect-life-isbn-9780812987713","title":"My Not So Perfect Life","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNEW YORK TIMES \u003c\/i\u003eBESTSELLER • Part love story, part workplace drama, this sharply observed novel is a witty critique of the false judgments we make in a social-media-obsessed world, from the author of \u003ci\u003eThe Party Crasher\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eLove Your Life.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sophie Kinsella keeps her finger on the cultural pulse, while leaving me giddy with laughter.”—Jojo Moyes, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Giver of Stars\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Last Letter from Your Lover\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Everywhere Katie Brenner looks, someone else is living the life she longs for, particularly her boss, Demeter Farlowe. Demeter is brilliant and creative, lives with her perfect family in a posh townhouse, and wears the coolest clothes. Katie’s life, meanwhile, is a daily struggle—from her dismal rental to her oddball flatmates to the tense office politics she’s trying to negotiate. No wonder Katie takes refuge in not-quite-true Instagram posts, especially as she's desperate to make her dad proud.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then, just as she’s finding her feet—not to mention a possible new romance—the worst happens. Demeter fires Katie. Shattered but determined to stay positive, Katie retreats to her family’s farm in Somerset to help them set up a vacation business. London has never seemed so far away—until Demeter unexpectedly turns up as a guest. Secrets are spilled and relationships rejiggered, and as the stakes for Katie’s future get higher, she must question her own assumptions about what makes for a truly meaningful life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sophie Kinsella is celebrated for her vibrant, relatable characters and her great storytelling gifts. Now she returns with all of the wit, warmth, and wisdom that are the hallmarks of her bestsellers to spin this fresh, modern story about presenting the perfect life when the reality is far from the truth.“A sparkling, witty novel about social media and the stories we tell ourselves.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePeople\u003c\/i\u003e (Book of the Week)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The soul of this book concerns female friendship. . . . What ensues has a touch of real wisdom [and] will satisfy Kinsella diehards as well as new readers.”\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—The Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You’ll relate hard and root harder for Londoner Katie, whose quarterlife crisis feels even worse thanks to the Insta-perfect people all around her.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eCosmopolitan\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A joy to read . . . Themes of friendship, love and living your true life rise to the top.”\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—USA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The book is fun, as Kinsella’s books are, but it delivers a strong positive message, as well. . . . Kinsella creates a solid, likable character—one that I got to know and root for throughout the book.”\u003cb\u003e—Fairfield\u003ci\u003e Daily Republic\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This is a really funny and relatable story about working women, women’s relationships with each other and one plucky heroine’s journey. This is a perfect pick-me-up.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Parkersburg News and Sentinel\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[There are ] many laugh-out-loud hilarious moments in this feel-good novel about social media and personal branding, and the hectic realities behind our perfect online lives.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBustle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Pure escapist fun.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePopSugar\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This latest stand-alone from bestselling author Kinsella is top-notch, thanks to a lovable, slightly flawed leading lady, many true-life situations, and loads of giggle-inducing humor. As Bridget Jones would say, ‘Well done!’”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Another outstanding novel . . . a perfect combination of fun, laughable moments rounded out with some deep-seated family and relationship issues.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sophie Kinsella keeps her finger on the cultural pulse, while leaving me giddy with laughter. I loved it.”\u003cb\u003e—Jojo Moyes\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Katie is a winning heroine. . . . Kinsella creates characters that are well-rounded, quirky, and a complete joy to read.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Driven by Katie’s witty observations and numerous missteps as she attempts to reconcile various aspects of her identity, this novel is smartly satirical and entertaining.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eSophie Kinsella\u003c\/b\u003e was a writer and financial journalist. She was the #1 bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eCan You Keep a Secret?, The Undomestic Goddess, Remember Me?, Twenties Girl, I’ve Got Your Number, Wedding Night, My Not So Perfect Life, Surprise Me, The Burnout, What Does It Feel Like?, \u003c\/i\u003ethe hugely popular Shopaholic novels, and the young adult novel \u003ci\u003eFinding Audrey\u003c\/i\u003e. She passed away in 2025.