Put your computer to sleep and run to the nearest book seller. Are you running yet? Why not?

Touted as "Bridget Jones meets The Devil Wears Prada" (the red, black and white cover even looks DWP-esque),
Squires uses her pen to tactfully illuminate the shortcomings of an
industry where keeping up appearances and OzTam ratings take precedence
over, well, everything. At Network Six (aka "The Boys' Club"), women
are particularly expendable – as in the glossy world of The Devil Wears Prada, the girls have to watch their backs, as well as their weight.

Squires' protagonist Rosie Lang, like Kate Cornish of Boned,
has been around the traps. But unlike the childless Cornish, Lang is a
divorcee with a four-year-old son. Her tough-talking, former-newshound
work image is softened by her maternal instincts, her compassion for
her fellow female employees and her very real-life struggles with
superwoman syndrome (she proves it's near on impossible to have the
whole pie, let alone a cigarette, and enjoy it).

When
we first meet Rosie, she is juggling the early-morning demands of her
son while ignoring the relentless ringing of her mobile phone. We're
then taken through a day in the working life of Rosie, whose demanding
24/7 role as the head of publicity for Network Six consists of refuting
the claims of gossip columnists, crisis managing recalcitrant stars,
counselling female staff and being thrown to the proverbial dogs at
each executive-level meeting. It's exhausting to read, but many women
will empathise with Rosie's career plight. Why do we so willingly
undertake thankless, soul-destroying work at the expense of those life
elements which are so much more rewarding and emotionally nourishing?

Despite
Squires' claim that "no character described in this book bears any
resemblance to an real person and any possible similarity is therefore
purely coincidental", Rosie's boss, Big Keith, bears all the
characteristic hallmarks of one late Kerry Packer (a drinker with heart
problems and a predilection for crass commentary who laments the
passing of the halcyon days of television). Big Keith is a likable
bloke with a soft spot for Rosie, a passion for TV and a supportive
wife (no mention of mistresses). And despite his vulgarity, the slimy
and snipey Network Six executive team make him look positively saintly.

Playing
to true chick-lit formula, there's the requisite Hugh Grant love
interest, the quirky/cool best friend, the omnipresent and overbearing
mother figure, the former flame, the ambitious underling, the
credit-stealing (male) arch-nemesis who makes life hellish, the voice
of reason (her assistant, Lisa) and several embarrassing moments
(including one drunken night, of course).

The issues canvassed in the novel read like a women's magazine's editorial line-up (Squires is associate editor at The Australian Women's Weekly):
Glass ceiling? Check. Discrimination? Check. Balancing career with
family commitments? Check. Dealing with your ex and his new girlfriend?
Check. Feeling fat? Check.

But where some chick-lit writing is borderline saccharine, Squires' style lacks fluff and waffle and is infused with Kath & Kim-like
colloquialisms ("You are officially Jatz crackers") to keep us amused.
Rosie may like her heels and designer couture, and experience the
occasional (okay, many) emotional outburst, but she's a tough talker
and knows her stuff. She teeters on the edge of a major meltdown
throughout the novel, but you get the sense that she's also on the
verge of a breakthrough, which keeps us from plunging into a hopeless
depression with her.

The take-home message for all of us is, are
you prepared to sell your life and soul for a job – particularly one
that is by nature soulless? Of course, the answer should be no.
Unfortunately, for most of us and Rosie, coming to this realisation is
usually a case of live-and-learn.