Smart Bitches Trashy Books | All of the romance, none of the bullshit.

Jane: I read Cavendish first, just for the fun of it and ultimately liked Cavendish better because I thought Amelia was slightly more interesting and thought Thomas’ dilemma better written (having a dukedom potentially torn from you had to be really horrible).

Jack’s life in Wyndham seems fairly satisfactory and even his past drama wasn’t wrought enough in the beginning to make me really root for him.  I thought Grace was toothless.

There’s a definite difficulty level in writing two stories that overlap the same time period and include the same scenes.  I thought that while this was innovative, reading the stories back to back showed some problems such as the repetition of significant chunks of dialogue.  I would have liked to seen a lot less of the overlapping dialogue and other ways of retelling the same story whether it was using some other characters or what not.

You?

Sarah: Ultimately I liked Wyndham better, but I thought the inner monologue of Jack the more interesting of the two men. That said, his attempts to subvert tension with unflappable humor and Thomas’ dilemma of having his dukedom ripped from him and his question as to what that leaves him with, and who ultimately he is, were equally fascinating. Grace was often toothless, but also as much a victim of circumstance as Jack, so their ability to relate to one another I found enticing to read about. And when Grace stood up for herself, such as the rare private moments where she teased Thomas, or made rather cutting jokes with her friends, her character was sparkling good fun.

What bothered me, as a result, was Thomas’ sudden realization of the degree to which Grace’s life sucks, because no one has put a limit on Evil Granny’s behavior.  While he was the duke, he could have done more - he admits it and he is ashamed of himself, but by the time the story rolls around, years of the status quo have made his admission a bit too small. Thomas holds Grace’s happiness in his hands to a much greater degree than he seems to realize - even as he treats her with extreme censure for not telling him about Jack’s existence.

I didn’t think the repeated dialogue was a problem, though. For one thing, the books aren’t going to be released simultaneously, so certain points that hinge the narratives together, like all parties present at the same scene, told from two different - or four different - perspectives didn’t bother me. But what I did want was more of the newer parts of the story when I read Cavendish after Wyndham. Granted I was reading them back to back as you were, so I knew what was happening and thus I wanted more of the newer perspective of Amelia or Thomas immediately following or during a matching scene that occurred in both books. So I found the ending of Cavendish very delicious, and was so curious what happened with Amelia and Thomas. The additional scenes in Cavendish revealed a very satisfying happy ending, which was doubly satisfying due to the fact that it was new, whereas the story told twice and read one after another was not as new by the time I was done. Wyndham‘s jump-forward into the merry rosy future bothered me because after all that neat-o innovation with romance storytelling, it was a very pedantic extra reinforcement of the happy ending.

Jane: I thought Jack being the happy go lucky guy with the smooth tongue was a great contrast with Thomas, but I felt that it wasn’t a contrast that was sharp enough unless you read both books.  I totally agree with Jack and Grace being victims of their circumstances, but the romance between the two of them (and between Thomas and Amelia) was tepid. 

I see your point about Thomas and I bet my preference is due to reading his book first and thus “bonding” with him in some sense. I thought the evil granny was wayyyyy more evil in book 1 than book 2.  In fact, the only evil-ness that I saw were the two scenes bossing Grace around.  I was really shocked when I read Wyndham as to how truly mean and degrading she was and did not understand AT ALL why Thomas hadn’t put his foot down.  I wished his evolution from being a self absorbed prig would have been more gradual.

I actually never totally bought into Thomas’ love for Amelia and I wondered if Amelia’s feelings weren’t just an extended crush on someone she thought she should have a crush on.  These women lacked grativas for me. 

The stories were very centered on Thomas and Jack and I think it would have benefited both stories to see a slower and deeper evolution of their co dependency.  I thought a co-dukeship would have been wonderful and I agree with you that the baby filled epilogue (that had no real purpose) was missing the point.

Sarah: Grace and Jack had a very limited time of exposure to one another, contrasted with a lifetime of forced encounters for Thomas and Amelia, who knew of each other their whole lives. I had to make a bit of a jump mentally to buy their whirlwind of a “OMG I want to be with you for EVAH” but because I liked Grace (and totally and deeply empathized with her being in an unpleasant position out of necessity and lack of acceptable alternatives) and I liked Jack, I was willing to do it. But then I question lately how much I as a reader overwrite - or underwrite - a romance I am rooting for, adding details and accessories to the relationship that the writer may not specifically include. I bet a whole shiny button that I have that tendency, but I don’t think I did it here. With four perspectives on the same story, there was plenty to chew on.

I am tickled that we have the same experience - I like Wyndham better than Cavendish because I read it first. However, I wasn’t feeling Wyndham‘s angst as much as Cavendish’s.

Jane: But then I question lately how much I as a reader overwrite - or underwrite - a romance I am rooting for, adding details and accessories to the relationship that the writer may not specifically include.

