To the untutored eye, the Dutton translation seems a little more literary, the Praeger perhaps closer to the rather primitive style of the original. The Praeger edition has two translators and one of them is the translator of Doctor Zhivago Dutton's translator, Ralph Parker, has been stigmatized by Praeger as "an apologist for the Soviet regime". Royalties from the "unauthorized" edition will go to the International Rescue Committee Dutton with their contracted edition is adhering to copyright conventions. Without entering into the scrimmage, or dismissing it as a plague on both your houses, we will limit ourselves to a few facts. There has been considerable advance attention on what appears to be as much of a publishing cause celebre here as the original appearance of the book in Russia. While a few weeks ago it seemed as if Praeger would have a two month lead over Dutton in their presentation of this Soviet best seller, both the "authorized" edition (Dutton's) and the "unauthorized" (Praeger's) will appear almost simultaneously. Had enough? We can only hope that British book-buyers have, too, and that we'll be receiving fewer literary care-packages like this one. Bridget, however, is stalwart, forever retaining her questionable sense of humor, her aggravating passion for puns and made-up words ("pashmaster"? "pashmincer"?) and her unabashed ties to the kind of writing most contemporary American women's magazines won't publish anymore.
While Fielding isn't clearly taking all this seriously - she does have some fine moments sending up the self-discovery movement - there's enough coyness here to turn even the strongest of stomachs. She also endures a weird and implausible stay in a Thai prison, the most important result being the loss of at least ten pounds. Meanwhile, Bridget is trying to reinvent herself as a serious journalist, which, in this case, means as a celebrity interviewer. (Or, more accurately, she's having problems getting him to make a commitment.) Mark appears to be stepping out on Bridget with an acquaintance she hates, a situation that allows her to spend hour upon hour dissecting the relationship with her equally tiresome friends Sharon and Jude. Bridget has landed herself a boyfriend (one Mark Darcy, but in case you don't get the reference, Bridget goes to great pains to spell it out for you), but she's - surprise! - having problems with commitment. (Once we've heard Austin Powers, why would anyone need Bridget's commentary on "shagging" and "snogging"?) Even fans of the original will find the sequel disappointing.
As usual, she's full of beans - not to mention cloying self-deprecation, irritating weight- and cigarette-obsession and vulgar pronouncements. Yes, folks, Bridget is back, reprising her role as the most self-involved single woman of the old (and new) millennium.
A tepid follow-up to the intermittently engaging 1998 bestseller Bridget Jones's Diary, the hottest import from Britain since the Beatles.