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The Devil Wears Prada: Loved the movie? Read the book! Kindle Edition

by Lauren Weisberger (Author) Format: Kindle Edition

4.2 4,243 ratings

Book 1 of 3: The Devil Wears Prada

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Welcome to Runway magazine - and the office of Miranda Priestly…

When Andrea first sets foot in the plush Manhattan offices of Runway she knows nothing. She's never heard of the world's most fashionable magazine, or its feared editor, Miranda Priestly.

A year later, Andy knows altogether too much:
That it's a sacking offence to wear anything lower than a three-inch heel to work.
That you can charge cars, manicures, anything at all to the Runway account, but you must never, ever, leave your desk, or let Miranda's coffee get cold.
And that at 3 am, when your boyfriend's dumping you and your best friend's just been arrested, if Miranda phones, you jump.

But most of all Andy knows this is her big break, and it's going to be worth it in the end.
Isn't it?

Editorial Reviews

Amazon.com Review

It's a killer title: The Devil Wears Prada. And it's killer material: author Lauren Weisberger did a stint as assistant to Anna Wintour, the all-powerful editor of Vogue magazine. Now she's written a book, and this is its theme: narrator Andrea Sachs goes to work for Miranda Priestly, the all-powerful editor of Runway magazine. Turns out Miranda is quite the bossyboots. That's pretty much the extent of the novel, but it's plenty. Miranda's behavior is so insanely over-the-top that it's a gas to see what she'll do next, and to try to guess which incidents were culled from the real-life antics of the woman who's been called Anna "Nuclear" Wintour. For instance, when Miranda goes to Paris for the collections, Andrea receives a call back at the New York office (where, incidentally, she's not allowed to leave her desk to eat or go to the bathroom, lest her boss should call). Miranda bellows over the line: "I am standing in the pouring rain on the rue de Rivoli and my driver has vanished. Vanished! Find him immediately!"

This kind of thing is delicious fun to read about, though not as well written as its obvious antecedent, The Nanny Diaries. And therein lies the essential problem of the book. Andrea's goal in life is to work for The New Yorker--she's only sticking it out with Miranda for a job recommendation. But author Weisberger is such an inept, ungrammatical writer, you're positively rooting for her fictional alter ego not to get anywhere near The New Yorker. Still, Weisberger has certainly one-upped Me Times Three author Alex Witchel, whose magazine-world novel never gave us the inside dope that was the book's whole raison d' etre. For the most part, The Devil Wears Prada focuses on the outrageous Miranda Priestly, and she's an irresistible spectacle. --Claire Dederer

--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Review

"[A] funny, biting, low-cal treat."
-Rush & Molloy, The New York Daily News

"A deliciously witty and gossipy first novel."
-Publishers Weekly

"[An] on-the-money kiss-and-tell debut.
-Kirkus

From the Hardcover edition. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

1

The light hadn't even officially turned green at the intersection of 17th and Broadway before an army of overconfident yellow cabs roared past the tiny deathtrap I was attempting to navigate around the city streets. Clutch, gas, shift (neutral to first? Or first to second?), release clutch, I repeated over and over in my head, the mantra offering little comfort and even less direction amid the screeching midday traffic. The little car bucked wildly twice before it lurched forward through the intersection. My heart flip-flopped in my chest. Without warning, the lurching evened out and I began to pick up speed. Lots of speed. I glanced down to confirm visually that I was only in second gear, but the rear end of a cab loomed so large in the windshield that I could do nothing but jam my foot on the brake pedal so hard that my heel snapped off. Shit! Another pair of seven-hundred-dollar shoes sacrificed to my complete and utter lack of grace under pressure: this clocked in as my third such breakage this month. It was almost a relief when the car stalled (I'd obviously forgotten to press the clutch when attempting to brake for my life). I had a few seconds--peaceful seconds if one could overlook the angry honking and varied forms of the word "fuck" being hurled at me from all directions--to pull off my Manolos and toss them into the passenger seat. There was nowhere to wipe my sweaty hands except for the suede Gucci pants that hugged my thighs and hips so tightly they'd both begun to tingle within minutes of my securing the final button. My fingers left wet streaks across the supple suede that swathed the tops of my now numb thighs. Attempting to drive this $84,000 stick-shift convertible through the obstacle-fraught streets of midtown at lunchtime pretty much demanded that I smoke a cigarette.

