I haven’t read a novel by Jackie Collins in twenty-five years. I do remember reading a previous book featuring Lucky Santangelo, the main character in Confessions of a Wild Child, but since then, apparently, Jackie Collins wrote a whole series of best-selling books about Lucky’s adventures as an adult.
Confessions of a Wild Child goes back in time to when Lucky was a boy-mad fifteen-year old, ending on her wedding day at the age of sixteen. Lucky’s father, Gino ‘The Ram’ Santangelo, arranged the marriage in an attempt to curb Lucky’s wild behaviour, (chasing boys, messing around with boys, running away from school with a school friend, getting caught by her Dad with boys. Hmm, not so different to most teenagers).
Lucky is a beautiful, smart, feisty heroine who does exactly as she wants, except for agreeing to enter into an arranged marriage. She gets expelled from her strict girl’s school in Switzerland, has adventures in the Greek islands with her school friend, Olympia, and runs away from another exclusive school to the French Riviera. Confessions of a Wild Child is pure escapism, although there isn’t much of a plot and thinking is not required.
The type was so big I could read in bed without my glasses and the story so slight that I finished the book in just a few hours. The story was not as exciting or ground-breaking as I had expected from Jackie Collins. Probably I’m a bit harder to shock these days.
I think I’ve outgrown this style of book. I probably realised this twenty five years ago when I read my last Jackie Collins novel, but I must have forgot. Apparently that happens as you get older.