Confessions of a Sociopathic Social Climber: The Katya Livingston Chronicles

It's really not a bad idea. Adele Lang joins the throng of post-Bridget Jones novelists with Confessions of a Sociopathic Social Climber, a fictional diary by Katya Livingstone, an advertising copywriter-turned-journalist who is, in short, a nasty piece of work. Katya has never met a friend she didn't stab in the back, a boss she didn't take advantage of, or a man whose net worth she didn't appraise in five seconds flat. Most of Ms. Jones's offspring are dear, dewy, put-upon creatures. Sure, they crack wise, but mostly they seem to mope around hoping for Mr. Right to happen upon them. The idea of a vile anti-heroine out to screw the world before it screws her has a certain appeal. Unfortunately, Lang's reach has exceeded her grasp, and the result is far from heavenly. The book veers wildly in tone. We never know quite how we're supposed to feel about Katya: Should we despise her? Admire her for her chutzpah? Or just shut the book in frustration? Meanwhile, sloppy grammar and unfunny jokes topple this tenuous house of cards. --Claire Dederer

“Move Over, Bridget Jones!... A wild ride to find Mr. Right by looking in all the wrong places. Put it on your beach-read list.”
---US Weekly

“Lang employs wonderfully bitchy, British-laced phraseology, making her subject’s tone all the more supercilious. Katya Livingston is the young woman you love to hate.”
---Houston Chronicle

“Lang’s book is an ideal Saturday afternoon read: quick, quirky, and fun. Katya’s sarcastic, patronizing wit keeps the book moving through her adventures in life and love and involves the reader immediately in her drama.”
---Romantic Times

Bitingly written with wit and style reminiscent of Candace Bushnell, Adèle Lang’s novel is a cutting, bitchy, hilarious take on the young-single-British-woman genre.

When weasel-eyed tax inspectors question her claims, Katya is forced to keep a financial diary. As well as documenting the cruel and parsimonious ways of her ad agency boss, Katya waxes lyrical about putting up with loser friends, mortal enemies, and thoroughly bad restaurants. She also throws in a candid account of her love life, in case it is tax deductible. A private account of expenses rapidly becomes, through Katya’s chronic delusions of grandeur, a matter of public record: first as a tawdry gossip column, then as a salacious book, and finally as a Hollywood B movie.