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

So, to sum this book up--not that it can in any way do it justice: In the alternate universe in which His Majesty’s Dragon is set, dragons are real, and have been tamed and selectively bred, mostly for military purposes. When Captain Will Laurence of the Reliant captures the French frigate Amitié, he doesn’t expect its crew to put up such a fierce fight--and he certainly doesn’t expect to find a dragon egg in the hold. England’s Aerial Corps is always in need of more dragon stock, and the egg will increase the bounty money he will receive for the captured frigate by quite a bit, but when he finds out from the ship’s doctor that the egg is on the verge hatching, with the ship weeks away from land, his elation turns into trepidation. Dragons need to be harnessed and bonded to a human as soon as possible after hatching, or they run the risk of becoming feral. There are no aviators on the ship--and nobody eager to step up to the role, either, aviators being pariahs of sorts in His Majesty’s service, with most of them being sent away to train with dragons at seven years of age, and forever tied by their bond to their dragons to live life apart from most of society.

Laurence comes up with a makeshift solution: they pick the aviator-to-be by lot. What he doesn’t expect, however, is that the dragon has his own ideas about who he wants to be harnessed to when he hatches--he completely ignores the chosen officer, and instead picks Laurence.

Laurence is far from excited at this development. His father, Lord Allendale, is a stern sort with very definite ideas about suitable occupations for his son, and Laurence had already earned his ire by daring to join the Royal Navy against his wishes. Being an aviator will put Laurence beyond the pale, not to mention end all his hopes with a certain young woman with whom he’s had an understanding of sorts for years.

Laurence soon finds out, however, that Temeraire provides more than ample compensation for his losses, as the two of them truly bond and are initiated into the world of the Aerial Corps. Plenty of adventures await them, as they discover just what sort of dragon Temeraire is, and Laurence learns some interesting truths about aviators, the aviator-dragon bond and dragons themselves.

I find it difficult to describe how delightful I found this book. Intellectually, I can pinpoint a few niggling flaws. There’s a predictability to the progression of the story, for instance--the moment I was introduced to certain characters, I immediately saw the trajectory of their fates, and pretty much all my expectations were proven right. And the shape of human history and society is a little bit too similar to our current reality for my tastes, given the huge implications of living with another sentient species capable of learning and speaking human languages with fluency.

But the less-than-stellar bits are more than compensated for by Novik’s deft hand at crafting a rollicking adventure story--and more than that, her way of creating believable characters who charm and infuriate and burrow their way into my heart and my brain. (Mmmmm, brain parasite comparisons FOR THE WIN!) Temeraire is a delight; he’s charming, independent, funny and hugely intelligent--in many ways, his intellect outstrips Laurence’s. And Laurence himself is a breath of fresh air. Romancelandia is populated with rogues--in Dungeons and Dragons terms, most heroes are either Chaotic Good or Chaotic Neutral. Laurence, on the other hand, is just a touch stiff-rumped (though it unstiffens somewhat as the book proceeds, and we all know how much I loves me some unstiffened rump); he loves his proprieties, and he’s a big proponent of order and discipline. He comes across as an utterly convincing product of his time and upbringing, and I hadn’t realized how heartily sick I was of the alpha hero who forges his own path, devil take the hindmost, until I encountered Laurence.

But the best part of the book by far is the unfurling of Laurence and Temeraire’s relationship. The dragon-aviator bond is all-consuming--even mildly creepy at times, when you see the lengths to which some captains will go to ensure their dragon is taken care of--and Novik does an excellent job of portraying how that relationship develops, and making you feel that bond, that camaraderie and affection.

I said of Neverwhere that it made me read like a child, with a sort of captivated, wide-eyed wonder and an utter belief in the universe the author has created. His Majesty’s Dragon inspires the same in me. A good indicator of how well a fantasy world has worked for me is how much I wish the world were real after I close the covers and turn the final page. By that measure alone, this book is a resounding success. If you haven’t read this series yet, the fuck you waiting for? FUCKIN’ GO. READ IT. You won’t be sorry--that is, unless you for some perverse reason don’t enjoy reading things that are, y’know, UTTERLY GODDAMN AWESOME.

Alegria Montero tries out for a Spanish language reality show called Oye Mi Canto - “Hear my Voice.” By far one of the youngest to audition at age 17, but also one of the most talented, Ali impresses the hell out of the judges and lands one of the coveted spots on the television show. Trouble is, her very protective father has no idea she auditioned - her best friend Sosi forged his signature on the permission form. But to her surprise, she finds herself on television among some very talented - and some very vindictive - young artists, competing for an incredible opportunity to become a star. More importantly, Ali discovers what it is about performing that makes each moment on stage magical and beyond fulfilling, and learns how to grow up fast in a very, very public forum.

