Books |
Jackie Collins: “The Santangelos”
By
Published: Jun 16, 2015
Category:
Fiction
One of the most unpleasant chores in writing comes at the end, when you beg more famous writers for blurbs. It doesn’t matter that my novel is 7,000 words shorter than “The Great Gatsby” and can be read in two hours — any writer with a reputation is inundated with requests, has her own deadlines, and, at night, has better things to do than read your prose.
When I was begging for blurbs for my novel, I immediately thought of Jackie Collins. You would too — she’s had 29 New York Times bestsellers and sold 500 million books. Her novels almost automatically become TV miniseries. Her readers are mostly women. And the first line of my novel is, “There’s no woman more beautiful than a woman reading a book.” So, yeah, Jackie Collins.
I saw Jackie Collins occasionally when I lived in Los Angeles, and she was easily the nicest person I knew there. I haven’t been in touch with her in two decades, but when you’re desperate, you do desperate things: I wrote her and asked her to skim the book. She did, and gave me a terrific blurb. I thought: How do you thank the nicest writer you know? Well, why not return the favor and read her book?
My usual idea of beach reading is Bloodlands: Europe Between Hitler and Stalin, but a friend recently grabbed my lapels and told me I’m too serious, that I think too much. And here, on my desk, was a 500-page Jackie Collins novel, released at just the right time for pool or beach. I thought: Why not?
I went to the park, channeled my inner Caitlyn Jenner, and plunged into “The Santangelos.” What a world. As a kid, I read Jackie Susann and Harold Robbins, and was seduced by larger-than-life characters doing whatever they wanted with no concern about the cost or the consequences — in my little room in a suburb, I wanted to know them, to be one of them. Lucky Santangelo, the heroine of several Collins bestsellers, is in that grand tradition of social pioneers. So what if her dad wasn’t legit; in a world where anything’s possible, she owns a casino and a movie studio. Now she has a bigger dream: The Keys, a hotel/apartment/casino complex in Vegas. Possible? As Jackie Collins says on the book’s first page, “Never fuck with a Santangelo.” [To buy the book from Amazon, click here. For the Kindle edition, click here.]
Is every character gorgeous or rich or famous? Believe it. There is a murder, and of course, Lucky’s son is wrongly accused of it. There are clubs, and drugs, and if any woman has the breasts God gave her, I missed it. And sex? Jackie Collins was asked about “50 Shades.” Her comment: “My women kick ass, they don’t get their asses kicked.”
Is the writing outrageous? Try this:
He scowled at her and began coming on to a braless blond American tourist who was twirling around the dance floor. The girl obviously enjoyed drunken fumes breathed into her face, for after a while they vanished, and Carlo did not return to the yacht until the following morning.
Slather on the Anthelios. Order a blender drink. Relax your mind and float downstream. And, early and often, go into the water and cool off. Because all that, I’d bet, is part of the Jackie Collins beach reading experience. Oh, and tell me where we’re meeting at midnight.
