Now that the literary establishment is less sniffy about genre fiction such as thrillers and historical romance, the books which most often receive the curled lip are those known as chick-lit.
It is not the publishers who are sneering. In the 15 or so years since the first chick-lit novel strutted out wearing Gucci shades and a pair of Manolo Blahniks, the genre as a whole has become that industry Holy Grail - novels that actually make money. Massive advances and a shiny new name (within the industry, chick-lit is now referred to as commercial women's fiction) ensued.
Just about everyone else though, from literary critics to the consumers of high-brow blockbusters such as Brick Lane, are rather dismissive of chick-lit, and even its regular readers tend to be faintly apologetic rather than proud. Yet at its best, chick-lit shares the same qualities now appreciated in other genre fictions, notably strong plotting, lively if at times two-dimensional characters, and prose that works hard to drive a story rather than just drifting round looking pretty.
At first glance, Cecelia Ahern's PS, I Love You has the first quality in spades, as it boasts a plot device both simple and smart. One month after the tragic death of her husband, Gerry, 30-year-old Holly Kennedy is wondering how to go on living, when she finds 10 sealed letters written before his death. Holly is to open a letter at the start of each month and carry out the mission outlined within. Heartbreak, intrigue and love letters from beyond the grave - read that lot on a back cover, and you'll find it hard to put it down.
Of course, that's supposing you haven't picked up PS, I Love You out of simple curiosity. As if it needs saying, Cecelia Ahern is not only the new star in the commercial fiction firmament but also the daughter of Bertie and the sister-in-law of Nicky-of-Westlife; a multi-millionaire (US rights alone went for $1 million and Warner Bros is already making the film), cute as a button, and 22 years old.
While it's true that not all publicity is good publicity, all that sort of publicity is not just good but brilliant, at least as far as sales and column inches are concerned.
However, when a reader turns from the gossip pages to the first page, all the glitz in the world won't stop her from abandoning a dull novel by page five.
Cecelia Ahern is unwilling to let that fate befall her first novel, and she delivers an impressively smooth yet fast-moving introduction to the main players in Holly's world. There's cosy Sharon and drama-queen Denise, her best friends; Ciara, her pink-haired sister; Richard, her nerdy brother; Daniel, the love-interest (or is he?), and Leo, the flamboyant hairdresser.
Relationships between this web of family and friends are delineated with brio, and as Holly is forced to deal with friends finding love and family members letting her down, Ahern lets those relationships stretch and grow.
For the most part, these are characters rather than caricatures, although it's debatable whether perma-tanned, über-camp hairdresser Leo (catchphrase "Jaysus") is a stereotype or perfect social realism. Fittingly, it is Holly herself who is the strongest character of the lot; simultaneously strong and pathetic, funny yet shrewish, beautiful but badly in need of a shampoo.
With bereavement, Ahern has set herself a dauntingly difficult subject, and arguably, the lessons and realisations that come to Holly during the book are rather too neat for the gruelling irrationality of grief. Yet Ahern does allow Holly to take two steps back for every one step forward, and she does so with a sure and sympathetic hand. Although rather too fond of an easy phrase (grief is "overwhelming", eyes "twinkle" and people are regularly "lost in thought"), her prose is neither syrupy nor stilted, with promising flashes of humour and a relaxedly bawdy use of expletives.
Curious then, that it is the much-vaunted plot that lets Ahern down. The 10 letters never live up to their early promise. When Gerry tells the tone-deaf Holly to enter a karaoke competition, it yields one of the liveliest episodes in the book, but all too often Gerry's letters could be excerpts from The Little Book of Bereavement.
Instructions such as "shoot for the moon and if you miss you'll still be among the stars" are undoubtedly sweet, but fall a little flat as a page-turner.
All too often, the story is told through telephone conversations or lengthy explication, rather than action, while promising situations, such as Holly meeting Gerry's parents while in the company of a tall, dark stranger, are simply abandoned.
Strangely, too, for such a young writer, the portrait of 21st-century Dublin offered in PS, I Love You is pallid and old-fashioned. Holly usually goes to just one pub/club, a fictional establishment described as "a trendy nightclub that played all the latest music from the charts. It was where the young beautiful people went to show off their latest fashions", which sounds rather like a Bord Fáilte brochure circa 1973.
She meets her friends in Bewley's, shops on Grafton Street, and says not once but twice that her favourite CD is Westlife (after that, one wonders who Holly's favourite taoiseach might be). The brash, brilliant and bizarre new Dublin is nowhere to be found, a disappointing absence given that Ahern is the new young voice in a genre in which Irish writers such as Maeve Binchy, Marian Keyes, Cathy Kelly and Sheila O'Flanagan have led the field.
Yet for all its flaws, PS, I Love You is still a snappy read that licks along at a fine pace, and handles the tricky subject of bereavement with dignity and intelligence.
Louise East is a writer and critic. Her work is included in Travelling Light, an anthology edited by Sarah Webb, which will be published by Tivoli in March