Angus, Thongs and Full-frontal Snogging
by Louise Rennison

Bibliography

Rennison, L. (1999). Angus, thongs and full-frontal snogging. New York, NY: Harper Collins Children's Books. ISBN0060288140

Summary

Written as a diary from August 23 to July 17, Angus, Thongs and Full-frontal Snogging hilariously captures Georgia Nicolson's thoughts on her cat, boys, family, and friends.  A mirthful "glossary" at the end helps American readers with all the British-isms scattered through the book.  

Critical Analysis

What makes this book funny?  First, Georgia Nicolson is portrayed as such a typical, unintentionally witty, and sincere teenager that all the things girls laugh at about themselves and each other are just waiting to make you snicker.  Second, Louise Rennison's style and approach keep the tone light, even when the subjects turn serious, while moving the believable plot along at an attention-keeping pace.  She helps girls laugh at those miserable, embarrassing spots on their noses, the horrible feeling of bras riding up to necks, and the mysterious creatures called boys!
 
Set in England, the story rings true.  Watch any term time morning and you will see children going to school in uniforms similar to Georgia's, all tugging at this bit or that. Rennison leaves the reader wanting more Georgia, not only because she's funny and we want to know if she moves to New Zealand, but because it is inspiring and even moving to see how she handles life's daily (minutely?) ups-and-downs.

Review Excerpts

* This "fabbity, fab, fab" novel will leave readers cheering, "Long live the teen!" -- Booklist

* It will take a sophisticated reader to enjoy the wit and wisdom of this charming British import, but those who relish humor will be satisfied. Fresh, lively, and engaging. --School Library Journal

Connections

* There are many Georgia Nicolson books to enjoy!  Here they are along with other books by Louise Rennison. And here is the movie version.

* And here is the official Georgia Nicolson website!

* Excerpt from Angus, Thongs and Full-frontal Snogging:


Sunday August 23 rd
my bedroom
raining
10.00 am
Dad had Uncle Eddie round so naturally they had to come and nose around and see what I was up to. If Uncle Eddie (who is bald as a coot -- two coots, in fact) says to me one more time, "Should bald heads be buttered?" I may kill myself. He doesn't seem to realize that I no longer wear romper-suits. I feel like yelling at him, "I am fourteen years old, Uncle Eddie! I am bursting with womanhood, I wear a bra! OK, it's a bit on the loose side and does ride up round my neck I if run for the bus "but the womanly potential is there, you bald coot!"
Talking of breasts, I'm worried that I may end up like the rest of the women in my family, with just the one bust, like a sort of shelf affair. Mum can balance things on hers when her hands are full--at parties, and so on, she can have a sandwich and drink and save a snack for later by putting it on her shelf. It's very unattractive. I would like a proper amount of breastiness but not go too far with it, like Melanie Andrews, for instance. I got the most awful shock in the showers after hockey last term. Her bra looks like two shopping bags. I suspect she is a bit unbalanced hormonally. She certainly is when she tries to run for the ball. I thought she'd run right through the fence with the momentum of her bosoomers' as Jas so amusingly calls them.

still in my room
still raining
still Sunday
 11.30 am
I don't see why I can't have a lock on my bedroom door. I have no privacy; it's like Noel's House Party' in my room. Every time I suggest anything around this place people start shaking their heads and tutting. It's like living in a house full of chickens dressed in frocks and trousers. Or a house full of those nodding dogs, anyway I can't have a lock on my door is the short and short of it.
"Why not?" I asked Mum reasonably (catching her in one of the rare minutes when she's not at Italian evening class or at another party).
"Because you might have an accident and we couldn't get in," she said.
"An accident like what?" I persisted.
"Well you might faint," she said.
Then Dad joined in, "You might set fire to your bed and be overcome with fumes."
What is the matter with people? I know why they don't want me to have a lock on my door, it's because it would be a first sign of my path to adulthood and they can't bear the idea of that because it would mean they might have to get on with their own lives and leave me alone.