Her memoir (The Heart Shaped Bullet) was so moving and powerful.
Her first stab at fiction is.......so awful :(
-All the characters read like something dreamed up by the features writer of Grazia.
-The brand name-dropping is cringe-making. But at least Flett is an equal-opportunities offender; both the swanky Belsize Park divorcée and the salt of the earth midwife babble on about Chloë fucking bags as if they have some RL import
-The plot! Woman has relationship with military bloke, then meets his brother and for totally inexplicable and unexplained reasons decides to keep her sleeping with soldier boy a secret. Why? But all along, she harbours flame for soldier boy. Then glam divorcée shags the
younger brother, falls preggers but gets her hunky rugger bugger lover who has had the snip to accept the baby as his. Ker-razy!
- without even going into the frankly bizarre lack of awareness of fiscal reality. People lose their swanky, London meedja, natch jobs without ever wondering how they will pay the bills.
Such a shame. She seemed so talented in her memoir but I guess you cam take the girl out of the vacuous media superficial-dom that is magazine publishing, but you can't stop her writing as if what handbag you own is helpful characterisation.