It's still pretty trite overall, but it's one of the rare spots so far where he hasn't just done the same old thing. This character doesn't walk around with her neurosis tatooed on her forehead like all the others. He's at least giving it a shot. And he didn't even have to resort to silly page formatting to make a point like in Filth, though I am disappointed that he's using the same old characters again. Simon and Spud and Alison and Begbie... maybe I'm asking too much?
"I should be in the library studying or working on my essay instead of spending half my time in W.H. Smith's skimming that rack shamelessly: Elle, Cosmo, New Woman, Vanity Fair, looking at them all; the men's as well, GQ, Loaded, Maxim, gaping at all those bodies; obdurantly scanning the airbrushed perfection of them all, until one of them, just one, induces a hateful self-loathing that I'll never be like that, never look like that. Oh yeah, knowing, on a cognative, intellectual level that those image are compositions, they're made up, airbrushed, the one good picture a result of the photographer using make-up on the model, lots of sympathetic lighting and shooting rolls and rolls of film. And knowing that the model, actress, pop starlet is a fucked-up neurotic bitch just like me, who shits and dribbles in her pants, erupts in pus-filled spots under stress, has chronic halitosis as she's thrown up the contents of her guts so many times, has no septum from the coke she's snorted to keep going, and has a dark, stagnant monthly discharge dripping from her. Yes. But knowing intelectually is not enough, because 'real' isn't 'fact' any more. Real knowledge is emotional and in feeling and real feelings are endangered by the airbrused image, the slogan and the soundbite."