Should We Mourn the Death of Chick-Lit? (via The Guardian)

Point, Elizabeth Day: I don’t mourn the end of chick-lit, not because I don’t admire it when  it’s done well but because the term has lost all meaning. It has become a  catch-all label for a generic mass of pink-jacketed books with  hand-illustrated covers depicting stilettos and Martini glasses.
Counterpoint, Tasmina Perry: I think it’s because we’re women. You don’t get David Nicholls isn’t  name-checked in close proximity to the words chick-lit, even though One Day's  Emma Morley could hardly ever find a boyfriend. We write  unapologetically commercial fiction with the aim of entertaining our  readers, not winning Pulitzer prizes. And it's not so much the  publishers who are guilty of pigeonholing us (come on, one of Jodi's  books had toy soldiers on the front cover) but the public at large.  After all, “chick-lit” trips off the tongue a lot more neatly than  “women's commercial fiction” when you're describing what you read on  your sun-lounger.

Should We Mourn the Death of Chick-Lit? (via The Guardian)

Point, Elizabeth Day: I don’t mourn the end of chick-lit, not because I don’t admire it when it’s done well but because the term has lost all meaning. It has become a catch-all label for a generic mass of pink-jacketed books with hand-illustrated covers depicting stilettos and Martini glasses.

Counterpoint, Tasmina Perry: I think it’s because we’re women. You don’t get David Nicholls isn’t name-checked in close proximity to the words chick-lit, even though One Day's Emma Morley could hardly ever find a boyfriend. We write unapologetically commercial fiction with the aim of entertaining our readers, not winning Pulitzer prizes. And it's not so much the publishers who are guilty of pigeonholing us (come on, one of Jodi's books had toy soldiers on the front cover) but the public at large. After all, “chick-lit” trips off the tongue a lot more neatly than “women's commercial fiction” when you're describing what you read on your sun-lounger.