The Liar, The Bitch, and the Wardrobe had an ok start, but man is it addicting! We start off with a very innocent, but determined and ambitious main character named Lucy. I liked Lucy from the very beginning. This girl knows exactly what she wants and she is going to get it—nothing will stand in her way.

As Lucy deals with her nightmare boss, I couldn’t help but think of Miranda Priestly from The Devil Wears Prada. As hard as it is to believe though, Stefano was probably worse. Much like Andy in The Devil Wears Prada, Lucy is sucked into a world of glitz and glamour. Lucy’s world, however, is much more seedy.

As Lucy gets more and more into the Hollywood scene, we see a lot drama, fabulous parties, a bit of romance, and a lot of drugs. As cool and glamorous as Hollywood is, it was also really sad. The things that exist beyond all the bright lights and flashing cameras is really sad and even tragic in some cases.

The Liar, The Bitch, and the Wardrobe has all the addicting qualities of Gossip GIrl and tabloid magazines combined with the high fashion and glamour of The Devil Wears Prada. As you read Allie Kingsley’s novel, you just can’t help but ask yourself “is this what it’s really like?” This is a must read for fans of Lauren Condrad’s L.A. Candy series, as well as Gossip Girl. ( )

Chick lit on meth. It's rises high above it's genre. Loved the fun fantastic style.

However, this book should have a disclaimer: starts with irrelevant faux dream. Terrible terrible. The telling accessory of an insecure editor. The last dash of bright blue eyeshadow before running out the door that in some lights pushes the look from hot to whore. The only place I've seen it accepted is in 60% of made for Bollywood books. The beginning rambled for a bit, trying to jam a bunch of background details which the reader didn't require. But once the flow of the story started rolling into Hollywood the plot took off famously. I was really impressed by her strong brand of humor which had me laughing out loud continuously and still reading even as I was smashed against a prickly dim sum smelling neck on the train.

The cover and back cover summary make it a readily marketable product to fans of The Devil Wears Prada and Princess Diaries. But the twists are a little too twisted. And seasoned readers will sniff out it's memoir-esk undertones and the road to nowhere red herring details thrown in to protect the author. This book screams reality TV in a Hello Kitty lunch box. I wonder if the appeal could of been broadened with a more daring approach?

One certainty, Kingsley is a sure-footed stellar humor writer. And the lack-luster love scenes were more than made up for by the the roller coaster coke fueled embarrassing and emotional. And as darling as she is, it's riveting to see her get eaten alive and spit out because you know she'll always come out on top with a sunny innocence intact. That said, I'm way excited for her next book on getting lost in Paris! Prepare to see her spit out with a special distaste reserved for the cheery wide-eyed American tourist. ( )