There’s no shortage of elements in this book that I enjoyed. Ali’s fluctuations between belief in herself and feelings of being completely overwhelmed by her experiences seem totally normal and not at all contrived, and the behavior of the people who surround her is equally believable. Ferrer has a deft and and noticeable talent in creating vivid characters. The inserted Spanish in the dialogue made sense - though as a disclaimer I do speak Spanish, but to a non-speaker it’s not that difficult to understand - and it was colloquially accurate from my experience talking to Cuban Americans. The bits of Spanish and affectionate slang added to the authenticity of the characters, and demonstrated easily the regard and love they have for each other, and for Ali.

Now, I am a sucker for behind-the-scenes information of any kind. Going into the back end of the zoo to clean poo on tv? I’ll watch that. Reading about how roadies set up a stage in a day or two? I’d totally lose myself in that. So this book fed my behind-the-scenes appetite admirably. First, Ferrer wrote in terms a person familiar with popular music would use, giving the reader inside knowledge and language about popular music - songs are called “charts,” for example, and Ali plays a priceless guitar called a Bernabé . I learned a good bit about music, acoustic instruments, and techniques that musicians use to remix popular songs with very different and innovative cultural flavors.

In addition, there’s a great deal of inside information about the backstage life of a reality tv show much like American Idol, from insight into the loss of the producer’s autonomy if a show becomes popular, to the way contestants can come together to support each other or tear each other down ruthlessly.

But even with the wealth of information about music, performing, and television competition, Adiós to my Old Life is about a strong and admirable heroine realizing her dream and acquiring sudden fame, while learning to appreciate being so blessed with a gift in music that it’s both an ambition and a solace.

The only limits to my enjoyment were an unfortunate habit of infodumping in the beginning, with Ali narrating a huge amount of explanation as to the setup of the story. And I had a hard time believing that much of the time Ali was unaware of the growing fanbase she and the other contestants had acquired, though it totally fits with her character that she’d try to ignore it.

There is a romance, though it’s secondary to the heroine-centered coming of age story that makes the book so attractive. Her romance with Jaime, a production assistant, is a major element, though not the only element that creates Ali’s character, and her relationship with Jaime pops in and out of the story as Ali learns to navigate the requirements of the performance schedule of Oye mi Canto. But the resolution of her romance is definitely a requirement to the happy ending of the novel.

If you’re looking for straight-up YA romance, this isn’t necessarily it, but this is a happy, fantastically charming story of a heroine you can both like and admire. I can’t even say how pleased I am that Adiós to my Old Life was nominated for a RITA™ for Best First Book, and for Best Contemporary Single Title Romance. I read romance for a number of reasons, but primarily because at the end, it makes me happy. This book certainly did so, and more.

What did I like about this book? A whole mess of a lot. It’s not easy to put down, because much like Mayer and Crusie’s last book, it starts running and picks up speed. The many threads of the story and the ancillary characters that reappear keep the reader paying attention, but it’s not the kind of paying attention that’s exhausting. It’s more of a “can’t-wait-to-find-out-what’s-next” anticipation that keeps the reader involved. I stayed up WAY too late reading this book, and had to stop myself from sneaking chapters at work. It was that bad of a good book.

I liked Agnes, and could relate to her learning to be angry AND smart instead of just angry and full of rage, and I liked Shane, who had to learn to trust people and accept that he might be ready for a change in his life. Rooting for them was easy, and believing in their relationship was somewhat simple, though the reader has to accept a high-speed relationship because the rest of the book is moving at warp speed.

There were secondary characters I wanted to learn more about, and in one case, care more about. The mother of the bride, Lisa Livia, is a huge part of Agnes’ life, but their interactions left me with much less of a sense of Lisa Livia than the understanding I had of Agnes, and the uneven character development as far as those two women were concerned was a bummer. The secondary character stable of men was also a bit uneven.  I wanted to know more about Shane’s partner, Carpenter, because I was totally into him but never had a clear picture of him in my mind. Crusie and Mayer are, I think, deliberately skimpy on the physical descriptions, and seem to want the reader’s understanding of the characters to be based on exactly that: character. So it wasn’t like I was miffed that I didn’t get a “he looked in the mirror and his hair was an anthology of brown and copper, his eyes an anthology of hazel and green, fringed with anthological lashes.” Not at all. It was more like their backstory was half-painted and I wanted the rest because the completed parts of the depiction were so deep and fascinating.