"Fuckin' move, lady!" hollered a swarthy driver whose chest hair threatened to overtake the wife-beater he wore. "What do you think this is? Fuckin' drivin' school? Get outta the way!"

I raised a shaking hand to give him the finger and then turned my attention to the business at hand: getting nicotine coursing through my veins as quickly as possible. My hands were moist again with sweat, evidenced by the matches that kept slipping to the floor. The light turned green just as I managed to touch the fire to the end of the cigarette, and I was forced to leave it hanging between my lips as I negotiated the intricacies of clutch, gas, shift (neutral to first? Or first to second?), release clutch, the smoke wafting in and out of my mouth with each and every breath. It was another three blocks before the car moved smoothly enough for me to remove the cigarette, but it was already too late: the precariously long line of spent ash had found its way directly to the sweat stain on the pants. Awesome. But before I could consider that, counting the Manolos, I'd wrecked $3,100 worth of merchandise in under three minutes, my cell phone bleated loudly. And as if the very essence of life itself didn't suck enough at that particular moment, the caller ID confirmed my worst fear: it was Her. Miranda Priestly. My boss.

"Ahn-dre-ah! Ahn-dre-ah! Can you hear me, Ahn-dre-ah?" she trilled the moment I snapped my Motorola open--no small feat considering both of my (bare) feet and hands were already contending with various obligations. I propped the phone between my ear and shoulder and tossed the cigarette out the window, where it narrowly missed hitting a bike messenger. He screamed out a few highly unoriginal "fuck yous" before weaving forward.

"Yes, Miranda. Hi, I can hear you perfectly."

"Ahn-dre-ah, where's my car? Did you drop it off at the garage yet?"

The light ahead of me blessedly turned red and looked as though it might be a long one. The car jerked to a stop without hitting anyone or anything, and I breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm in the car right now, Miranda, and I should be at the garage in just a few minutes." I figured she was probably concerned that everything was going well, so I reassured her that there were no problems whatsoever and we should both arrive shortly in perfect condition.

"Whatever," she said brusquely, cutting me off midsentence. "I need you to pick up Madelaine and drop her off at the apartment before you come back to the office." Click. The phone went dead. I stared at it for a few seconds before I realized that she'd deliberately hung up because she had provided all of the details I could hope to receive. Madelaine. Who the hell was Madelaine? Where was she at the moment? Did she know I was to pick her up? Why was she going back to Miranda's apartment? And why on earth--considering Miranda had a full-time driver, housekeeper, and nanny--was I the one who had to do it?

Remembering that it was illegal to talk on a cell phone while driving in New York and figuring the last thing I needed at that moment was a run-in with the NYPD, I pulled into the bus lane and switched my flashers on. Breathe in, breathe out, I coached myself, even remembering to apply the parking brake before taking my foot off the regular one. It had been years since I'd driven a stick-shift car--five years, actually, since a high school boyfriend had volunteered his car up for a few lessons that I'd decidedly flunked--but Miranda hadn't seemed to consider that when she'd called me into her office an hour and a half earlier.

"Ahn-dre-ah, my car needs to be picked up from the place and dropped off at the garage. Attend to it immediately, as we'll be needing it tonight to drive to the Hamptons. That's all." I stood, rooted to the carpet in front of her behemoth desk, but she'd already blocked out my presence entirely. Or so I thought. "That's all, Ahn-dre-ah. See to it right now," she added, still not glancing up.

