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

The Magic of You

Sarah: The magic here is: how did the same cover models for Gentle Rogue get hired for another seafaring cover and STILL manage to look equally ridiculous?

What’s with the eyeshadow? Doesn’t that belt pinch? Where’s his shirt? What’s with the garter-showing pose, sans garter? And why is she in her undergarments while standing on what looks like a floating plank in a large storm at sea, with a ship coming apart behind her? And is he holding her up, or casting her overboard?

But by far the most pressing (har) question: DOES HE HAVE...CAMEL TOE?!

Ya’ll. Fabio is a GIRL.

Candy: Sarah, can I just say how very, very much it frightens me that you actually looked closely enough at the cover to discern the camel toe? I admire your bravery, while simultaneously hoping that Baby Bitchlette has not suffered any damage in utero.

Anyway: PEOPLE. Just because you’re stuck in the middle of a ship with God knows WHAT kind of rampaging, raping barbarian, does not mean you have leave to violate all rules of decent society and resort to that shade eyeshadow. There’s never any excuse for that color eyeshadow. Or those camel toe-inducing pants. *shudder*

I’m also amazed at the power of Fabio’s breath. Judging by the way her hair is flying around willy nilly, that’s some exhaling power he’s got there.

This cover also receives my nomination for the Darwin Awards, because y’all, that HUGE MOTHERFUCKING WAVE that’s partially obscuring the helm looks like it’s going to sweep Our Not Particularly Intrepid Lovers into Davy Jones’s Locker any second now. Maybe that’s why she’s raising her skirt? She’s trying to pacify Neptune’s wrath or something? Because it sure as shit can’t be for Fabio’s benefit. He seems particularly fascinated with her hairline. Probably trying to discern what kind of product she uses by smell.

When Love Awaits

Sarah: This cover wishes so hard that it was Klimt’s The Kiss, only done in that weird 70’s style romance cover.

Summon the royal chiropractor! His neck! Her neck! My neck, from looking too closely at them! Hie thee, chiropractor!

And summon the surgeon, for he appears to have stabbed her in the crotch with his massive sword. No, not that sword, the other one.

Candy: This cover wins the prize for “Best Placement of Strategically Fluttery Pieces of Cloth.” I’m also trying way, way too hard to figure out why Stud McMuffin is naked in the garden with none of his armor anywhere in sight except for his helm (those empty, creepy eyes, boring in my brain, eeeeegah) while still holding on to his sword. I mean, he loves his sword so much, he can’t bear to let go of it to ravish his lady fair. That’s some serious sword-love goin’ on.

You Belong to Me

Sarah: This is among the more bizarre Lindsey Fabio covers. I wonder if Fabio is famous because of all these Lindsey covers? I mean, someone’s buying her books - probably the same people who are buying Cassie Edwards’ books. Maybe their collective readership is keeping Fabio in business.

This cover has such a hodgepodge of bizarre elements. What’s with her pose - what are they kneeling on? Are they inside, with a wind machine, or outside a wall? Does he ever have a shirt? Why isn’t she wearing a bra? Or a chemise? Or even a corset? Is this a contemporary?

And finally, what’s with that horse?

I know! I know! A nuclear detonation has been sighted on the horizon, and the air displacement has begun to ruffle their hair - and knock that horse straight up in the air. He’s been caught before his hooves leave the ground. In the last frantic moments, it’s nookie-on-the-fur-coat time.

Candy: Hahahahahaha.

Sorry. I can’t get over the horse. He looks so STARTLED. I mean, he’s so startled that his forelock is standing on end. Like “Holy shit, I’m on a Fabio cover! My reputation will never recover! I hope to God mother never sees what I’ve had to resort to to keep myself in timothy and alfalfa hay!”

Hahahahahahaha.

Anyway, that chick? She does NOT look happy. Can’t blame her; looks like Fabio’s about to give her a circumorbital hematoma with his chin. Or maybe Fabio has released some truly vicious Savage Thunder. That would explain why their hair is flying around in an apparently enclosed space.

SAY YOU LOVE ME

Sarah:

First, let me state for the record something that I haven’t been able to talk about freely on this site. I’ve come clean with my love of dumb tv shows like Beauty and the Beast, and I’ve dissed with the harshest of harsh the bad writing of some much-loved authors. And even those experiences on the cusp of bravery are not enough to prepare me for what I must say to you all right now.

