But the truth is, Mia spends all her time doing one of three things: preparing for her nerve-racking entr_e into Genovian society, slogging through the congestion unique to Manhattan in December, and avoiding further smooches from her hapless boyfriend, Kenny. For Mia, being a princess in love is not the fairy tale it's supposed to be . . . or is it?
프리랜서 일러스트레이터가 되기 위해 뉴욕으로 갔지만 소설 쓰기에 뜻을 두고 일러스트레이터의 꿈을 포기했다. 뉴욕 대학교 기숙사의 부사감으로 일하면서 사감의 눈을 피해 틈틈이 글 쓰기에 집중하며 작가의 꿈을 키웠다. 남편과 사별한 후 새로 남자 친구를 사귀고 있는 작가의 어머니에게서 영감을 얻어 쓰게 된 『프린세스 다이어리』는 그녀를 일약 세계적인 베스트 셀러 작가로 만들었다. 무명으로 여러 출판사를 전전하다 마침내 HarperCollins에 발탁되는 행운을 얻은 그녀는 2권 『Princess in the Spotlight』을 올 여름에 출간했으며 3권을 현재 집필 중이다. 감각적이면서도 유쾌한 글쓰기로 여성이라면 누구나 가질 수 있는 환상과 현실을 그리고 있는 이 작품은 웃고 즐기는 사이에 어느새 책의 마지막 장을 덮게 할 만큼 활달하고 매력적이다. 현재 뉴욕에 거주하고 있다.
English ClassM. Assignment (Due December 8): Here at Albert Einstein High School, we have a very diverse student population. Over one hundred and seventy different nations, religions, and ethnic groups are represented by our student body. In the space below, describe the manner in which your family celebrates the uniquely American holiday, Thanksgiving. Please utilize appropriate margins.
by Mia Thermopolis
6:45 a.m. ? Roused by the sound of my mother vomiting. She is well into her third month of pregnancy now. According to her obstetrician, all the throwing up should stop in the next trimester. I can't wait. I have been marking the days off on my 'N Sync calendar. (I don't really like 'N Sync. At least, not that much. My best friend, Lilly, bought me the calendar as a joke. Except that one guy really is pretty cute.)
7:45 a.m. ? Mr. Gianini, my new stepfather, knocks on my door. Only now I am supposed to call him Frank. This is very difficult to remember due to the fact that at school, where he is my first-period Algebra teacher, I am supposed to call him Mr. Gianini. So I just don't call him anything (to his face).
It's time to get up, Mr. Gianini says. We are having Thanksgiving at his parents' house on Long Island. We have to leave now if we are going to beat the traffic.
8:45 a.m. ? There is no traffic this early on Thanksgiving Day. We arrive at Mr. G's parents' house in Sagaponic three hours early.
Mrs. Gianini (Mr. Gianini's mother, not my mother. My mother is still Helen Thermopolis because she is a fairly wellknown modern painter under that name, and also because she does not believe in the cult of the patriarchy) is still in curlers. She looks very surprised. This might not only be because we arrived so early, but also because no sooner had my mother entered the house than she was forced to run for the bathroom with her hand pressed over her mouth, on account of the smell of the roasting turkey. I am hoping this means that my future half-brother or -sister is a vegetarian, since the smell of meat cooking used to make my mother hungry, not nauseated.
My mother had already informed me in the car on the way over from Manhattan that Mr. Gianini's parents are very old-fashioned and are used to enjoying a conventional Thanksgiving meal. She does not think they will appreciate hearing my traditional Thanksgiving speech about how the Pilgrims are guilty of committing mass genocide by giving their new Native American friends blankets filled with the smallpox virus, and that it is reprehensible that we as a country annually celebrate this rape and destruction of an entire culture.
Instead, my mother said, I should discuss more neutral topics, such as the weather.