\u003cb\u003eCHAPTER ONE\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFirst: It could be worse. As commutes go, it could be a lot worse, and I must keep remembering this. Second: It’s worth it. I \u003ci\u003ewant \u003c\/i\u003eto live in London; I \u003ci\u003ewant \u003c\/i\u003eto do this; and commuting is part of the deal. It’s part of the London experience, like Tate Modern.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e(Actually, it’s not much like Tate Modern. Bad example.)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy dad always says: If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay under the porch. And I want to run with the big dogs. That’s why I’m here.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnyway, my twenty-minute walk to the station is fine. Enjoyable, even. The gray December air is like iron in my chest, but I feel good. The day’s begun. I’m on my way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy coat’s pretty warm, even though it cost £9.99 and came from the flea market. It had a label in it, Christin Bior, but I cut it out as soon as I got home. You can’t work where I work and have Christin Bior in your coat. You could have a genuine vintage Christian Dior label. Or something Japanese. Or maybe no label because you make your clothes yourself out of retro fabrics that you source at Alfies Antiques.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut \u003ci\u003enot \u003c\/i\u003eChristin Bior.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs I get near Catford Bridge, I start to feel a knot of tension. I \u003ci\u003ereally \u003c\/i\u003edon’t want to be late today. My boss has started throwing all sorts of hissy fits about people “swanning in at all times,” so I left an extra twenty minutes early, in case it was a bad day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI can already see: It’s a god-awful day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey’ve been having a lot of problems on our line recently and keep canceling trains with no warning. Trouble is, in London rush hour, you can’t just \u003ci\u003ecancel trains\u003c\/i\u003e. What are all the people who were planning to get on that train supposed to do? Evaporate?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs I pass through the ticket barrier I can already see the answer. They’re crowded on the platform, squinting up at the information screen, jostling for position, peering down the line, scowling at one another and ignoring one another, all at the same time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOh \u003ci\u003eGod\u003c\/i\u003e. They must have canceled at least two trains, because this looks like three trainloads of people, all waiting for the next one, clustered near the edge of the platform at strategic points. It’s mid-December, but there’s no Christmas spirit here. Everyone’s too tense and cold and Monday-morning-ish. The only festive touch consists of a few miserable-looking fairy lights and a series of warning announcements about holiday transport.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eScrewing up my nerve, I join the throng and exhale in relief as a train pulls into the station. Not that I’ll \u003ci\u003eget on \u003c\/i\u003ethis train (Get on the first train? That would be ridiculous). There are people squashed up against the steamy windows, and as the doors slide open, only one woman gets off, looking pretty crumpled as she tries to extricate herself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut even so, the crowd surges forward, and somehow a load of people insert themselves inside the train and it pulls away, and I’m that much farther forward on the platform. Now I just have to keep my place and \u003ci\u003enot \u003c\/i\u003elet that scrawny guy with gelled hair edge in front of me. I’ve taken out my earbuds so I can listen for announcements and stay poised and vigilant.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCommuting in London is basically warfare. It’s a constant campaign of claiming territory; inching forward; never relaxing for a moment. Because if you do, someone will step past you. Or step \u003ci\u003eon \u003c\/i\u003eyou.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eExactly eleven minutes later, the next train pulls in. I head forward with the crowd, trying to block out the soundtrack of angry exclamations: “Can you move down?” “There’s room inside!” “They just need to move \u003ci\u003edown\u003c\/i\u003e!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’ve noticed that people inside trains have completely different expressions from people on platforms—especially the ones who have managed to get a seat. They’re the ones who got over the mountains to Switzerland. They won’t even look up. They maintain this guilty, defiant refusal to engage: \u003ci\u003eI know you’re out there; I know it’s awful and I’m safe inside, but I suffered too, so let me just read my Kindle without bloody guilt-tripping me, OK?\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePeople are pushing and pushing, and someone’s actually shoving me—I can feel fingers on my back—and suddenly I’m stepping onto the train floor. Now I need to grab onto a pole or a handle—anything—and use it as leverage. Once your foot’s on the train, you’re in.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA man way behind me seems very angry—I can hear extra-loud shouting and cursing. And suddenly there’s a ground- swell behind me, like a tsunami of people. I’ve only experienced this a couple of times, and it’s terrifying. I’m being pushed forward without even touching the ground, and as the train doors close I end up squeezed between two guys—one in a suit and one in a tracksuit—and a girl eating a panini.