But what has me really stewing - in a good way - on this book is that it’s not only a romance, a mystery, a mob story and an adventure, it’s also very, very much an examination of evil and gender. Without giving too much away, Crusie and Mayer play with the idea of what the reader will accept in terms of conscienceless, selfish, murderous and evil behavior, and from what characters that behavior can emerge without any gender-laden questions of stereotyped outrage.

I’m sure I’m not making a lick of sense here. Suffice it to say that there are several nefarious characters, and part of discovering who they are and what their motivation is (Selfishness? Insanity? Selfishness? Greed? Insanity? Or just plain conscienceless evil?) means examining your own expectations of motivation and hate superimposed on concepts of gender and sex. Further, the story makes me question whether my reaction of loathing to one character was heightened by at least some good memories of that character in Agnes’ recollections and by the chance that character might get a clue and stop being such a complete douchebag, while the dislike I had for other nefarious characters was less of a loathing and more of a slowly building expectation and anticipation of their being totally destroyed.

I finished the book this morning after a marathon 3-day reading spree that included staying up until way, way past my bedtime last night, and it more than cleansed my palette after reading that other book about savage booty. It’s certainly not a romance in the traditional sense, in that the protagonists’ relationship is not the ultimate center of the story, but the plot twists and surprises hinge on both their romance and the mystery that surrounds them and the rest of the characters. And their ultimate connection, as well as the rest of the story, is supremely satisfying.

Sarah: I’m curious what you thought of Beguilement? Bujold was right that it had a higher dose of romance than I expect from a SF/F novel, but since I don’t read a lot of fantasy, I am not sure how that would be received.

Evaluating solely on basis of romance, though, it’s a great adventure and drew me in immediately. What about you?

Candy: I really, really liked it, too. It was, in fact, cracktastic. I couldn’t put it down--I was actually late to work a couple of days because of that damn book.

A friend pointed out that it was yet another Bujold novel in which the hero is vastly, vastly older than the heroine. She did it in Falling Free and Cordelia’s Honor, too (though I haven’t read the latter, so I can’t say for sure). Given that that sort of arrangement tends to give me the squicks, the extent that I liked the characters and the love story is a testimony to Bujold’s excellent storytelling ability.

Sarah: One of the things I keep looking at in terms of “This book really Worked for Me, and why is that?” is exactly that - the May-December (so to speak) romance with a vastly older hero. And not only is Fawn young, but she’s LITTLE, like he first thinks she’s a child.

And he tries to resist his attraction to her as well, since he thinks its inappropriate (as do others) to say nothing of the REAL boundary, that he’s a Lakewalker and she is Not. What’s the bigger obstacle, then, age difference or significant cultural and social difference (not to mention a difference in psychic power)?

But even then, having a Larger Obstacle with which to compare the age difference is still not the simple solution to the Age Difference Squick Factor. Bujold makes that difference work FOR the protagonists, in that they have to agree to team up and support each other in just about every way since they will meet with opposition. Moreover, Fawn ends up healing parts of Dag’s own damage in return for his caring for her when she was hurt.

And gosh, the scene where she miscarried? Cry cry cry. Esp. the part about how he could see this dancing, busy light in her belly that was cold and dark after the Malice took it. *sigh* Some good writing there. That image took a long time to leave my mind.

Candy: Yes, it was a story about two people from vastly different backgrounds and life experiences, and Bujold made it work. Dag’s hesitations and acknowledgement of what a very odd couple they made definitely went a long way towards allaying my misgivings about that sort of storyline, as well as the care Bujold took to show how the two of them complemented each other, and how despite the different places they’re at in their lives, the two of them were a good fit, which helped even out the power imbalance.

See, a big part of my problem with what I tend to think of as the old-skool Harlequin-style May-December pairing is a) the lack of hesitation in the hero, and b) the unaddressed power issues. The hero is often brutal and arrogant--a punisher as well as a lover. Dag, on the other hand, is a bad-ass, but unassuming about his abilities and gentle at the core. A genuinely nice guy. That’s one of my favorite sorts of hero. He can kill you from sheer force of Awesome, but he doesn’t try to exert his power on anyone, much less the heroine.

Another aspect I enjoyed was the complexity of the familial relationships. Fawn’s interactions with her family provide excellent insights into the forces that shaped her; they’re pretty damn dysfunctional, but nobody’s villainous, and the types of conflicts that went on made me wince at how close they struck to home.

What did you think about the world-building?

