With her new novel, Feminista, author Erica Kennedy seeks to use Zamora's story as a springboard to pioneer a brand new genre: "bitch lit." And not a moment too soon. Chick lit, the popular and fluffy genre geared toward women readers, is having a bit of an identity crisis. Even Plum Sykes, of Bergdorf Blondes fame, is ready to throw in the towel on the genre:

[Sykes] was skeptical that a new genre of chick lit could emerge from the recession, partly because she believes we've already seen the last of the "sex and shopping book as a publishing phenomenon". She added: "Chick lit seems so out of date now. Not only because of the economic reality but because it's been done to death."

The recession hit, taking the sugary tales of credit card backed retail therapy with it and leaving authors in a panic. Would people still relate to their characters if they stopped living charmed lives? For some reason, publishers seem to think "recessionista reads" are the next hot trend. I'm fairly skeptical, myself - after all, half the fun of a fluffy novel is the escape from reality.

Lakshmi Chaudhry agrees in a sense, writing for LiveMint.com:

The literary problem with the current economic debacle is that its architects are irremediably inane, self-absorbed and shallow-and, therefore, perfect for chick lit-the first fictional genre to wholeheartedly embrace the recession. Hedge Fund Wives by Tatiana Boncompagni, Social Lives by Wendy Walker, The Penny Pinchers Club by Sarah Strohmeyer and The Summer Kitchen by Karen Weinreb detail the travails of affluent women suddenly burdened with shrinking bank balances and AWOL or, worse, imprisoned banker husbands.

What's a Fifth Avenue socialite to do? Tap into her girl power, of course. "One of the big motifs in these books is a sort of empowerment," says Jonathan Segura, an editor at Publishers Weekly, who told The New York Times, "Swathed in Gucci, Prada and what not, their protagonists realign their priorities and realize, ‘Oh, I don't need that Givenchy gown. I can look great in Eileen Fisher, too'". Sacrifice, it's the American way!

But is that what readers want? Listening to the whine of the formerly privileged whose recent brush with brokeness forced them to reflect on the meaning of life seems more like torture than pleasure. And our current cultural mood seems to go between more serious matters (like politics and the economy) with straight up escapism (werewolves, faeries, and vamps, oh my!)

Perhaps writers and publishers could pay more attention to the lives of the women that create their audience. Many of us are scared for our jobs and cutting back, but that doesn't manifest in maniacal penny pinching or schadenfreude. Some times, tapping into this particular type of economic strain, is as simple as allowing your character's thoughts to roam. A good example of this is a highly relateable passage in Feminista:

Sydney had no desire to be that rich. Every rich kid she'd ever known had been completely fucked in the head. She didn't even aspire to be average rich, but seeing that kind of obscene wealth up close made her life seem so small and insignificant. For the last month, she had been agonizing, agonizing, over whether she should waste three hundred dollars on a pair of fucking shoes! She compulsively saved her pennies, never splurging on herself unless she could write it off, and for what? To buy a tiny apartment that was the size of that spoiled bitch's linen closet?

She used to think that if she just had enough, she'd be happy. Enough money in the bank, a decent apartment, a little disposable income to go on a modest vacation or two a year. After reading a widely e-mailed Times story about $200,000 being the new $100,000, she had to ask herself what exactly constituted enough? Before she had finished grappling with that question, the paper of record ran a chilling piece about millionaires in Silicon Valley who didn't feel rich because they lived among people who had tens of millions. Before clicking to the second page, Sydney had to stop and pop a Xanax. The quest for "enough" was what got her out of bed every morning. It was what kept her going when she wanted to give away all of her worldly possessions and move to a tropical island and sell handmade trinkets on the beach. She didn't want to ponder the idea that "enough" was unattainable, that it was a constantly moving goal she might never reach. Because that would force her to confront the possibility that her entire life's course had been charted with a faulty compass. And why put herself through that when she could just self-medicate?

Whether it's chick lit or bitch lit, romance novels or paranormal smut, the key to any selling any story lies in sympathetic characters and the willingness of an audience to want to walk through the world created between a novel's pages.

So, I suppose, the fate of chick lit rests squarely on one key question: what is the audience looking for?

Feminista [Amazon]
End of a chapter: chick lit takes on the credit crunch [The Independent]
Sex and shopping chick lit makes way for recessionista reads as credit crunch leaves its mark on the book shelves [Daily Mail]
How the recession has fuelled chick lit [Live Mint]
Paranormal Smut Novels [Feministe]

The "Plot": Shy virgin Vanessa is an aspiring photographer who just happens to bear a Patty Duke-style exact resemblance to her cousin, top model "Nadia." When Jay Courtland, a former star footballer turned manager, comes to her photography studio, she mistakes him for a male model, and he mistakes her for Nadia. "Sparks" fly. For reasons that are unclear, Vanessa's brother insists she continue to impersonate Nadia and pose for a calendar with Jay's team (in which Jay "jerks off" her swimsuit and insists she pose topless.) Jay and fake-Nadia begin a tempestuous romance. Before they do the deed, though, the real Nadia materializes and exposes Vanessa. Jay repudiates her cruelly and starts sleeping with Nadia. Vanessa, obviously, is forced to travel with the team as official photographer. Jay is abusive and cruel to her for about 50 pages, constantly taunts her by talking about his sex life, then sleeps with her, admits he loves her, and kicks Nadia out of his house. Happily ever after!

