Chloe Does Yale, a semi-autobiographical work of fiction inspired by author Natalie Krinsky’s own weekly sex advice column for the Yale Daily News is, across the board, quite entertaining. Krinsky’s hardcover debut certainly delivers the easy-reading, glossy, reassuringly familiar perspective of a “chick-lit” classic.
Krinsky's alter ego, “Chloe Carrington,” is charming in the passages spliced between her self-reflective short essays (re-formatted original articles previously published by the author). She is both wittily sarcastic and endearingly innocent, glamorous yet slightly disheveled. She is a girl who tries her darndest to solicit approval from other people, even as she struggles to maintain an identity independent of outside judgment. This is one recipe for a potentially profound statement about a persistent challenge that plays a part in every woman's life: how to confront the internal chafing of insecurities while presenting herself as both confident and competent in the outside world.
Sadly, Krinsky fell a few rungs short of the top of the women's studies ladder; despite the winning characteristics of its narrator, this is a story about a girl, not a woman. This distinction alone separates the book from the venerable category of pro-feminist literature and squarely places it in the Beach Read bin—also known as the “young-adult fiction” section. While random gems of laugh-out-loud humor complement its erratic rhythm, Chloe suffers from a self-conscious style that further encumber the already cliché-ridden text. The source of this detriment, ironically, is also the book’s greatest redeeming feature: its writer and its subject are of a particular station along the timeline of adult life—the Early Twenties or the College Years.
The storyline follows the life of a third-year undergraduate at a very competitive, academically acclaimed university. This setting alone should guarantee some interest from the thousands of students who can hear an echo of their own college experiences at places like Harvard, Stanford or Duke.
Also working in the story's favor: the clearly stated topic of discussion is Campus Sex, a subject with which every college student in the nation is intimately familiar (if familiarity may be borne of both participatory and non-participatory knowledge). The popularity of movies such as American Pie (and any film produced by MTV) is proof of the interest both male and female coeds have in the unique subculture of sex in college. The immense success and cult following of the HBO series Sex and the City demonstrates the fascination of Krinsky’s target audience, women, with analyzing the intricacies of male/female relationships. It is a fact further underscored by the entertainment industry and confirmed by exchanges overheard on the Central Campus bus, discussions among friends at brunch and jokes told at bars: hook-ups, break-ups and make-ups make for interesting conversation.
If universal relevance counts for something, then Krinsky may have hit at least one manicured nail on the head. She deserves points also for her candidness—exemplifying the most important trait of any adviser worth her words, she is close to fearless in both her quest for accurate information (via peer surveys) and her explicit reporting of answers.
Her objective to clarify and enlighten regarding various questions of sexual/dating etiquette within her demographic milieu is successfully accomplished, albeit with conclusions that aren't terribly exceptional (much like those from her obvious primary influence, Sex and the City—from whom she derives topical inspiration as well as Chloe's tributary surname, “Carrington”).
To use a rather extended analogy (a device borrowed from Chloe/Krinsky herself), this novel has all the substance of an Easter-basket Marshmallow Peep: colorful, shimmering with sugar, delightful to the palate but mostly nutritionless. Experiencing it once is pretty tasty, in that cheap-candy sort of way, but if you focus too hard on the actual content you may find yourself with a mild hyperglycemic headache and a slight sense of guilt from your indulgence.
However, as Peeps are not consumed for the purpose of protein and fiber absorption, it hardly seems fair to discredit them for their failure to healthfully nourish. And after all, it is the week of that most celebrated spring Sunday-so go ahead and give in to the craving for something off your literary diet. Everybody deserves a little simple amusement over the holidays.
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