It’s been 15 years since we last heard from Bridget Jones, patron saint of single women everywhere. After countless cigarettes and alcohol units, years of attending Christmas parties alone and crying over various forms of “emotional f–kwittage” with only a Cadbury Milk Tray for company, Jones had finally found her man.
And what a man he was!
Mark Darcy was handsome, witty, pretty much perfect, if a bit uptight. He liked Bridget — to the sniffling, tissue crumpling delight of women everywhere — just as she was.
At the end of “Edge of Reason,” the sequel to “Bridget Jones’ Diary” (1998) which ushered in a candy-colored age of chick lit, it seemed the two of them would ride off happily into the London sunset, conquering Smug Married dinner parties together forever.
It was a fairy tale ending for a woman who was always more slapstick comic heroine than fairy tale princess.
Except now, the fairy tale is over. And life sucks.
[**SPOILER ALERT! IF YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW THAT MARK DARCY IS DEAD, STOP READING.]
Bridget Jones is back, with the publication Tuesday of “Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy,” which sees her as a 51-year-old widow and mother of two young children, navigating a brave new world.
She has no job and no man. Darcy, a gentleman to the end, has left her financially well off, but she is crushingly, heartbreakingly sad.
Break out the razor blades and cyanide, everyone!
Is author Helen Fielding trying to kill us all?
Bridget Jones fans have spent years caring about these characters and rooting for their happiness — only to have it all dashed to bits in a freak landmine accident in Sudan.
“I had to ask him if he had someone with him and if he was sitting down,” Fielding told Time magazine, of having to break the news to Colin Firth, who played him, over the phone. “It was like someone actually had died. We had to process it. And I was almost saying, ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’ ”
For over a decade now, women of all ages have read or watched Bridget Jones to empathize, to relate, to laugh — and to feel that happiness IS possible even when you aren’t 22 and 110 lbs.
If the message of the previous two novels was one of hope and humor, offering light at the end of the tunnel, “Mad About the Boy” makes it clear that you can spend years searching for The One and then, when you find him, he will die.
What’s next? Romeo committing suicide? Oh, wait.
A more appropriate title might be “Bridget Jones: Nothing Lasts Forever” or “Bridget Jones: Ephemeral Nature of Life.”
To add insult to emotional injury, four years have passed since Mark’s death, and friends are encouraging Bridget to enter the dreaded dating world once again.
Things have changed; there’s new technology to contend with, countless new ways for Bridget to embarrass herself. Fortunately, as sad as this book can be, there are also many truly funny moments, such as when Bridget opens a Twitter account under the name JonesyBJ. Then she sits down and waits for followers to come.
“9.47 pm: No followers.
9:50 pm: Actually will not wait for followers. A watched pot never boils.
10 pm: Wonder if I’ve got any followers yet.”
She slowly, gradually comes back to life with a combination of Tweeting (“Twunking,” as she calls it), a visit to an obesity clinic and a rebound relationship with a man 20 years her junior that has her feeling sexy again for the first time in years — “Now that, my darling,” comments one of her friends after she brings her boy toy to a party, and emerges the envy of all, “Is what I call rebranding.”
And what of Daniel Cleaver, the winking bad boy to Mr. Darcy’s good? As if we weren’t already feeling old, he is now godfather to Bridget’s children. He’s still completely irresponsible — but at least he and Bridget are no longer having sex on the side.
For, despite the incredible sadness of the book, Bridget has learned a thing or two. She’s a bit wiser — and no less witty for it. “I stared dramatically ahead, thinking ‘I am brave, though I am alone,’ ” she writes. “Then realized that my phone was quacking somewhere.”
But while hard-earned wisdom is all very well and good, it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that would lend itself to another hilarious “Bridget Jones” movie.
Unless, of course, Mark Darcy were to be magically reappear knocking at Bridget’s door, his whole death turning out to be a hilarious misunderstanding, and the two of them could carry on happily — just as they were.