REVIEW: Mad About The Boy, by Helen Fielding

To bring a much-loved character back to life after a gap of nearly fifteen years (the first Bridget Jones novel was written in 1996, followed by The Edge Of Reason in 1999) was always going to result in both controversy and celebration. 

This Marmite reaction has been further heightened by the fact that Helen Fielding decided to kill off one of the best-loved characters from the series: the endearing Darcy. You know, the love interest – played so handsomely by Colin Firth in the movie adaptations – who Bridget appeared to have her happy-ever-after with at the end of The Edge Of Reason. Say wut?!

In this 2013 sequel, Bridget is a 51-year old widow bringing up two small children. She tweets, she still calorie counts and she’s still in touch with the old gang. She’s writing a screenplay. She’s cool but baffled; switched on to a decade so different to the noughties but still bewildered by her agent, her yummy mummy-ness and her far-younger BF.

I must admit: it took me a while to get me back into the grove of reading Bridget Jones’ diary, and suspending judgement on how the Bridget of 2013 measures up in comparison to the heroine of the two previous books.

Whilst the plot was pretty predictable in places, I found myself re-warming to Bridge (I feel, after reading the book in one-and-a-half sittings, that we’re now chummy enough for me to refer to her as ‘Bridge’) to such an extent that I actually didn’t want to finish the book. I want Bridget’s adventures to become a regular thing. Can’t she blog? Or tweet IRL, so we can keep up-to-date with her adventures? We’d totes #FF her.

Mad About The Boy, by Helen Fielding, RRP £18.99; available to buy here

Review: Jill Byrne

Fingers crossed we’ll hear What Bridget Did Next soon – but in the meantime, here are three of our favourite quotes from Mad About The Boy…


“Just back from canal ride on bike. Went really well until someone threw an egg at me from a bridge. Or maybe it was a bird which went into sudden labour. Will clean off egg, not do Boris Bikes any more and go to Obesity Clinic on bus. At least will be alive and clean when sitting on arse instead of dead and covered in egg.”

“Bridget. Sleeping with a twenty-nine-year-old off twitter on the second date is not “rather like in Jane Austen’s day”.”

“He picked me up in his arms, as if I was as light as a feather, which I am not, unless it was a very heavy feather, maybe from a giant prehistoric dinosaur-type bird…” 


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