Devil Wears Prada Lauren Weisberger
A delightfully dishy novel with regards to the all-time most out of the question boss in the history of totally unlikely bosses.
Andrea Sachs, a small-town girl fresh out of college, lands the occupation “a million girls would die for.” Hired as the assistant to Miranda Priestly, the high-profile, fabulously successful editor of Runway magazine, Andrea finds herself in an office that shouts Prada! Armani! Versace! at each turn, a world populated by impossibly thin, heart-wrenchingly stylish women and pretty men clad in fine-ribbed turtlenecks and tight leather pants that show off their lifelong commitment to the gym. With breathtaking ease, Miranda may turn each and each one of these hip sophisticates into a scared, whimpering child.
THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA gives a rich and hilarious new meaning to complaints when it comes to “The Boss from Hell.” Narrated in Andrea’s smart, refreshingly disarming voice, it traces a deep, dark, devilish view of life at the top only hinted at in gossip columns and over Cosmopolitans at the trendiest cocktail parties. From sending the latest, not-yet-in-stores Harry Potter to Miranda’s children in Paris by private jet, to locating an unnamed antiquate store where Miranda had at a great deal of point admired a vintage dresser, to serving lattes to Miranda at incisively the piping hot temperature she prefers, Andrea is sorely tested each and each day—and ofttimes late into the night with orders barked over the phone. She puts up with it all by keeping her eyes on the prize: a recommendation from Miranda that will get Andrea a top occupation at any magazine of her choosing. As things escalate from the plainly unacceptable to the downright outrageous, however, Andrea begins to realize that the occupation a million girls would die for may just kill her. And even if she survives, she has to determine whether or not the occupation is worth the price of her soul.
From the Hardcover edition.
ReviewIt’s a killer title: The Devil Wears Prada. And it’s killer material: author Lauren Weisberger did a stint as assistant to Anna Wintour, the all-powerful editor of Vogue magazine. Now she’s written a book, and this is it is theme: narrator Andrea Sachs goes to work for Miranda Priestly, the all-powerful editor of Runway magazine. Turns out Miranda is rather the bossyboots. That’s gorgeous much the extent of the novel, but it’s plenty. Miranda’s conduct is so insanely over-the-top that it’s a gas to see what she’ll do next, and to try to guess which incidents were culled from the real-life jokes of the woman who’s been called Anna “Nuclear” Wintour. For instance, when Miranda goes to Paris for the collections, Andrea receives a call back at the New York office (where, incidentally, she’s not permitted to leave her desk to eat or go to the bathroom, lest her boss will have to call). Miranda bellows over the line: “I am standing in the pouring rain on the rue de Rivoli and my driver has vanished. Vanished! Find him immediately!”
This kind of thing is delicious fun to read about, altho not as well written as it is evident antecedent, The Nanny Diaries. And therein lies the necessary problem of the book. Andrea’s goal in life is to work for The New Yorker–she’s only sticking it out with Miranda for a occupation recommendation. But author Weisberger is such an inept, ungrammatical writer, you’re in a positive manner rooting for her fictional alter ego not to get anyplace near The New Yorker. Still, Weisberger has surely one-upped Me Times Three author Alex Witchel, whose magazine-world novel never gave us the inside dope that was the book’s whole raison d’ etre. For the most part, The Devil Wears Prada focuses on the outrageous Miranda Priestly, and she’s an irresistible spectacle. –Claire Dederer
From Publishers WeeklyMost recent college graduates recognise they have to commence at the bottom and work their way up. But not a great deal of picture themselves having to pick up their boss’s arid cleaning, deliver them hot lattes, land them copies of the most recent Harry Potter book before it hits stores and screen potential nannies for their children. Charmingly unfashionable Andrea Sachs, upon graduating from Brown, finds herself in this precarious position: she’s an assistant to the most revered-and hated-woman in fashion, Runway editor-in-chief Miranda Priestly. The self-described “biggest fashion loser to ever hit the scene,” Andy takes the occupation hoping to land at the New Yorker after a year. As the “lowest-paid-but-most-highly-perked assistant in the free world,” she soon learns her Nine West loafers won’t cut it-everyone wears Jimmy Choos or Manolos-and that the four years she expended memorizing poems and examining prose will not aid her in her new role of “finding, fetching, or faxing” whatsoever the diabolical Miranda wants, immediately. Life is pretty grim for Andy, but Weisberger, whose stint as Anna Wintour’s assistant at Vogue couldn’t perchance have anything to do with the novel’s inspiration, infuses the narrative with a great deal of dead-on assessments of fashion’s frivolity and realistic, amusive portrayals of life as a peon. Andy’s mishaps will undoubtedly elicit laughter from readers, and the story’s even got a virtuous little moral at it is heart. Weisberger has penned a comic novel that manages to rise to the upper echelons of the chick-lit genre.
Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information, Inc.