I bare my soul to reveal that I think leprosy is SO HOT.

I have a poster sized blow-up of this cover in my bedroom, hidden behind some Bosch images of people humping in hell, and when I need my leper-fix, I peel back the Bosch to reveal this masterful work of coloring inside the lines. The dark, almost Hollywood-tan-beige chest, with the peculiarly odd outie belly button. The leather pants - I swear I saw some just like those in the Village the other day. They are especially humpa-worthy when one tucks what looks to be a scrap of cancas with a lace sleeve into the side, like a useless sling.

But oh, oh, oh, his face. The patches of hot, hummuna hummuna leprosy? Gosh I can barely keep myself upright. The discoloration, the infected spots. Gosh he’s only a few weeks away from losing his nose, and imagine how hot he’ll look then?

Apparently the heroine has figured out the hotty mchotness of a leperous hero, as opposed to a merely lecherous one, and she’s already baring as much skin as she can in hopes of catching his red hot contagion. Damn her. I hate that wench.

Candy:

Little-known fact: using too much of that sunless tanning crap causes leprosy. It’s yet another one of those abomination things. And since not even homosexuality causes leprosy, you know this seriously pisses off God.

In all seriousness, though: why God why oh the bad bleached blond hair and the fake tan and the man-titty extravaganza and *starts stabbing eyeballs with pen*

His shirt--or lack thereof--also makes my brain go all ouchy if I try to think about it too much. Most kids learn this by the time they’re 5 or 6 years old or so: untuck your shirt first before unbuttoning it and trying to take it off. Otherwise you walk around all day with your arms trapped behind you like a complete ‘tard. This goes double when you’re wearing leather pants so tight, I’m cringing in sympathy for your nuts.

Sarah:

This is one of the most bizarre yet, for me, addictive Lindsey covers. From the scalp down, she’s young, nubile, lithe even. Abnormally small, considering his hand pretty much covers her entire midsection as if she were only half-grown, but still, a young woman in a gravity-defying harem costume.

But above the scalp? It is all long luxurious premature grey. Maybe she’s a witch. Maybe she’s Skinner’s much-better-looking succubus. Or maybe she’s an albino with dark lashes, dark eyebrows, and purple eyelids. But either way, when I’m old and my hair has gone grey, I’m totally sporting the harem outfit with the 6 feet of grey hair hanging behind me.

Candy:

Buh, you are so right about the unnatural smallness of this woman. Actually, the more I look at it (see my devotion to the readers of this site? I AM PERUSING THIS COVER CLOSELY. THIS IS NOT CONDUCIVE TO HAPPINESS OR A HEALTHY MENTAL STATE) the more squicked I get. She kinda looks like one of those creepy whored-out pre-pubescent beauty queens, only with a good set of implants.

And of course, the hair. That hair is out of control. She doesn’t know it yet, but it’s now sentient and is even now in deep talks with Dick Cheney, the CIA, the House of Saud and the Russian Mafia on oil pipeline construction, currency fixing and cocaine smuggling.

Sarah:

Ok, first of all, I keep misreading the title as “Fender Rebel.” Is he a guitar player? Is that how he scores chicks? Or is he more of a hit-and-run artist who busts up the bumper of her car then ravishes her in the countryside?

I know sex is a long dance of “Ouch, you’re on my hair” but this brings the hair-pulling to new heights. Or, ur, lengths. What is it with long haired heroines, anyway? And where are they exactly? Are they floating in midair above a walled garden? Are they on a hill above the backyard? The pack of depth and proportion is bizarre - but then, so is that hair so who I am I to diss the backdrop?

Candy:

Holy flowing fiery locks, Batman! If Silver Angel’s hair is out of control, this chick’s hair is even more so; in fact, it has already contacted Lrrr, Overlord of Omicron Persei 8 and sold all our children and our children’s children into intergalactic slavery.

This is also another one of those titles that seems as if it should make sense, but really, it doesn’t. Tender Rebel? I have two, no, three pieces of advice for yon sensitive revolutionary:

1. Aloe vera gel is your friend. Use it.

2. Stop picking at it. What are you, like, 8 years old?

3. And for God’s sake, let the piercings heal before demonstrating to your beloved your reknown ability to impersonate a jackhammer.