Ah, sure, Miranda, I thought to myself as I walked away, trying to figure out the first step in the assignment that was sure to have a million pitfalls along the way. First was definitely to find out at which "place" the car was located. Most likely it was being repaired at the dealership, but it could obviously be at any one of a million auto shops in any one of the five boroughs. Or perhaps she'd lent it to a friend and it was currently occupying an expensive spot in a full-service garage somewhere on Park Avenue? Of course, there was always the chance that she was referring to a new car--brand unknown--that she'd just recently purchased that hadn't yet been brought home from the (unknown) dealership. I had a lot of work to do.

I started by calling Miranda's nanny, but her cell phone went straight to voice mail. The housekeeper was next on the list and, for once, a big help. She was able to tell me that the car wasn't brand-new and it was in fact a "convertible sports car in British racing green," and that it was usually parked in a garage on Miranda's block, but she had no idea what the make was or where it might currently be residing. Next on the list was Miranda's husband's assistant, who informed me that, as far as she knew, the couple owned a top-of-the-line black Lincoln Navigator and some sort of small green Porsche. Yes! I had my first lead. One quick phone call to the Porsche dealership on Eleventh Avenue revealed that yes, they had just finished touching up the paint and installing a new disc-changer in a green Carrera 4 Cabriolet for a Ms. Miranda Priestly. Jackpot!

I ordered a Town Car to take me to the dealership, where I turned over a note I'd forged with Miranda's signature that instructed them to release the car to me. No one seemed to care whatsoever that I was in no way related to this woman, that some stranger had cruised into the place and requested someone else's Porsche. They tossed me the keys and only laughed when I'd asked them to back it out of the garage because I wasn't sure I could handle a stick shift in reverse. It'd taken me a half hour to get ten blocks, and I still hadn't figured out where or how to turn around so I'd actually be heading uptown, toward the parking place on Miranda's block that her housekeeper had described. The chances of my making it to 76th and Fifth without seriously injuring myself, the car, a biker, a pedestrian, or another vehicle were nonexistent, and this new call did nothing to calm my nerves.

Once again, I made the round of calls, but this time Miranda's nanny picked up on the second ring.

"Cara, hey, it's me."

"Hey, what's up? Are you on the street? It sounds so loud."

"Yeah, you could say that. I had to pick up Miranda's Porsche from the dealership. Only, I can't really drive stick. But now she called and wants me to pick up someone named Madelaine and drop her off at the apartment. Who the hell is Madelaine and where might she be?"

Cara laughed for what felt like ten minutes before she said, "Madelaine's their French bulldog puppy and she's at the vet. Just got spayed. I was supposed to pick her up, but Miranda just called and told me to pick the twins up early from school so they can all head out to the Hamptons."

"You're joking. I have to pick up a fucking dog with this Porsche? Without crashing? It's never going to happen."

"She's at the East Side Animal Hospital, on Fifty-second between First and Second. Sorry, Andy, I have to get the girls now, but call if there's anything I can do, OK?"

Maneuvering the green beast to head uptown sapped my last reserves of concentration, and by the time I reached Second Avenue, the stress sent my body into meltdown. It couldn't possibly get worse than this, I thought as yet another cab came within a quarter-inch of the back bumper. A nick anywhere on the car would guarantee I lose my job--that much was obvious--but it just might cost me my life as well. Since there was obviously not a parking spot, legal or otherwise, in the middle of the day, I called the vet's office from outside and asked them to bring Madelaine to me. A kind... --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

