“Chick Lit,” writes Diane Meier in a Huffington Post article, “has been used to denigrate a large swath of novels about contemporary life that happen to be written by women.” As you might guess from the article’s title, “Chick Lit? Women’s Literature? Why Not Just...Literature?”, Meier is frustrated—and more than frustrated, she raises the valid question of what it means for our society if books about contemporary domestic life must contain violence or other trauma in order to be taken seriously.
You know Chick Lit when you see it. The cover is pastel or pink and more often than not contains a martini glass and/or cartoon sketch of a chic woman. The problem arises when books not intended as “beach reading” end up being marketed in this way. In other words, you think you’re seeing Chick Lit when you pick up the book, but those who honestly wanted the beach reading will be disappointed, and those who are after substance won’t want to be seen with it. Such is the scenario Meier describes—and rightly so, as far as I know.
