The Undonestic Goddess (Sophie Kinsella)*****

I’m not interested in the law and I’m not interested in cooking. So how come a book that has so much of both in it is one of the best books I’ve ever read? It’s probably because Sophie Kinsella can make anything interesting. After all, all the other books of hers I’ve read were all about shopping.

The Undomestic Goddess isn’t about the loveable Becky Bloomwood/Brandon in the Shopaholic series, but the equally alliterative Samantha Sweeting is no less adorable. Samantha is amazingly clever – she’s a hotshot lawyer who can do maths in her head (I can barely do it on paper, you should have seen what a mess I get in adding up the values of my fantasy football players) with an IQ of 158 (mine usually comes out a bit higher, but I probably added that up wrong too). Samantha could probably draw up legal contracts in her sleep (if she had time to sleep), and now she has the opportunity to become a senior partner, despite being only twenty-nine.

But Samantha can’t cook, or clean, or make beds – which turns out to be a bit of a problem when she suddenly finds herself working as a housekeeper in the middle of nowhere.

It sounds mad, but Kinsella can make anything seem perfectly reasonable. Whether she’s describing the legal world or housekeeping, everything seems realistic. Of course, as I don’t actually know anything about the legal world or housekeeping, I might not notice if there was something wrong with it. But a lot of books about specialist subjects can be completely unconvincing even when I don’t know anything about the subject.

The events that lead Samantha to abandon her highly-paid job and jump on the nearest train are surprisingly convincing. Her sudden jump from being cool and competent to horror-struck seems completely natural. Some people (like me) might have trouble identifying with a highly intelligent workaholic for the first chapter or so of the book, but stick with it. The shocked, appalled Samantha is much easier to relate to.

Her decision to become housekeeper to the delightfully bonkers couple Trish and Eddie requires some salt-pinching, and I personally was very uncomfortable at times with the fact that Samantha got the job under false pretences, and told some very elaborate lies. But it’s easy to forget about that because the book is so much fun. Samantha is convincingly intelligent - I have no trouble believing she has a first-class degree from Cambridge (contrast this with GP Katie in How to be Good who probably isn’t intelligent enough to write her name). I also have no trouble believing that a lawyer might not be able to cook. If you had a schedule like Samantha’s, you would never find the time either. (I don’t have a schedule like Samantha’s and I haven’t found the time to learn to cook, even though I have cooking GCSE. But I did cook my boyfriend a Welsh dinner for Valentine’s Day and he hasn’t died yet.)

Unfortunately, Samantha’s love interest isn’t nearly as gorgeous as Becky’s Luke – but perhaps I’d feel that way about anyone unfortunate enough to be called Nathaniel (if there are any nice Nathaniels out there, I’m sure I’d change my mind if I happened to meet you. Why couldn’t he have a nice name like Gareth? I don’t think I’ve ever read a book about a sexy guy called Gareth.) Nathaniel is an okay sort of guy. He’s just rather overshadowed by Samantha. They’re a good couple, but not a double act.

But the thing that really annoyed me was when Trish and Eddie found out Samantha could do sums in her head, and Trish thought she might be autistic. I didn’t find this very amusing, and I don’t understand why it would be so scandalous if Samantha did turn out to be autistic. It doesn’t make her a bad person. And I’m autistic and I definitely can’t do sums in my head. I wish I could. Then maybe I’d give people the right money when I buy things.

But it’s very rare for Kinsella to make a joke I don’t appreciate. And when she does, it’s probably says more about me than her. But I do appreciate some jokes that are aimed at people like me. I think viola jokes are hilarious. Not that I’m saying I am a viola, I’d never be that self-critical. I just play one.