When Jane Green burst upon the British scene back in 1997, her novels were like a hot new nightclub, an instantly anointed “in” place that welcomed young, urban singles — primarily women, in her case — to gather, revel and, sometimes, commiserate among people experiencing the same traumas and triumphs.
Her first book, Straight Talking, chronicled the frantic (and antic) lives, conversation-heavy lunches and confounding loves of four single women in their twenties, their noses pressed against the picture window of luxurious lifestyle, all the while looking for Mr. Right, but often wondering what to do about Mr. Right Now.
“At the time, when I started writing, I was twenty-seven, I was single, and I was going out with horrific men and having the same relationships over and over again,” says Jane, her agreeably resonant British accent naturally emphasizing the key words. “All I did with my first novel was I sat down and documented it, but it was the first time that women had been able to pick up these kinds of books and say, ‘That could be me.’ ”