From Booklist

In this debut novel (part of a wave of exposes about bad bosses that is sweeping the publishing world), former Vogue assistant Weisberger provides a telling account of life as an underling at the fictional Runway magazine. Here we meet Andrea Sachs, a recent Ivy League graduate hoping to break into the magazine business, with her ultimate goal being a job at the New Yorker. She accepts an entry-level position at Runway as personal assistant to the editor, Miranda Priestley (rumored to be based on Vogue 's Anna Wintour). However, her new job has nothing to do with writing or editing, and everything to do with predicting and fulfilling every outrageous whim her prima donna boss might have. While the job makes incredible demands on Sachs' personal life, the perks are undeniable: rubbing elbows with celebrities, being outfitted in designer clothes, and jetting off to Paris for fashion shows. Yet Weisberger's characters are all uniformly shallow and two-dimensional, and she seems to be worshiping this lifestyle at the same time that she is supposedly skewering it. However, the book is garnering lots of press, with a film deal also in the works, and Weisberger's dishy style will appeal to many readers. Kathleen Hughes
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Review

"[A] funny, biting, low-cal treat."
-Rush & Molloy, The New York Daily News

"A deliciously witty and gossipy first novel."
-Publishers Weekly

"[An] on-the-money kiss-and-tell debut.
-Kirkus

From the Hardcover edition. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

From AudioFile

Just out of college, with aspirations to be a writer, Andrealands an ill-defined job as assistant to the editor of RUNWAYmagazine--Miranda Priestly (rhymes with beastly). Soon Andrea is socaught up with Miranda's outrageous errands (pick up her dog, her car,her just-so lunch) and the world of fashion that she neglects herboyfriend and her needy roommate. Rachel Leigh Cook reads thisfirst-person nightmare at a rapid pace, capturing Andrea'snaïveté and skewering the city weirdos she encounters. But it'sher performance of the insipid and demanding "boss from hell" thatwill stick with you. Eventually Andrea tells the devil off but notbefore you've had a highly entertaining listen. J.B.G. ©AudioFile 2003, Portland, Maine-- Copyright © AudioFile, Portland, Maine --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

From the Inside Flap

A delightfully dishy novel about the all-time most impossible boss in the history of impossible bosses.

Andrea Sachs, a small-town girl fresh out of college, lands the job ?a million girls would die for.? Hired as the assistant to Miranda Priestly, the high-profile, fabulously successful editor of Runway magazine, Andrea finds herself in an office that shouts Prada! Armani! Versace! at every turn, a world populated by impossibly thin, heart-wrenchingly stylish women and beautiful men clad in fine-ribbed turtlenecks and tight leather pants that show off their lifelong dedication to the gym. With breathtaking ease, Miranda can turn each and every one of these hip sophisticates into a scared, whimpering child.

THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA gives a rich and hilarious new meaning to complaints about ?The Boss from Hell.? Narrated in Andrea?s smart, refreshingly disarming voice, it traces a deep, dark, devilish view of life at the top only hinted at in gossip columns and over Cosmopolitans at the trendiest cocktail parties. From sending the latest, not-yet-in-stores Harry Potter to Miranda?s children in Paris by private jet, to locating an unnamed antique store where Miranda had at some point admired a vintage dresser, to serving lattes to Miranda at precisely the piping hot temperature she prefers, Andrea is sorely tested each and every day?and often late into the night with orders barked over the phone. She puts up with it all by keeping her eyes on the prize: a recommendation from Miranda that will get Andrea a top job at any magazine of her choosing. As things escalate from the merely unacceptable to the downright outrageous, however, Andrea begins to realize that the job a million girls would die for may just kill her. And even if she survives, she has to decide whether or not the job is worth the price of her soul.