I totally do that, particularly when I am recommending a book that I think others won’t like.  I work extra hard to find reasons to support it.  But I think it’s somewhat of response to generating a defense.  I.e., how are you to justify liking a book if you can’t provide examples.  Is there something wrong with inference?  And perhaps that is the difference between liking and not liking a book.

Or it could be that our personal “bonds” with the characters turn those inferences positively or negatively.  Both these books are adequate and they get props for being overlapping, but both books suffered in detail so I would give them the same grade - C+ or B-

Sarah: As far as inference and supporting characters we like with details in our minds not written in the text, I am rather indulgent about it and thus second guess myself constantly on that basis. For example, as pertains to these books, I’ve worked in jobs that were in companies so small they fell below any regulation of labor or employee conduct, and that lack of oversight left me and other coworkers unprotected and subject to ridiculous expectations and abuse from management – often literally. That experience made me relate to Grace and access those feelings of being so very stuck and trying to make the best of it, and thus I rooted doubly hard for her, especially the upstairs/downstairs self-doubt that in the end Amelia told her was silly. And it was, really. I love how there’s this expectation of horrific holy shit stormfire gossip if a gently bred lady of no title marries a great big title, and that’s reason enough to stand in one’s own way toward happiness, but courtesans! Marrying their protectors! Oh, it’s So Romantic and utterly no one would ever snub their children, of course not! What?! The?! Fuck?!!.

What I liked about Grace’s predicament in Wyndham was that she was perfectly acceptable in her conduct and her family history except that she’d been working as a lady’s companion. Her knowledge of the “below stairs” culture and the working life suddenly made her “unacceptable” for some very flimsy reasons. I could easily support and believe their happy ending was possible with minimal exclusion from society - whereas other books that feature reformed hos marrying titled dudes left me thinking, “No way, dude.”

The other thing I liked about Grace was her restraint and her poise. I’ve been in Grace’s shoes in the distant past, and found myself managing my temper and never standing up for myself until it was time to declare that enough was long past enough. So because I read into Grace’s experience my own experience, I liked her a whole pile of Swarovski-crystal-encrusted a lot.

But if I think back on her dispassionately, I loved her more when she was with Thomas, and how she gently needled him, and I wish their friendship would have been more developed - because it’s a brave thing to have the hero befriend another woman who doesn’t turn out to be a villainess, but merely someone who’s in love with someone else. That’s a rather courageous decision to create in terms of heroine and heroine’s new friend creation (and leaves me wondering what will happen to Elizabeth). So big ups to Quinn on that score.

Gradewise, the combined books merit a B-. Wyndham I give a B, and Cavendish I’d give a C, so the average for both would be B-.

There are myriad issues surrounding their relationship, from letting go of their high school impressions of one another, and of the “jock” and “nerd” roles they played at that time, to determining whether acting on their attraction is worth the risk should they be caught, not to mention the obvious “is this a passing fancy or is this permanent?” wondering on the part of both parties. It’s been a while, now that I think about it, since I’ve read a story that includes the “does s/he like me, or does s/he like me like me” uncertainty. In this case, it was quaint and effective.

The story is told with a lot of head hopping between Brandon and Jake, so the reader experiences the story through a rapidly shifting point of view. That switching can be distracting, as there were moments when I wanted more of Brandon’s impressions or more of Jake’s perspective. Overall, I thought more of the story was explored from Brandon’s point of view, but Jake was a slightly more fascinating character to me: a silly, casual guy who loves sports, loves his job, and misses the opportunities that might have been his had his health and his joints not been sacrificed too early in this lifetime. But that is no slight to Brandon, who is quiet, adorably dedicated in the same way that Jake is to his job and his life, observant, wickedly smart and adaptable in most situations.

Two things that I noticed, one a minor nitpick. I wonder if one of the writers isn’t Australian, because I caught a few instances of Aussie idioms ("What are you on about?” and “good on you,” for example) that I couldn’t quite imagine folks in Georgia using - though one of my friends who lives in Georgia is an Aussie ex-pat, so maybe she’s influenced the world of gay romance. But if I go down South and hear someone ask me if I want a cuppa, I’m more than happy to admit I’m wrong on this one.

The other thing was a potential scene that I kept waiting to materialize but never did. Brandon is a former med student with two Masters degrees in various sciences. When Jake’s shoulder is seizing up on him, causing him considerable pain, Brandon (in a scene of electric sexual tension like yowzer boy howdy) gives him a massage, and explains where the injury is, revealing both his own understanding of human anatomy, and his ability to translate that in to a practical understanding for himself and the reader of how much pain Jake tolerates on a daily basis to simply do his job. Because Jake had surgery on his shoulder, knee, and ankle, and was pushed to keep playing by coaches and his own need for continued scholarship, his body bears a good amount of painful damage, and with Brandon’s explanation, Jake’s dedication and commitment to his teaching job and his coaching responsibilities become more than his joking, laid back persona reveal.