Sarah: Well, there’s no font to ridicule. It’s really a pity that this image leaves us so little to work with in terms of mockage. I mean, he’s a world-champion boxer with the belt to prove it, and a really faygala man-vest that looks to be made of some stretch velour fabric.

And she appears to be polishing the belt with her breath, or maybe trying to take it off with her teeth, while wearing scarves and a wide belt for clothing. Perhaps there was some sort of an emergency and she had to flee the scarf and chiffon section of Macy’s with just two purple cloths and a belt, and make her way in the world.

Really. So little to work with.

Candy: Yowza. I think Fabio is a bit confused there. You need to remove your pants before shoving a woman’s face to your crotch in an effort to force her to give you a hum job. Or maybe he just has a fetish for belt-buckle patterns imprinted on his girlfriends’ faces. Either way, I just wish it didn’t seem like he was slamming her into his twiddly bits with such force. I mean, look at how their hair is being blown about in an apparently enclosed space. Unless they have their air conditioning cranked WAY the hell up, it just makes it seem like he’s pulling her towards him at 60 mph, or they’re whipping their heads around for no good reason.

I never thought I’d say this, but… their outfits make me actively yearn for the old-fashioned Spandex far-future uniforms of yore. And you KNOW an outfit’s bad when it makes the people on Star Trek look like cutting-edge fashionistas in comparison.

Sarah: Is it me, or does the “E” in “Love” kind of look like Homestar Runner? Maybe it’s me.

Let me express how glad I am that this style of cover has gone the way of the wind - heck, that clich covers in general are on their way out. This is particularly bizarre, though, sort of a late-70’s colored attempt at art deco stylings. Very convenient imagery, though. He’s already naked. She’s got a very long neck and a very long nose, and… her boobs are on their way south as well, so soon they will be very long, too.

If I were an art namer, which would be a cool job, I would have to name this, “Battle of the Chins.” One of them is going to poke an eye out with those mega sharp chins. Hers is sharper than her nose. Ouch!

Candy: I love how each era inflicts its bad hair and make-up practices on its cover art, regardless of what time period the cover is supposed to represent. I mean, can the woman actually open her eyes? Her mascara is so thick that her eyelashes must weight about a pound apiece.

At least this particular couple has the good sense to be naked and amorous in an indoor setting instead of in the middle of the desert, caught in some kind of crazy electrical storm. Whatever will the duenna think, though, when she walks into the parlor and finds Lord Montieth buck-ass nekkid and playing dueling banjos (if you know what I mean) with the virgin with the bad make-up on the chaise longue? (And people: it’s chaise longue, which literally means “long chair” in French, and not chaise lounge, which literally means “Please pay closer attention to how words are spelled.")

Sarah: This is one of my favorite covers of all time. It’s just so damn horrible. She’s attempting to pull him to the ground by his handle-bar-esque pectoral muscles. He’s already got her shirt half off, and… is he wearing a pair of UGGS? Fabio, you fashionable devil you. Britney and you, both Ugg-sporting fashionistas.

I think it’s the woman that’s so egregious. She looks like a hooker--and really, don’t you want some level of restraint on the cover? I mean, it’s a romance, not a woman walking up to Ugg-Fabio (a good name for him) and saying, ‘NOW, Mr Thunder! NOW!’

And now, a word about the title. My husband has savage thunder. He likes to release his under the covers so that I can asphyxiate come morning on 8-hour-old savage thunder carcass. In short, thunder of the savage variety is not romantic.

Candy: Yeah, what’s with Lindsey and the thundering titles? She and Mary Jo Putney should get together and swap chili recipes or something. Damn.

This time, our intrepid red-haired harlot is reversing some roles: instead of getting pulled with great velocity into Fabio’s crotch as in Keeper of the Heart, she’s the one doing the pulling now, and succeeding with some speed judging by the way Fabio’s hair is flying about. But frankly, she doesn’t look aroused, she looks distressed, and he looks mildly peeved. “PLEASE, you have to help the orphans!” she seems to be saying; he seems to be trying to pry her off and telling her “Lady, let go of my vest, I have to join the parade before the Dykes on Bikes pass Broadway and Yamhill Street.”

Or maybe he’s tossing her aside in favor of catching the horsie in the background that looks like it’s FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. Because you know what they say about the, ahem, strong relationships forged between a man and his horse on those long, lonely trips on the plains.