From the Hardcover edition. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

From Publishers Weekly

Most recent college grads know they have to start at the bottom and work their way up. But not many picture themselves having to pick up their boss's dry cleaning, deliver them hot lattes, land them copies of the newest Harry Potter book before it hits stores and screen potential nannies for their children. Charmingly unfashionable Andrea Sachs, upon graduating from Brown, finds herself in this precarious position: she's an assistant to the most revered-and hated-woman in fashion, Runway editor-in-chief Miranda Priestly. The self-described "biggest fashion loser to ever hit the scene," Andy takes the job hoping to land at the New Yorker after a year. As the "lowest-paid-but-most-highly-perked assistant in the free world," she soon learns her Nine West loafers won't cut it-everyone wears Jimmy Choos or Manolos-and that the four years she spent memorizing poems and examining prose will not help her in her new role of "finding, fetching, or faxing" whatever the diabolical Miranda wants, immediately. Life is pretty grim for Andy, but Weisberger, whose stint as Anna Wintour's assistant at Vogue couldn't possibly have anything to do with the novel's inspiration, infuses the narrative with plenty of dead-on assessments of fashion's frivolity and realistic, funny portrayals of life as a peon. Andy's mishaps will undoubtedly elicit laughter from readers, and the story's even got a virtuous little moral at its heart. Weisberger has penned a comic novel that manages to rise to the upper echelons of the chick-lit genre.
Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

About the Author

Lauren Weisberger graduated from Cornell University in 1999. She lives in New York City.

From the Hardcover edition. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Review

PRAISE FOR THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA: 'This little gem mixes Sex and the City charm with dry New York wit., REAL 'Sassy, insightful and sooo Sex and The City, you'll be rushing to the bookshop for your copy like it's a half price Prada sale., COMPANY 'The most fun we've had in ages., HEAT 'Delicious...a great insight into the world of magazines and fashion., RED --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

From the Back Cover

"[A] funny, biting, low-cal treat."
-Rush & Molloy, The New York Daily News

"A deliciously witty and gossipy first novel."
-Publishers Weekly

"[An] on-the-money kiss-and-tell debut.
-Kirkus

From the Hardcover edition. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Product details

ASIN ‏ : ‎ B008B1BL5I
Publisher ‏ : ‎ HarperCollins (July 19, 2012)
Publication date ‏ : ‎ July 19, 2012
Language ‏ : ‎ English
File size ‏ : ‎ 1179 KB
Text-to-Speech ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Screen Reader ‏ : ‎ Supported
Enhanced typesetting ‏ : ‎ Enabled
X-Ray ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Word Wise ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Sticky notes ‏ : ‎ On Kindle Scribe
Print length ‏ : ‎ 401 pages

Best Sellers Rank: #996,109 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #4,645 in Women's Literary Fiction
- #16,855 in Contemporary Women's Fiction
- #22,596 in Women's Romance Fiction

Customer Reviews:
4.2 4,243 ratings

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Lauren Weisberger
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Lauren Weisberger is the author of The Devil Wears Prada, which spent more than a year on the New York Times hardcover and paperback bestseller lists. The film version, starring Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway, won a Golden Globe Award and grossed over $300 million worldwide. Her second novel, Everyone Worth Knowing, was also a New York Times bestseller. She lives in New York City with her husband.
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Jane Rollason
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evanascent

Fun read

Reviewed in the United States on June 20, 2018

Verified Purchase

I really enjoyed reading this story, as it has themes that many people can relate to. Everyone loves talking about that especially awful boss! There were 2 small things that annoyed me, but not enough to detract from my enjoyment of the book: 1) the depiction of the relationship with Alex. That guy sounded like such a dweeb that I was honestly happy the relationship didn't last. I was rooting for Andy to get together with the hot writer and dump her irritating boyfriend. The fact that you would live in the same city and not live together in the same apartment with your boyfriend after finishing college sounds totally unrealistic to me and like they were just asking for their relationship to end. No wonder they saw so little of each other that the relationship became unsustainable! On a related note, Alex and Andy refusing to spend the night together in the old apartment before Andy moved to her new apartment so as not to create an "awkward" situation with the parents also came across as unrealistically prudish, unless they are religious and have made a pledge of no sex before marriage, which did not appear to be the case in this story. 2) everyone treating Andy like she's personally let them all down. It sounds like cruel and unusual punishment to treat someone that way when they already have to deal with a horrible boss and don't have much of a choice over their schedule and free time. I don't know anyone who would treat their loved ones that way, unless they were themselves selfish and thoughtless.

