If you happen to be perusing the shelves of many fine bookstores this week, you may find yourself confronted with a cover featuring an eerily familiar pair of eyes gazing at you underneath an 8 inch tall pouf of hair.
Yes. The Snooki book is out. Or maybe the Snooki “book”. Or perhaps, the “Snooki” book.
I don’t watch Jersey Shore but there has been no avoiding the whole Snooker-ific phenomenon. Those people are everywhere. No joke, I saw Snooki on MSNBC once. I think she got lost and wandered in or something. The guy with the abs – I’m not going to type his name because it will just encourage him to keep calling himself that – made my soul die a little by doing a safe sex PSA with Bristol Palin when they were both on that show where they danced.
(Side note: My husband once said he thought that nickname sounded like the kind of name you give yourself when you’re drunk and he was kind of impressed the guy kept it up all the time. When I explained that the nickname was actually for the guy’s abs, my husband laughed so hard the car swerved a little.)
So, anyway, yeah. I know about the Jersey Shore-lings. And though nothing about them says “Author!” to me, I was unsurprised that some enterprising editor with no pride and a lust for wealth signed Snooki to write a novel. There is certainly a market for celebrity “written” tomes out there and we all know, I’m part of that market. (But I read those books to review for you, not because I like them. Not. At. All.) But with this Snooki book, I’m drawing the line. I won’t be reading it. I thought I might as a reward to my readers if they would contribute to a fundraiser for a charity but I just can’t do it. I can’t. Because Snooki is not only not really fit to write a book, she’s barely pretending that she actually wrote this one, if this quote from USA Today if to be believed:
It was really hard because while this was in progress, I was filming Season 3,” explains Snooki, whose real name is Nicole Polizzi. “I just gave her scenarios, (a character) possibly working at a tanning salon, there has to be drama in it, fights. She would write it up, I would read it, and if I didn’t like it, I would change things, and then she would fix it for me.
In other words, Snooki’s contribution to this process was some names, a tanning salon, and the copious quantities of vomit she emitted while filming her reality show. No actual words.
This is who wrote Snooki’s book. Valerie Frankel. A real author. And her name should appear on the cover. Snooki should be listed as…I don’t know…maybe an inspiration? Plot consultant? Drunk tank expert? Whatever you call her, you can’t call her an author because she’s not one. Hell, she doesn’t even read books much less write them. And for me to pretend like that’s ok is wrong. I can’t contribute to the cheapening of the value of writing by participating in the charade of Snooki’s novel.
I’ll do a fundraiser soon, something worthy and legit. But the payoff for you all won’t be Snooki related. I’m sorry for those of you who were disappointed. But my pride and love of writing won’t let me stoop that low.
For an awesome dissertation on why NOT to read the Snooki book check out Jane Devlin’s blog post.