Brandon then offers Jake a massage, using equipment that he has at home from his med school days, and Jake grudgingly accepts - but no massage scene!? What what?! But, but! I was anticipating that scene for many reasons, and was so disappointed when it never arrived. One, hot hot! Two, electric tension, they has it. And three, the power dynamics in Brandon’s and Jake’s relationship are constantly shifting, but most of the time, Brandon is the fish out of water in Jake’s athletic world, and Jake is the individual with the most power, control, and authority. If Brandon gave Jake a therapeutic massage (or a non therapeutic one, nudge nudge, wink wink!) then the authors would have had the opportunity to show off even more of the depth of Brandon’s knowledge (which is holy shit considerable) and his dedication to his own medical school career. At the beginning of the novel Brandon mentions his doctorate, and when his overloaded schedule reaches a breaking point, he has to decide what to do with all his commitments, but I really missed this possible opportunity for these two characters.

However, I have to say, my goodness, I really liked this book. There wasn’t a tremendous amount of angst or “Oh, oh, the anti-gay lynch mob is after us!” fear, but both men acknowledged the reality of being gay within their community that seemed appropriate without being overwhelming. Caught Running grabbed me, and left me with a big fat smile on my face. Those who reject gay romance out of hand would do well to try this story, as it balances well the sexual, emotional, and social elements of contemporary romance between two very real and very captivating men. 

But when Dani’s mom chooses the beach town of Heaven, Dani finds herself longing for things she hasn’t allowed herself to articulate before: she wants to stay. Have real friends. Who use her real name. And who aren’t potential targets for her mom’s next theft. That’s a tall order, because autonomy is one subject in which Dani’s mom hasn’t really given her a great deal of instruction. One of the most descriptive passages of Dani’s narration explains:

For silver I learned to read,write, work numbers. For silver I learned the name of every plantation from Virginia to Florida.... The story of my life can be told in silver: in chocolate mills, serving spoons, and services for twelve. The story of my life has nothing to do with me. The story of my life is things. Things that aren’t mine, that won’t ever be mine.

That one line makes me think of Prufrock.

There’s a good number of romances that glamorize thieves, but if you’ve ever had the violated feeling of being robbed yourself, knowing someone was in your home, helping themselves to your things and invading without your knowledge or permission and stealing what’s precious to you, it’s not too glamorous. And while Dani’s mother has a very concrete and distant way of looking at her potential victims, and at humanity at large, Dani finds herself at an intersection between her growing desire for something different and more in her life, her growing shame and consciousness of what it is that she’s doing, and her growing sense of panic that she’s not suited for or even good enough for anything, or anyone, else. That intersection creates a challenge for the author, and Scott admirably balances Dani’s past crime and her present moral crisis so that the reader can root for her and want her to want to change for her own good, even while acknowledging that Dani is really, really good at what she does.

Dani is the center of the novel, and since it’s YA, the first person narrative is mostly about Dani’s learning to choose her own path and figuring out who she is and wants to be in the period of a few weeks just before she sets her feet in motion down that path. There is a romance, but the person she finds herself falling for, Greg, is as much a catalyst as he is a foil, though he’s a marvelously sweet and considerate guy.

Scott has some great comic skills, particularly in the dialogue. Dani struggles to remember to keep herself, well, to herself and answers Greg with questions nearly every time they speak. After a few meetings between them, their dialogue was so snappy and sharp I wanted him to find her and talk to her, no matter what it meant for the plot. Plot progress? Acquisition of autonomy and self-reliance? Pah! Want sexy dialogue!

One interesting element I just realized: the reader never learns her mother’s name, and all the way to the end of the story her mother never lets go of her life and her dream of shopping for target houses, shopping for opportunities to steal other people’s stuff, then shopping with the money she’s fenced. That points to my biggest frustration with the story, though it is realistic: Dani’s mother doesn’t ever truly recognize the depth of her selfishness and neglect – which is, as I said, totally in line with the behavior pattern of a selfish person. While there are small moments where Dani’s mother does demonstrate that she might be thinking of Dani and her future, most of the time Dani lives her life according to her mother’s wishes because without her mother, no one would want her. The degree to which she doubted her mother’s love made those small moments seem small and brittle in comparison to the true, though brief, overtures of friendship Dani navigates in her first weeks in Heaven. No one, but no one, has ever stood up for her, or made her feel valued for who she was, not what she could steal.

Ultimately, Dani pays the bigger price for her mother’s choices in their lives, and has a good bit of harm to confront when she finally decides that she can be in control of her life instead of her mother. Oddly, her mother is half of the reason Dani ends up in the driver’s seat literally and figuratively, but her mother never fully appreciates what makes Dani happy. She mostly insists on reminding Dani that whatever it is that Dani might do, it won’t make her mother happy.

