Size 12 Is Not Fat

If I had to pick favorites, the Heather Wells trilogy is probably my favorite adult Meg Cabot series. It’s frothy and fun, and just damn enjoyable. Heather’s an engaging character in her own right; she has a lot of the good girl qualities of a chick-lit heroine, but you really see her faults and frustrations. She’s been burned in one fell swoop—by both her ex and her record company—but she’s genuinely trying to move on and become something more than a twee-pop singer. Of course, she’s still insecure about how people view her, but given her backstory, it feels genuine. A lot of her attitude is shaped by her pop star past, and I like that she still sees singing as something good.

As far as love interests go, I like Cooper, show more but whenever I read him, I know I’ve read his character before. (Meg Cabot is big on the dark, bossy, black-sheep types.) I like his character; again, he’s fun, a lot of his dialogue with Heather feels natural, and you can see that he really looks out for her. It’s just that I’ve read the character in other Cabot books, and it becomes a little boring after a while. On the other hand, I love Jordan—not as a love interest, but as blatant comic relief. For starters, it’s so obvious that he’s the guy who’s always got what he wanted, so Heather striking out on her own is intriguing. The whole “I still love you, baby!” act is just that, but it’s so over-the-top that everyone in the books know that it’s fake. He’s hilarious, I crack up every time he shows up.

Like Cooper, a lot of the supporting cast are characters I’ve seen in other Meg Cabot books—the know-it-all wannabe psychologist, the supportive best friend, the kooky work friend—but a lot of it almost feels like she’s parodying her own stereotypes. Sarah’s pretty much a grown-up Lilly Moscowitz, and Magda…well, Magda’s Magda. She’s funny, but I will say that she’s my least favorite character in the series. (Not that I don’t like her, she just doesn’t do much.)

As for the murder mystery plot, I generally like. I have some problems with the motives of the killer, but it does seem like a bit of a surprise. The lead up with Christopher Allington has been done before, but the way Heather approaches the case and her suspect is interesting. I would have liked not have seen the “cops are useless!” trope—like, why wouldn’t they check up on a strange mark on both victims? (I’m trying not to spoil the murderer and their weapons, sorry.)

I really like this book—it’s one of my favorite comfort reads. The writing and characterization are solid (for the most part), it’s funny, and the twists still surprise me a little even after the nth millionth time I’ve read it. This is what I expect from Meg Cabot—frothy, yet still very filling. show less

Summary: Heather Wells's life certainly seems to be in a downward spiral. Heather is a former teen pop star who was dropped from her label for demanding to sing her own stars, abandoned by her mother (who ran off to Argentina with Heather's manager... and money), and dumped by her boy-band singer fiancée. In order to make a living, Heather's gotten a job as the assistant manager of a freshman dorm of New York College. It's a job she's good at, and one that she enjoys... until freshman women start turning up dead in the bottom of the dorm elevator shaft. The police rule the deaths accidents, but Heather's convinced they're not... but how can she possibly hope to prove it?

Review: I am of two minds about this book, and it is making it show more hard to come to a single conclusion, or even a single star rating. Let's start with the good mind, and save the annoyed, angry, snarly mind for later, shall we?

As a fluffy murder mystery, this book was great. I was pulled into the story right away, stayed good and hooked throughout, staying up well past my bedtime to race through to the end. I totally fell for some of the red herrings, and there were enough clues given out that I could eventually put together who the real bad guy was only a page or two before the main character did. Those are all hallmarks of a good, compelling mystery. There's also a sizeable dollop of romance stirred into the mix, and Cabot can certainly write an appealing leading man (see: Jesse from the Mediator series... although Cooper's almost as good).

The tone of the book is a little confusing - it reads like a young adult novel, but the narrator is 28, which is old for your typical YA heroine - but if it's not YA, then it's pretty juvenile chick lit. The writing is full of little tics that I think are supposed to be cute but come off as annoying. Heather correcting herself every single time she mentions her dorm "(Um, I mean residence hall)" gets old after chapter one, and there are several similar repeated motifs that are no less obnoxious. But ignoring those, the writing's easy and light, accentuating the fun fluffiness of the book.

But despite how fun and fluffy and compelling I found the murder mystery, this book has a problem. A big problem. In fact, a size 12 problem.

So. The title, Size 12 is Not Fat, is a statement of opinion. An opinion which, according to her author's note at the end, Ms. Cabot seems to share. Heather is certainly frequently telling other characters (and the reader) that size 12 is not fat, it is in fact the size of the average American woman, that it's possible to be a size 12 and still be perfectly healthy. All of which a) is true, and b) seems to promote a sane, sensible, anti-sizeist message of body acceptance. That's the message the book seems to want to put out.

Unfortunately, that's not the message the book actually puts out. Heather cannot go for three pages without mentioning HoHos or Dove Bars, the exercise routine she is so proud of consists of walking between bakeries, and she prefers baths to showers because she is "too lazy to stand up that long." (Yes, that's an actual quote. No, I'm not kidding. I wish I were.) Instead of being happy with herself the way she is, Heather's constantly acting defensive about her size, and bitchy towards those smaller than she is. And instead of giving us a character who is actually healthy and still a size 12, Cabot seems to be implying that if Heather got off of her lazy ass and knocked it off with the Doritos, she wouldn't be a size 12 anymore. To me, it read as if Cabot wanted to pay lip-service to the self-acceptance message embodied in her title, but secretly believes that size 12... is kind of fat (read: bad). Which: I call shenanigans. I call shenanigans on that bullshit so hard. It's angry-making, especially since it's disguised in a package that promises acceptance and positivity.

