Gigi Levangie Grazer has written one previous novel (Rescue Me), helped pen the screenplay for Stepmom, and, not least, is married to Hollywood uber-producer Brian Grazer (he of the wacky hair and the not-so-wacky partnership with Ron Howard). At first glance, Mrs. Grazer appears to be a complete parvenu as a novelist. Maneater rips off every girl-power/shopaholic source from early Tama Janowitz right up to Sex and the City. Her prose can be ungrammatical, her plot hopelessly predictable, and her characters paper-thin. But Grazer has a secret weapon: her preternaturally acid powers of observation. When she writes about the freaky mores of Hollywood, the book exerts an irresistible pull. Thirtyish LA It girl Clarissa Alpert reflects on her shallow, jobless, mateless (but fabulous!) life, and decides it's high time she was married. She and her four best friends (hello, Sarah Jessica Parker and company) hatch a plan to snag the cutest, hottest young producer in town. What ensues is hardly new territory, but the book is enlivened by Grazer's amazing ability to nail down pop culture ephemera. To wit: "Clarissa was sentimental--she liked saving messages from old friends and C-level celebrities. She had an answering tape collection that dated all the way back to babydoll dresses, sparkle dust and Hole." Her eye for detail--and her refusal ever to make Clarissa lovable, or even likable--make Maneater a hypnotic read. This is fiction-as-gigantic-chocolate-bar. Halfway through, you feel a little off color, but there's no way you're going to stop.