In Which Annoying, Bourgie Broads Do Annoying, Bourgie Things.

Forget Xanax. Read this jawn and you'll be out within the first two chapters.

I really wanted to like this book. The cover didn’t make me want to set it on fire, and the “dirty whore” side of me was just itching to read something hot, salacious and well-written. Unfortunately, The Learning Curve was none of the above. I mean, it’s great if you’re um, new to the whole “reading books” thing. Not so much when you’ve been in the game like, all of your fucking life and know how a good book reads. Sadly, The Learning Curve reads like something Dr. Seuss would’ve written after masturbating to a “Red Shoe Diaries” marathon.

The book opens with Langston Rogers, a free-spirited magazine editor meeting  Aminah Anderson, her high-saddity, God-fearing best friend for their bi-monthly mani/pedi/brunch thing at their favorite chi chi salon. After being caught out there with no panties on [literally], Langston foolishly confesses about her new affair with some 20-something wunderkind with OMGTHEMOSTAMAZINGPENISEVER. Aminah, being the high saddity, God-fearing gal she is, clutches her Tiffany pearls in horror, cusses her best friend out, and peels off in her “shiny jet-black Range Rover” to head home to her husband Fame, a multi-platinum record producer who’s also the whoriest whore who ever whored. Crestfallen, Langston returns to her tony Huxtable brownstone, where her faithful husband Sean is presumably waiting for her in their bed [four-poster with 500-thread count Egyptian sheets, of course] with a 10-inch dick and a plate of fried tilapia garnished with baby greens.

Sound familiar? Of course it does. Because you’ve met variations of these characters over and over and over again in a gazillion Af-Am lit novels. There is absolutely nothing unique or fascinating about these cardboard cutouts. What is fascinating, however, is how many luxury items Renfroe can name-check in one paragraph. She definitely has the gift. Cate Blanchett. [Ugh. I really hate Wheelchair Jimmy.] Seriously, though. She’s the literary equivalent to 2008 Jay-Z, except Jay’s actually clever with his ish.

For the most part, The Learning Curve meanders along at a pace of an arthritic octogenarian searching for her missing Matlock tape, which may be due to Renfroe’s penchant for long-winded exposition. Clearly we dozed off during the “show, don’t tell” part of our Learning Annex “You Can Write A Novel, Too!” workshop. By the time Renfroe does rev up the action, it’s too late; your eyes are already drooping and the drool is slowly making its downward descent toward your chin.

Final Verdict: Use this book to chop your finest weed on.