Sarah: This is one of the most memorable Lindsey covers for me. She looks uncomfortable, like he stopped her from leaning over the port side and hurling into the sea. The ocean behind them looks pretty rough, and she does not look particularly well. See that sick expression on her face?

“Please, put me down, I’m going to boof.”

And as for you, Mr. Hunkadunk, I see that you’ve tucked your shirt into your massively thick and uncomfortable looking belt. Perhaps if your shirt blowing around is a nusiance, you might try buttoning it!

Also, I keep misreading the lettering as “Gentile Rogue.”

Candy: Oh, how I weep that bad eyeshadow colors were inflicted upon hapless maidens even hundreds of years ago. Aquamarine eyeshadow is the true abomination, not sodomy. When will people learn?

And Sarah, I didn’t think her expression looks so much seasick as… pained. As if Fabulous slid a buttplug into Miss Thang without bothering to use lube. See, she embodies two abominations in one! Four if you count her lipstick and foundation as two separate items.

As for Fabio: as always, he renders me speechless. Like you said, I like how he took the time and trouble to tuck the billowing shirt into his belt, but couldn’t bring himself to BUTTON THE FUCKING THING.

This cover features the elusive trifecta most romance novels can only dream of, by the way: There’s a Hint o’ Dick, I Got Coochy and, best of all, Whole Lotta Titty--on both hero and heroine’s parts.

Sarah: I have a heart of thunder. I have heartburn like you wouldn’t believe. This cover is not helping. Oh, the many peculiarities. What’s up with her hair? Her face? And the locale? They appear to be swooning in a lush patch of foliage in the middle of the desert near Devil’s Finger - in a lightning storm. Surely bumping uglies in a desert with an electrical storm moving in is not advisable, according to the National Weather Service. Nice suggestive blossoms, though.

And dude, dude. Your face is… squished. And you are...very tan. Wait, is this a Wishes-it-were-an-Edwards-"Savage" story? Alas, no, that is “Hank Chavez, the rough-hewn, insolvent outlaw.” He’s not a “savage;” he’s “insolvent.” And according to this cover, rather unwashed, too.

Candy: Insolvent? I think it probably means that regular soap and water are unable to cut throught the three-inch layer of oil and dirt this guy seems to have caked on him and one needs to resort to industrial solvents like toluene to do the job. Just like another Lindsey cover, this one revisits the pairing of stank-ass-nasty naked man with a woman dolled up like a two-bit whore, preparing to bump uglies while a lurid sky looks like it’s going to dump five different kinds of shitty weather on their horny asses.

And furthermore, what does the title even MEAN? It sounds singularly unpleasant. If you have a heart of thunder, may I please suggest you look up a good cardiologist? It just makes me think of that Strong Bad video game: YOUR HEART A SPLODE. Internal Organ + Violent Weather = Moronic Title. “Stomach of Lightning.” “Colon of Hail.” “Thyroid Gland of Tornado.” See? It’s equally stupid when you apply it to other organs. “Eyes of Blizzard.” “Penis of Hurricane.” “Vagina of Torrential Rainstorm.” Almost makes me want to make another romance novel title generator. (Though admittedly the last one makes more sense than I want it to.)

But this is “Covers Gone Wild,” not “Incredibly Stupid Titles Gone Wild.” That would have to be a whole other ‘nother weekly feature.

Sarah: This cover is akin to “Defy Not the Heart” weirdness. Can you imagine the artist trying to sell this cover concept?

“They’re in a snow storm. He’s wearing this weird cape and doublet dealie, and he has perfectly coiffed hair, while she’s got her dress half-falling down her astonishing bosom, and her hair is blowing straight sideways in the wind. There’s a castle, some storm clouds and snow - and here’s the best part! Wait for it.... wait for it.... there is a Viking ship sailing straight up out of her ass!”

And oh my God you couldn’t make this up unless you were a Smart Bitch thinking up prize titles: the heroine’s name is Kristen Haardrad! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

Candy: I didn’t picture that Viking ship coming out of her ass so much as get the impression that her hair is regularly used as some kind of weird hiding place for presents and other objects. Like, he’s taking her hair down all sensually and shit, and he’s running his fingers through it and hoping he’ll get to brush against some hooter on the way down when his fingers snag on something and he’s thinking “WHAT THE FUCK” but she’s all “HONEY, SURPRISE! Look what I got you for your Christmas! Do you like it?”