From BooklistIn this debut novel (part of a wave of discloses regarding bad bosses that is sweeping the publishing world), former Vogue assistant Weisberger provides a telling account of life as an underling at the fictional Runway magazine. Here we meet Andrea Sachs, a recent Ivy League graduate hoping to break into the magazine business, with her extreme goal being a occupation at the New Yorker. She accepts an entry-level position at Runway as personal assistant to the editor, Miranda Priestley (rumored to be based on Vogue ‘s Anna Wintour). However, her new occupation has not one thing to do with writing or editing, and everything to do with predicting and fulfilling each outrageous whim her prima donna boss might have. While the occupation makes unbelievable demands on Sachs’ personal life, the perks are undeniable: rubbing elbows with celebrities, being outfitted in architect clothes, and jetting off to Paris for fashion shows. Yet Weisberger’s characters are all uniformly shoal and two-dimensional, and she seems to be worshiping this modus vivendi at the same time that she is supposedly skewering it. However, the book is garnering a large total of press, with a film deal also in the works, and Weisberger’s dishy style will appeal to a lot of readers. Kathleen Hughes
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
Devil Wears Prada Lauren Weisberger Pic
Devil Wears Prada Lauren Weisberger Image
Devil Wears Prada Lauren Weisberger Photo
Devil Wears Prada Lauren Weisberger Picture
Most helpful client reviews
216 of 245 people found the following review helpful.
 Not bad
By Kimberley Wilson
There is an enormous amount of buzz with regards to this book because the author employed to work at Vouge. Most of the PR implies that this is a roman a clef regarding those days. So far the reviews that I’ve seen in a least two major fashion magazines haven’t been kind but that may be chalked up to fashionistas being annoyed with somebody who mocked their world.
Does the book live up to the hype? Yes and no.
It’s an funny book. The descriptions of downtown life in NYC, the side characters and the horrid jokes of mean Miranda Priestly are fun but the heroine, Andrea is such a stuck up little snob that it’s difficult to care regarding her. Margaret Mitchell was competent to take a reputation who was an sheer monster and make millions love her. Lauren Weisberger doesn’t have that kind of ability.
What’s genuinely annoying is that the book has a choppy feel. Andrea lurches from one disaster to another with no transition in between. The plot has a formula that is an old as Greek mythology. The scenes with the best friend character, Lilly and the boyfriend, Alex won’t surprise anyone. The climax is straight out of an old Edgar Wallace plotwheel. The ending was a sappy, predictable let down.
The bottom line is this: if you love fashion and gossip The Devil Wears Prada will make you smile. If you want a terrific book, this won’t be the one you’re looking for.
78 of 87 people found the following review helpful.
 Lucifer in a Nutshell
By Alycia
Summary of “The Devil Wears Prada”
- gravely dressed, tacky young woman introduces herself as the “average” five
foot eleven inch, 120 pound woman who miraculously lands an undeserved
occupation as a personal assistant at a fashion magazine, without delay making each
other woman reading her story roll their eyes
- said young woman complains ceaselessly in regards to her miserable life of wearing
architect clothes, attending gala society parties, the inhumane rule of not
being capable to smoke or make personal telephone calls for the duration of business hours,
and her boss’s crass insistence that she do her occupation without copping an
attitude
- said young woman in some way manages to retain her occupation in spite of looking down
on all of her colleagues and willfully sabotaging company spending records
- young woman fails to look humane because she reacts unrealistically to her
own problems, and those of her cardboard cutout plot-point friends
- young woman in some way attracts a world famous, handsome author in spite of
her failure to appear beautiful to her plainly locally famous elementary
school teacher boyfriend.
- young woman in the long run tells off boss
- young woman in some way lands occupation at another magazine as a writer, in spite of
having never demonstrated any talent to her audience
- everything comes up roses for young woman
- and then, not anyone cared
243 of 294 humans found the following review helpful.
 Trendy read and just as fleeting!
By Jorge Carreon, Jr.
Fashionistas around the globe have been salivating for the publication of THE DEVIL WEARS PRADAsince it is initial announcement. For those in love with all things Vogue et.al., who wouldn’t want to read a deliciously biting roman a clef regarding a woman who is probably Anna Wintour and then some? Alas, that’s the problem with the book, it only caters to those in the fashion know, which results in a shoal exercise of style over substance.
While author Lauren Weisberger has a understand of preserving a narrative, but the predictable scenarios she concocts are scarcely the stuff of good fiction or, sadly, biting satire. Bitchy asides and brand names are stretched thin, for sure.
Even worse, her modify ego, Andrea, is too bland a creation for the reader to actually care about. Her ambition is not telegraphed with any real strength since all I held thinking was why stick it out in a thankless occupation that is beyond demeaning? Is being a writer at the New Yorker that important? I’m sure it is for the character, but Ms. Weisberger’s colorless prose fails to register such details with depth.
As for the notorious reputation of Miranda Priestly, I know a great deal of folks like this woman. Hell, I even worked for one. The only real joy generated by this novel was smiling over what a finish and total virago she remains allround the book. I also loved how Weisberger captured the sheer absurdness of such fields like fashion and other show business endeavors that rely so to a considerable degree on image. The worlds she brings about are unquestionably based on a great deal of sort of fact, but it is ominous the she didn’t take such an interest in her overall plot or characters.
Perhaps my dissatisfication in the novel stems from something greater. As “chick lit” proceeds to fill our minds and best marketer charts, does the world need one more “Mary Tyler Moore-clone taking on the world on her terms kind of heroine?”
British sensation Helen Fielding offered galore reality and humanity to the hip and happening world of Bridget Jones. However, Andrea Sachs is no Bridget Jones and the short-lasting effects of this novel makes you wonder why can’t us Yankees formulate such a bright piece of fiction!
Ultimately, THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA is Diet coke for the brain. To be honest, I am tiring of our current fascination with excess, entitlement and shallowness. This hotly hyped novel implodes before it is predictable “up yours” finale. Like the fashion magazines it lampoons — it’s all in regards to genuinely pretty pictures with ultimately very little to say.
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