There's a rule written somewhere which says "stick to what you know", and if Jewel had done this, as a Jewel fan, I wouldn't have to be writing this review.
Jewel the musician is excellent, heartfelt and meaningful. How on earth this went on to be one of the best selling books of poetry in the US, ever, is simply inconceivable.
This collection is basically distilled teenage angst, a pop star whining about her awful life while wearing Versace and going to premiers.
Laughably poor, and utterly risible. This is the lowest quality poetry I have seen published. If Jewel hadn't been famous already, this would have been laughed out of every publisher's office
Don't give up the day job, Jewel.
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