The Qualifications:
At their first meeting: "Beautiful and clever," he murmured softly, "the dove fleeing from the hawk, not knowing that her very flight promotes his pursuit, unlike you, who I am sure knows very well the effect she has on the male sex."

After the reveal: "Now that I see you together, I think I must have been blind. You're very much the dross, aren't you, Vanessa? Very much a pale imitation of the real thing."

When he sees her hanging out with another guy:

"Well, well," Jay taunted softly. "Still trying to get rid of your precious virginity? What's the matter, won't he take it either?...Did he take it? Because if he hasn't, tonight I will. That's what you want isn't it Vanessa? To lie in my arms, my body possessing yours?"

Then a five-page attempted rape ensues in which he pushes into her room and rips off her clothes. "No? I think you mean yes...In fact I'm going to prove to you that you do mean yes!" When she "gives in" and they start fooling around, he delivers this charmer: "Touch me, Vanessa. Can't you see how much I want that? Nadia wouldn't need to be asked." This particular time he ends up thrusting her aside in disgust and stalking out; no, when they do have sex, it's because he says, "Shut up, Vanessa. Tonight I'm going to make love to you."

How We Know He's Actually A Good Guy: He gives a lot of money to charity, he doesn't relocate the team, and he's only such an asshole because he was an orphan.

The End: "Stop talking woman and let me make love to you."
She laughed softly then agreed demurely, "Anything you say, my love, anything at all."

Advantages: Jay Courtland's maltreatment of two women in the course of the book (even if Nadia's terrible, so that's okay) gives him a slight leg up on the competition.

Handicaps: Does not attempt any blackmail, use financial leverage, or attempt to force her into marriage.

Sarah waters describes her work as 'lesbo historical romps,' but while her meticulously-researched, erotic stories of mystery, thrills and the occult do an amazing job of "teasing out lesbian stories from parts of history that are regarded as quite heterosexual," as she puts it, she's far more than a "queer writer" - rather, she's an amazing storyteller who happens to paint lesbian characters unusually well. Influenced by the gothic chills of Wilkie Collins and Henry James, Waters' writing is engrossing and page-turning, but always deft, skillful, intelligent. To call her novels thinking women's beach reads maybe does them a disservice, but at the same time, what could be better for a long weekend of uninterrupted reading? Her latest, The Little Stranger, takes us inside the crumbling estate and crumbling family of the Ayres; the result is both ghost story and family drama. It's a bit of a departure for Waters, as it features a male narrator and more of a country-house-mystery set-up. We can't wait, but If, like us, you're at the mercy of libraries and paperbacks, start with her earlier catalogue:

Tipping the Velvet: Nancy Astley is an oyster-shucker in her parents' restauarant in a Victorian seaside village. She falls in love with a male impersonator and travels to London, where her ups and downs include a music-hall career, a stint as a male prostitute and the kept woman of a wealthy and eccentric lesbian noblewoman, observing the upheaval of the country's history along the way.

Affinity: An indolent, neurotic noblewoman in Victorian London, Margaret Prior becomes a volunteer at Millbank Prison. She begins a romance with the enigmatic prisoner Selina Dawes, behind bars for impersonating a medium, but seemingly possessed of supernatural powers. The novel tells the backstory of both women, blurring the line between real and magic, madness and sanity.

Fingersmith: Sue Trinder, an orphan raised by a band of thieves, is recruited by a con artist to help him ensnare a mysterious heiress, marry her, take her money and imprison her in a madhouse. Sue goes undercover as a maid in the heiress Maud's house, but the two women fall in love. This one's a thriller - a page-turner in the true sense - that must be read rather than spoiled.

Night Watch is told from four perspectives: Kay, an androgynous ambulance driver; writer Helen and her lover Julia; Viv, dating a married man; Duncan, an enigmatic ex-con living with a mysterious protectot. Through their eyes and their intricate interlocking narratives, we see the grim reality of Blitz London and its aftermath.

Sarah Waters.com [Official Site]
Sarah Waters: 'Is There A Poltergeist Within Me?' [Independent]
Sarah Waters Interview [YouTube]
Sarah Waters On "Little Stranger," Identity, And Lesbian Fiction [AfterEllen]

Grossen lists some Hall-of-Famers: Darcy, Rochester, Zhivago, Rhett, and, inexplicably, Rebecca's Maxim de Winter. More idiosyncratically, she calls out the heroes of The French Lieutenant's Woman and Bel Canto.

To this, we'd add The Chosen's Reuven Malter (what? I was a nerd); Laurie before he grows up; Captain Wentworth; Fuck Head; Florentino Ariza; the Invisible Man; the Elephant Man; Huck Finn (is that pedophilia?); Natty Bumppo; Newland Archer (hey, Day-Lewis has good taste!); Dickon, and, last but not least, Ishmael.

But we're just getting started!
Fictional Men Worth Loving [Wall Street Journal]