So, there's my dilemna. Do I give it a high rating because of the compelling murder mystery, or do I give it a low rating because of the rage-inducing hypocrisy? I suppose I split the difference: 3.5 out of 5 stars.

Recommendation: Gah, I don't know. I can't really call it an "enjoyable" read when it made my blood boil in parts, but if you could turn on a mental filter so that all you got was the mystery and romance parts, then it's quite good. You're on your own for this one, dependent on how strongly this sort of thing pushes your buttons. show less

After losing her recording contract, boy-band famous fiance, and her life savings (courtesy of her mother) Heather Wells is in serious need of a job. Still it's a stretch when the girl who used to be a household name (if only to tweens) becomes an assistant director at a New York college dormitory, I mean, residence hall. Heather spends her days solving problems for 19 year-olds and her nights pining for her landlord, Cooper, private investigator and Mr. Unconventional Himself. Oh and just to make things even more interesting, Cooper is her ex's brother. So when girls start dying in the dorm - er, residence hall, Heather knows it's not just a coincidence if only she could convince everyone else...Flowing throughout is Heather's inner show more monologue in which she ponders everything from vanity sizing, exercise (walking to your favorite bakery DOES count), the miraculous effects of chocolate and even the love of a good pet. This hilarious thought process is what kept me so intrigued, not the mystery. It almost seemed as an afterthought - which isn't necessarily a bad thing, in this case at least. Heather and her antics constantly had me in stitches. I'd love to sit down to lunch with her or Magda and let the good times roll. show less

Former teen pop sensation, Heather Wells, just wants to make it through her three-month probationary period as assistant director of Fischer Hall, one of the residence for New York College. And also have her extremely good-looking housemate/older brother of her ex-fiance, Cooper Cartwright, notice her in that way. But when a student's body is found at the bottom of the elevator shaft as the result of an apparent elevator surfing accident, Heather is unconvinced. Girls don't elevator surf. But Heather's quest to find out who's killing girls in Fischer Hall may mean she'll never see the end of her of probation or find out exactly what Cooper thinks of her.

I always enjoy reading a Heather Wells mystery. As the first in the series, we meet show more her delightfully dysfunctional family, her truly scrumptious housemate, Cooper, and of course Heather herself with her delightful neuroses and internal monologues. Mix this eccentric cast of characters with a good mystery and the book is a recipe for some entertaining reading. show less

I really liked the conversational tone of this book. I felt like Heather was a friend, and it made it a fast read. Good mystery to solve, and I did not see the ending coming at all. There were some parts where it seemed a bit unrealistic, but not so much that it took me out of the story. I really wish there had been more Cooper interaction - I'm hoping this will be explored more in the next book. :)

If you're looking for a fluffy chick lit mystery that you can breeze through while on the beach, this is it.

I recently learned that this series is not just chick lit, it’s murder mystery chick lit about a former pop singer now working as an assistant director for a college dorm. (Talk about misleading covers!) When a student is found dead, Heather is convinced that it wasn’t an accident but murder.

At times Heather reminded me of Mia from The Princess Diaries, which I found fascinating and frustrating: they both live in New York; they’re somewhat famous; they feel judged for their appearance (albeit for different reasons); they’re generally optimistic and warm hearted; and there are similarities in how they think and express themselves. Similarities in tone, if not content. I can’t actually remember if Mia was ever blasé about show more being late, but it’s the sort of opinion which would be understandable, and maybe even endearing, coming from a teenager but is irritating from a woman of nearly thirty with a full-time job.

Anyway, Heather is kind and humorous, I liked the setting, and the mystery had enough twists to satisfy me. I read the next book. show less

HEATHER WELLS ROCKS!
Or, at least, she did. That was before she left the pop-idol life behind after she gained a dress size or two—and lost a boyfriend, a recording contract, and her life savings (when Mom took the money and ran off to Argentina). Now that the glamour and glory days of endless mall appearances are in the past, Heather's perfectly happy with her new size 12 shape (the average for the American woman!) and her new job as an assistant dorm director at one of New York's top colleges. That is, until the dead body of a female student from Heather's residence hall is discovered at the bottom of an elevator shaft.

The cops and the college president are ready to chalk the death off as an accident, the result of reckless show more youthful mischief. But Heather knows teenage girls . . . and girls do not elevator surf. Yet no one wants to listen—not the police, her colleagues, or the P.I. who owns the brownstone where she lives—even when more students start turning up dead in equally ordinary and subtly sinister ways. So Heather makes the decision to take on yet another new career: as spunky girl detective!

But her new job comes with few benefits, no cheering crowds, and lots of liabilities, some of them potentially fatal. And nothing ticks off a killer more than a portly ex-pop star who's sticking her nose where it doesn't belong . . . show less