But because Dani’s decision to own herself and her future comes so close to the end, and the change is pushed by such draining circumstances, I’m left not entirely confident in Dani’s self-ownership. I’m hopeful, and I want her to ride off into the sunset with Greg but I’m not sure that she will. And I wished any one of the people who hurt and neglected Dani had experienced at least one moment of ownership of their own responsibility.

While the ending is hopeful, it’s not a bonafide happily ever after; after being on the outside for so long, Dani’s focus is simple: home and belonging, with belongings that are her own, in her own home. The price that Dani has to pay for that home of belongings is a high one, and it’s a powerful story. Acquiring those things when it means rupturing everything she’s known until then is akin to stealing – stealing her future from her mother, the one who taught her to steal.

I tried, for example, one of the Argeneau books, and I had to stop reading it. One, the one I picked featured a heroine with absolutely no personality, who turned into a most irritating Mary Sue at the end (she adjusts to vampirism effortlessly and faster than most, and SURPRISE she’s a NINJA! Ok, not a ninja. A martial artist. But still. No conflict + Mary Sueism + Surprise Ninja? COME ON NOW.) And two, every time the explanation of vampirism was given by one of the vampiric characters, which, if you’ve read the books, is predicated on the existence of “nanos” in the bloodstream, I had a most disturbing mental image: how DO Nanos fit in one’s capillaries? What about headphones or an attachment to play the Nano in your car? Or a case to keep it from getting scratched? What then? If your vampirism is based on millions of little iPods flying through your veins, wouldn’t that get a little painful? I love me some Macs, too. I’ve personally lusted in my heart for an iPhone, despite my unwillingness to tie myself for two years to a sub-par wireless carrier, and I’ve been a faithful Mac laptop user for years, but give my bloodstream over to Steve Jobs? I don’t think so.

And despite the presence of hippy colored iPods dancing through their bloodstream, it seemed, despite the comedy of the plot itself, many of the vampires in that series as well take themselves entirely too seriously. Hence I was light-my-panties-on-fire excited to meet a happy vampire. Gleeful undead! Whee!

In fact, I was SO eager to get me some giddy vampire action that I was willing to spend a healthy portion of my normal limitations of belief. Here is the receipt for my purchase:

No, I’m not kidding. Their quest: to seek the Crystals of Change. NOT because Trevor wants to return to mortal status, because he doesn’t – and has a marvelously sound reason for not wishing to do so. They seek the Crystals of Change because it would tip the balance of power in Trevor’s favor, as he is the current elected president of International Vampires, or IV, for short.

No, I’m not making that up.

If IV possesses the Crystals of Change, then anyone who doesn’t want to be a vampire, happy or otherwise, anymore can change back, presto crystally-like. I don’t know how it works; I didn’t read that far because once Trevor and Kay started jetting around the world questing after the Crystals of Change and staying at luxury hotels all over Europe, and Kay started putting her life on the line because she loves him, even if he won’t return to mortality for her, and they started saying “Crystals of Change” with great emo-rific earnesness, the whole damn illusion of happy vampire staked itself and crawled off into the sunrise to die in a sound of death that can best be described as “Pfft!” The minute they started Crystal of Change hunting, the emo, it was back. It was back and bigger and badder than ever. Gone was the silly air-guitar playing, the references to his ponytail, his joie de un-dead-vivre. It was emo-city, with dark, longing looks and much angst and I developed a major case of the “Oh, fuck its” and stopped reading.

It was almost like there were two books, one featuring an off-the-wall vampire who’s the administrative head of an international unifying body of vampires (one that makes them promise not to feed on mortals) and another featuring a questing emo-riffic vampire atoning for his own immortality and seeking the power held in the mythical Crystals of Change.

And COME ON NOW. Crystals of Change?! I was so willing to toss most of my insistence on at least a moderately close parallel to reality until the hokey name kept reappearing.  What’s next, Skeksies and those loafy mammoth harmonizing creatures from The Dark Crystal? Does Kay have wings?

So needless to say, this book isn’t graded. However, even though I didn’t finish the book, I have been ruminating on the topic, and asking the types of questions I usually don’t presume to ask. Is it possible to have a character who is a vampire who isn’t maudlin, depressive, emo and angsty? Is a happy vampire possible, despite the necessary questions of immortality, bloodsucking, and the frailty of mortal existence? I don’t know. I’ve been pondering it, and maybe the idea of vampirism and an immortal life as a parasite is just too much emo to ever get over emotionally. As one character in this book says, vampires either outlive those they love, or out live the love itself.

However, I can’t give up my secret hopes for a happy, or at least mellow and positive vampire hero.