The wit of Elaine Dundy - but not enough to carry me to the end of her novel

At the end of section 1 (past the half-way point) in Elaine Dundy's The Dud Avacado (1958), a loosely autobiographical novel about her year post-college in Paris, and I can see why the book has been republished several times and seems to have drawn an eclectic following to say the least (Dundy's afterword to the 2007 NYRB reissue includes her boasts about praise she received on its initial publication from such luminaries as Groucho Marx and Ernest Hemingway, who said her dialog, unlike his, was realistic - sounds like apocryphal if not delusional quote. The book is what you might call jaunty and her writing style is crisp and funny, with many unusual turns of phrase, e.g., from one that sticks in my mind re the jazz bands at a particular club that "ranged from the professional to the inadequate." You can see how her choice of a single work turns this mere observation into a quip; the book is full of those. Yet: the book lacks any sense of plot (she should probably given it up and written a memoir) - just a series of a young American's adventures and misadventures and various liaisons and crushes. I know this is unfair w/out my following her to the end of her journey (in her "real" life she left Paris after a year of minor success in theater, moved to London, married the famous critic Kenneth Tynan, and wrote this book w/ others to follow), but I have little sense of the development of a character and no sense of her work in theater aside from a good description of her stage fright before 1st performance (and one good quote picked up in the intro essay to NYRB edition: asked how actors can say the same lines night after night she replies: Isn't that what we all do? Why not get paid for it?). She is cruel and self-destructive in love, dumping a smart, talented, caring young man and taking off with a guy she hardly knows for few weeks near Biarritz. But she's an adventuress, enabled by a generous grant from her wealthy uncle, and she seems careless about danger, responsibility, or commitment of any sort - a luxurious insouciance that few of her friends can indulge. For those charmed by her witty style, my quibbles about lack of direction would be immaterial, but my interest flagged by the half-way point.