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe’re so tightly wedged that she’s holding her panini about three inches away from my face. Every time she takes a bite, I get a waft of pesto. But I studiously ignore it. And the girl. And the men. Even though I can feel the tracksuit guy’s warm thigh against mine and count the stubbly hairs on his neck. As the train starts moving we’re constantly bumped against one another, but no one even makes eye contact. I think if you make eye contact on the tube, they call the police or something.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo distract myself, I try to plan the rest of my journey. When I get to Waterloo East, I’ll check out which tube line is running best. I can do Jubilee-District (takes ages) or Jubilee-Central (longer walk at the other end) or Overground (even longer walk at the other end).\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd, yes, if I’d \u003ci\u003eknown \u003c\/i\u003eI was going to end up working in Chiswick, I wouldn’t have chosen to rent in Catford. But when I first came to London, it was to do an internship in east London. (They called it “Shoreditch” in the ad. It \u003ci\u003eso \u003c\/i\u003ewasn’t Shoreditch.) Catford was cheap and it wasn’t too far, and now I just can’t face west London prices, and the commute’s not \u003ci\u003ethat \u003c\/i\u003ebad—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Aargh!” I shriek as the train jolts and I’m thrown violently forward. The girl has been thrown too, and her hand shoots up toward my face and before I know it, my open mouth has landed on the end of her panini.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWh—\u003ci\u003eWhat\u003c\/i\u003e?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’m so shocked, I can’t react. My mouth is full of warm, doughy bread and melted mozzarella. How did this even \u003ci\u003ehappen\u003c\/i\u003e?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInstinctively my teeth clench shut, a move I immediately regret. Although . . . what else was I supposed to do? Nervously, I raise my eyes to hers, my mouth still full.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sorry,” I mumble, but it comes out “Obble.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What the \u003ci\u003ef***\u003c\/i\u003e?” The girl addresses the carriage incredulously. “She’s stealing my breakfast!”\u003cbr\u003eMy head’s sweating with stress. This is bad. \u003ci\u003eBad\u003c\/i\u003e. What do I do now? Bite off the panini? (Not good.) Just let it fall out of my mouth? (Even worse. Urgh.) There’s no good way out of this situation, none.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt last, I bite fully through the panini, my face burning with embarrassment. Now I have to chew my way through a mouthful of someone else’s claggy bread, with everyone watching.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m really sorry,” I say awkwardly to the girl, as soon as I’ve managed to swallow. “I hope you enjoy the rest.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I don’t want it \u003ci\u003enow\u003c\/i\u003e.” She glares at me. “It’s got your germs on it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Well, I don’t want your germs either! It wasn’t my fault; I fell on it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You \u003ci\u003efell \u003c\/i\u003eon it,” she echoes, so skeptically that I stare at her. “Yes! Of course! I mean, what do you think—that I did that on \u003ci\u003epurpose\u003c\/i\u003e?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Who knows?” She puts a protective hand around the rest of her panini, as though I might launch myself at her and bite another chunk off. “All kinds of weird people in London.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m not weird!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You can ‘fall’ on me anytime, love,” puts in the guy in the tracksuit with a smirk. “Only don’t chew,” he adds, and laughter comes from all around the carriage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy face flames even redder, but I’m \u003ci\u003enot \u003c\/i\u003egoing to react. In fact, this conversation is over.\u003cbr\u003eFor the next fifteen minutes I gaze sternly ahead, trying to exist in my own little bubble. At Waterloo East, we all disgorge from the train, and I breathe in the cold, fumey air with relief. I stride as quickly as I can to the Underground, opt for Jubilee-District, and join the crowd round the door. As I do so, I glance at my watch and quell a sigh. I’ve been traveling for forty-five minutes already, and I’m not even \u003ci\u003enearly \u003c\/i\u003ethere.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs someone steps on my foot with a stiletto, I have a sudden flashback to Dad pushing open our kitchen door, step- ping outside, spreading his arms wide to take in the view of fields and endless sky, and saying, “Shortest commute in the world, darling. Shortest commute in the world.” When I was little, I had no idea what he meant, but now—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Move down! Will you move \u003ci\u003edown\u003c\/i\u003e?” A man beside me on the platform is yelling so loudly, I flinch. The Underground train has arrived and there’s the usual battle between the people inside the carriage, who think it’s totally crammed, and the people outside, who are measuring the empty spaces with forensic, practiced eyes and reckon you could fit another twenty people in, easy.#1 New York Times bestselling author;","brand":"Dial Press Trade Paperback","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233420718309,"sku":"NP9780812987713","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780812987713.jpg?v=1767733360","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/my-not-so-perfect-life-isbn-9780812987713","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}