Other than those 2 small things, this was a really fun, easy read which mirrors the movie quite well.

10 people found this helpful

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GS

The Movie Is Better

Reviewed in the United States on May 24, 2022

Verified Purchase

This book is okay. It is more okay because I loved the movie. Here's the deal... It's kind of ridiculously held together. The conflict for the main character is that their family and friends don't like how she's changed with her new job. Supposedly the entry-level job of a lifetime and her roommate, family, and boyfriend are all constantly on her about her doing her job. - I'd say get off my back and keep doing my job. It's that flimsy. Additionally, editing is weak - like so many books of this genre - in that the same information related to the character's thinking or feelings or circumstances is repeated in nearly every chapter. Filler fluff that weighs the book down and seems to assume a reader is...dense, maybe...? It makes me wonder about book editing processes. Maybe different editors work on different sections of the book and they don't realize they're repeating basic info? - Or its' aprtly done by software algorithms? - Anyway... The movie is better. Much more enjoyable, because. -well: Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci and Emily Blunt.

9 people found this helpful

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Jbarrera

Great Condition

Reviewed in the United States on March 13, 2024

Verified Purchase

Great Condition

One person found this helpful

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scarc

Nothing like the movie

Reviewed in the United States on March 26, 2024

Verified Purchase

Very different characters from the movie. The plot is quite different too. It's a fun and entertaining reading.

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B Spencer

Great product. Great Price. Thanks.

Reviewed in the United States on September 14, 2023

Verified Purchase

My book arrived on time. Amazon sent email that product was on hold. Not True,
Thanks for great product. I'll order from you in the future.
B. Spencer in Williamsburg, VA

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wadejen

May I Never Encounter Miranda Priestly

Reviewed in the United States on October 28, 2004

Verified Purchase

I positively loved this book even more than The Nanny Diaries. Andrea seems like a real person - even though she's 5'9" and weighs 115 pounds. She's warm, funny, smart and a little off-beat. Some of my favorite passages came from Andrea's difficulty in locating a vintage dresser for Miranda with only one clue: the street name or when Andrea had to find the newest Harry Potter book even before it was released. When she had to fly it over to Paris and messed up (she only sent one copy), I began to feel like I was reading about a high operation military maneuver. As I was reading the climax of the story, I literally was going 60 mph trying to get the conclusion (I had an inkling of what was going to happen). I don't want to spoil it because this book, no matter what age you are or where you live or your occupation, takes the reader right into the heart of a working place h*** and everybody will relate to that. The book grabs the reader right from the beginning (brings you back to driver's education) and never lets go. I got this book right when it was released and it's one of my favorites. Happy reading!

One person found this helpful

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Kat G.

A fun read - Chick lit at it's best!

Reviewed in the United States on July 1, 2010

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Devil Wears Prada By: Lauren Weisberger

Fresh out of ivy-league college and looking to land her dream job as a writer for the New Yorker magazine, Andy Sachs (Ahn-dre-ah) embarks on a year long journey working as a junior assistant for Miranda Priestly, editor of the most fashionable magazine around, Runway. Working for Miranda, who is known for being sadistic, difficult and notoriously demanding, for a year will open the door to the New Yorker quicker for Andy than any other path she can think of. The question is, Can she survive a year with this woman? After all, this is the job, that has nothing to do with writing and everything to do with fetching coffee to dropping off dry cleaning is the job "A million girls would die for", or so she is told over and over again. But is she one of those girls? Especially when it comes at the expense of her friends and family? With a cast of easily likable and unlikable characters, Devil Wears Prada is an easy, fun chic-lit read that can be enjoyed. But while being an easy read, there is a well hidden core message that reminds us to realize how we prioritize work, family and love.

4 people found this helpful

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