Books

Sarah Bird gleefully pokes a gigantic, snarky hole in the Texas society bubble with her latest, How Perfect Is That, set in Austin during Dubya's first presidential term.

As How Perfect opens, not-so-sweet heroine Blythe Young is reeling from a nasty divorce from Trey Dix, scion of the privileged, proudly cliquish Pemberton Heights neighborhood.

Blythe, owner of the splendidly named, but failing, catering company Wretched Xcess, has been bankrupted into living in the carriage house of a rich friend. She's spending way too much time contemplating the "few basics I most regret either not obtaining or not hanging onto: 1) a husband, 2) a home, and 3) a Pap smear" (she can't afford it).

She's also regretting christening herself Blythe, as these days she's feeling more bitter than blithe. She renamed herself in high school, after deciding she'd had enough of Chanterelle, her given name, which most often had people mistaking her for "either a stripper or, far worse, exactly what I was, the daughter of a trailer-trash tramp of a mother too stupid to know that in her single, solitary moment of maternal lyricism she had named her only child after a mushroom."

She hopes that a final party, catered for Kippie Lee Teeter, will at least temporarily solve her problems with a cash infusion. But when Kippie Lee discovers that Blythe has substituted Sam's Club (the horror!) hors d'oeuvres for the fabulous homemade goodies she'd promised, payment becomes optional in Kippie Lee's mind.

This leads to a hilarious, if disturbing, scene in which Blythe drops Rohypnol into the guests' cocktails, hoping she can get Kippie Lee to drunkenly sign that check.

Blythe is nothing if not self-delusional: " 'Date rape drug' is such an ugly term," she reasons. "And so far from my intent. All I seek is a bit of fuzziness, not the full nonconsensual coma."

The untimely appearance of an IRS agent at the party sends Blythe fleeing, literally, toward the motherly ministrations of a college friend who's still living in Seneca House, the hippie-esque co-op where they spent their youth.

Blythe's drug addiction, selfishness and utter lack of regard for her housemates nearly destroys the friendship, until Blythe finally starts to use her dubious talents to help the co-op and make amends.

Ms. Bird's wickedly good grasp of social satire couldn't be finer, and Blythe eventually turns from someone readers will love to hate into someone they'll love, period.

Along the way, the author gets in precise jabs at everyone from the president ("It is as if George W. Bush himself had blessed my mission and promised that everything would turn out fine. What could possibly go wrong?") to our fair state's educational shortcomings ("I recognize Juniper's printing. Product of the Texas public school system, she never learned cursive.")

This is a perfect, curl-up-with-a-margarita splash of summer fun. But beware the sharp edges; Ms. Bird spares virtually no one in her satirical slashing, and you might just find yourself paper-cut.

Sarah Bird

(Knopf, $23.95) Sarah Bird will read from and sign How Perfect Is That at 7 p.m. Wednesday at Borders, Preston Road at Royal Lane.

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