Sarah: The May-December pairing can be very sexy when done well, though. If the writer is aware of the squick factor, and combats it by not indulging in the continued imbalance of power through a hero with no hesitations and confidence in his conquering manhood, it can be very spicy. Those pairings that I have enjoyed usually feature heroes who are aware of the age difference and somewhat sensitive or hesitant as a result, both in the sense of participating in a relationship perceived as inappropriate by others, and in the sense of consciously not wanting to hurt or humiliate the heroine. Dag definitely meets those criteria, as he is exceptionally powerful in a multitude of ways, but never wants to intimidate or force his way on Fawn. He is, as you say, a genuinely nice guy - and that plus the baggage plus the depth of his power make him delicious to read about.

Oh, yes, families - very realistic, and also revealing about the protagonists, and why they are who they are. Which sounds trite and very pat but it’s amazing how many authors write a poor parent as The Most Eeeeeebil Parent in the Land MWAAAHAHAHAHAAHAA and thus the poor hero or heroine is damaged and insert handwringing here.

Dag and Fawn, on the other hand, have perfectly normal dysfunction - how’s that for an oxymoron? - and while it’s sad and unfortunate to the extreme in some instances (Fawn’s especially, as you pointed out), it’s also understandable and relate-able.

As far as the world building, the relatability of the writing in terms of the world building made it work. It didn’t NEED to be set in another world, but it was and that added to the fantasy as well as the reality of the story. On one hand, every character was real, complex, and never merely a wooden stand-in for Evil, or Conflict, or Good, or Deus Ex Machina, and the depth of realism in the characters made it so much easier for me, particularly as an infrequent reader of fantasy novels, to eagerly enter the world of the novel and participate in the story.

On the other hand, the subject matter, from the Malice to the Lakewalkers to the idea of the Sharing Knives, is very much a fantasy, even though the concepts aren’t that far from the possible. Like I said, I’m not a regular reader of fantasy, but the worldbuilding in this particular case was like stepping through a door in a hedge. No matter where I started reading again, in the middle of a chapter or the start of a new one, there wasn’t ever a need for me to re-tutor myself in the world I was re-entering. Somehow, and I have to think on this in detail, Bujold manages to make the world in Beguilement both fantastical and accessible so that I never felt lost or confused re-entering the story at a mid-point(since unfortunately, being a Smart Bitch is not my full-time job, and I don’t sit around and read books cover-to-cover like I wish I could!).

However, to detail what makes for flawless worldbuilding - and certainly this is as close to flawless as I’ve seen - is a bit beyond my ability at the present. I can say that my major pet peeve (infodumping) wasn’t present in the least. Further, Bujold managed to craft a situation where a knowledgeable character paired up with a less knowledgeable character, so that as Dag informed Fawn of his life and work, the reader learned as well, but it never seemed preachy or contrived.

What about you re: worldbuilding?

Candy: I loved the worldbuilding in this one. Bujold is very good at having her characters talk like they should, i.e., without stopping every few words to explain unfamiliar terminology (one of the clumsiest but most popular methods of infodumping), and instead having the elements unfold organically. Fawn being a farmer was definitely convenient, but I also appreciated how Dag shared the information with her gradually, as part of the action, and how Fawn was a character in her own right instead of operating as a thin excuse for infodumpery (like, say, what Sharon Shinn did to one of the characters in Mystic and Rider).

Also, did you get the feeling that the world of Beguilement was a post-apocalyptic version of this world, with Lakewalkers some type of genetically-enhanced human and the Malices an experiment gone badly, badly wrong? The description of the northern parts reminded me of the Great Lakes, and the mention of alligators in the southern bits of the continent made me go “Hmmm.” I’m looking forward to finding out if I’m right or not.

What grade would you give the book? It’s an A- for me--it was very, very good, but it lacked that spark that A books have.

Sarah: Yes! The “talking like they should” part is So important. I remember reading one book, a mystery with exactly zero romance that I read long ago, where the heroine repeatedly dropped information by inserting it in to phrases that didn’t sound like anything anyone would say. For example, instead of saying, “Oh, parties? I’d rather stay home and read a book with my dog” the heroine would say something like, “Oh, I’d rather stay home and read a book by [author name here] with my dog, [insert quirky name revealing cultural heritage here].” “Talking like they should” is definitely something Bujold mastered in this book.

I definitely pondered the meaning of the “other world” described in the book, though I wasn’t sure if it was future or alternate past. The animals were all recognizable, and the farming life was definitely recognizable, but the Lakewalkers and the Malices were not at all of the current world.

As for grade, I’d say A-. It was far too difficult to put down to give it a B+, but it didn’t light my brain on fire like a A+ book would. And that’s not a shortcoming of the novel, just a function of the fact that it’s the first of a two-part series.