And is it too much of a copyright violation for us to create a “Duchess of Haardrad”? Because goddamn, I really, really want to.

Johanna Lindsey, who single-handedly must have kept Fabio in hair serum and diamonds for the first third of his beefy life, is having all of her backlist rereleased with new, tame covers. Oh, the shame. Vintage Lindsey covers are the equivalent of purple prose in visual form: heaving bosoms, long, impossibly well-kept hair, overwrought poses, though sadly, no raging members. We’ve uncovered a Geocities cache of vintage Lindsey, and are reviewing them in sets of three. So hold on to your galloping pulse, delicately dab the moisture from your glistening angel-wing brow, and keep the smelling salts handy. It’s Lindsey Time!

A Heart So Wild

Sarah: First of all, FIRE! FIRE! Y’all need to stop making out and posing like ice dancers and MOVE AWAY from the OPEN FLAMES. Lord have mercy, there is a time and place for everything. Unless by ‘So Wild’ Lindsey also meant brushfires.

And what’s wrong with him, aside from looking incredibly aged? I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s the positioning of his little blue bandanna there looks like he’s got a quill in his hand and is about to autograph her shoulder. Or his bizarrely long thumb. My, what a long thumb he has.

Candy: When Vampires Go Cowboy! And Blind! And Gay! And Try to Suck The Non-Existent Blood of Fellow Vampires!

Seriously. The dude looks like he’s about to say “I vant to suck your blood, mwahaha,” only with a Texan accent. Just what we need: a vampire gunslinger.

What’s up with his eyes? They’re so sunken, they almost look like empty sockets. Just looking at them gives me a serious case of the jibblies.

And could the chick be any paler? I mean, seriously. She should’ve listened to her momma and eaten her liver like a good girl. Pernicious anemia is not fun, kids.

Also: Inquiring minds want to know what a “Hearr” is. Is that “Heart” said in a really retarded Scottish accent? Is this guy really a combination of all our worst nightmares, i.e. a Scottish cowboy vampire? Oh, the humanity.

Brave the Wild Wind

Sarah: I can think of a few other things they are braving, most notably the toxic freaking waste in which they are getting busy! Hello, GREEN water is not a good place for attempts to capture that lovin’ feeling.

And aside from overexposure to said green water in one’s orifices, shouldn’t she worry not so much about the wild wind as the wild rapids surrounding what looks to be a small perch of rock? I’ve been down class III rapids in the Youghiogheny River, and, while class III is not hugely scary, they move pretty fast, and hello, that green water coming up behind you looks pretty damn strong. Sheesh. Brave not so much as stupid.

Candy: “Honey, save me! The current is pulling me under!”

“Hang on, let me get nekkid and suck on your shell-like ear first.”

Sarah, you’re so right about the green water. I’m thinking either toxic waste, or serious algae overgrowth. Either way, having plutonium isotopes or a ton of algae washed up my hoohah is not my idea of a good time. Perhaps this is why I’ll never be a cover artist. I have no vision, I tell you, none. Though it’s probably better than Vlad the Gunslinger’s vision up there, since at least my eyeballs haven’t sunk two inches into my skull.

Defy Not the Heart

Sarah: This is one of my favorite Lindsey covers ever. It’s just so freaking bizarre. The only thing they are defying is any credible period-accurate fashion sense. It’s a checklist from What Not To Wear. Purple tights? Check. Puffy-shirt from Seinfeld? Check. Low cut velvet gown in nuclear orange-red? Check. Impossibly long, “ouch you’re on my hair” hair? Check. Finger waves for Fabio? Check. Eyeshadow in Bonne Bell colors? Check.

Perhaps a better title would have been, “When Elvira and Fabio Get It On.”

Candy: I didn’t know they had strippers who gave lapdances in medieval times! And how unfair that even back then, Fabio gets to break the “don’t touch the girls” rule.

Question: What exactly is Fabulous reclining on? It looks like either thin air, or a very flimsy collection of violently lilac-colored brush. His thigh muscles must be SO TONED if he can keep that awkward pose while supporting Bimbetta there. My suggestion for an alternate title would be “Defy Not The Laws of Gravity.” Or “When Medieval Floozies Go Wild.”