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

The book developed like a fascinating game of what-if: what if a woman could make her way into society in the off-season by assuming a connection to a family so scattered and fractured across the country that one person’s say-so was good enough for the rest? What if a heroine showed open and deliberate ambition for money, and demonstrated a knowing appreciation for sex despite a deeper-set fear of it? What if erotic elements were introduced to a historical romance, like bondage, domination, submission, and role playing, without those elements taking over the entire story? And what if the hero was really yummy, too?

I was flying through this story when I read it, and I can tell you where I was (the NJ Transit train in the Jersey wetlands) and what I was doing (crying) when the story fractured for me. I was so happy with so much of it, and the last tenth of it, the wrapping up of the ending and the explanation of past trauma, was so crushing that I was left despondent while the characters went off and embraced each other and their happy ending. Obviously I don’t want to give away the finale, but I’ve had a very, very difficult time getting one image out of my head, and that image is so painful that it’s spectre haunts the happily-ever-after and causes me to doubt the provenance of it, and, I know this is silly, causes me to resent the heroine for unloading that painful story on me so that I could deal with the fallout while she goes and boinks Hart into epilogues of sunsets and sparkly happiness. The resolution of the mystery within the story was a little too pat, and too easily blamed on a stock character who I wish had demonstrated more nuance, especially next to the multi-dimensional hero and heroine.  And the “Why are you so sad?” “Oh, fine I’ll tell you!” Therapy Ending just about sent me over the edge when I read the final pages. Their happy ending came at a cost for me as a reader and I wish I didn’t have to pay it.

That said, there is no doubt that Dahl wields some serious talent, both in her use of imagery (Janet quoted one scene I read at least three times to re-experience its art) and her development of fascinating characters who grab you by the chin and yell, “Pay attention! I’m different and I’m awesome!” Too often I find myself reading historical romance characters that I can classify as ‘Yet-Another’ : yet another ingenue, yet another tortured rake, yet another drunken abusive parent. Dahl demonstrates her familiarity with historical tropes and the confidence and skill to play with them in such a manner that her name is one I’ll recognize and gravitate to every time I see it on a bookshelf. Even if the heroine ripped my heart out and handed it to me, and even if I was pissed as hell at the heroine for doing so, I have to give Dahl credit: she made me feel heights of benevolent pleasure for the protagonists, and agony over their pasts. To borrow a phrase from the esteemed theologians All 4 One, “She’s got skills. Makes me wanna scooby-doo.”

So what worked for you?

There were so many elements of this book that worked marvelously, like effortless harmony so flush with style that you can’t separate the individual tunes woven together.

Such as?

You’re a real pain in my ass. I was getting there.

The setting is incredibly vivid, as I was introduced to India during the Empire through Emma’s eyes, and since she is a bit of the stereotypical iconoclastic heroine who doesn’t fit in her own world, her overly modern sensibilities were a clear vehicle through which I, as the reader who knows little of the time period, could approach it. Things that bothered Emma, such as the society within the society, the absurdity of “pretending we’re all in England when we’re not,” the limitations on women, all of it gave me a greater understanding of the location, and the people within it, particularly Julian.

Duran’s use of color and symbolism is particularly deft, and simply marvelous. She references varying shades of color both in the reality of the madness in the Indian mutiny, and in the layers of color in Emma’s paintings which reflect that madness. Moreover, the use of the globe, which is a pivotal scene referenced by several reviewers, was particularly touching to me because it illustrated the dichotomy inherent in Julian: the world is so small it fits under your hand, and it brings them together through chance. But the world is so big that breaking it causes a wide range of rippling repurcussions, both literally and figuratively, and its size can get in the way of them finding each other again until it is almost too late. That scene alone is exquisite in its art.

And speaking of art, Julian was a work thereof. He was a tremendously heroic hero, but Duran crafted him with flaws that almost take the better of him, until his core of nobility pulls him back. He’s a dreamboat.

So what didn’t work for you?

Emma. She was innocent, then angry, then tortured, then angry some more, and much of the time I felt while reading the book that I was missing the key to understanding her. I didn’t actually feel a great deal of empathy for Emma when I probably should have. On one hand, I could certainly understand her reaction to the horrors of what she lived through, but her behavior often seemed superficial and angry - conveniently so for the plot - more than deeply, deeply troubled. From her enigmatic conversations with Julian that didn’t reveal any subtext or sparkle that hadn’t already been covered, to her hanging-by-a-thread sanity that came and went with the needs of the story’s resolution, Emma remained an enigma when I would have wanted to rely on her as a protagonist more.

Further, the villain, Marcus. He’s racist, he’s evil, he’s abusive, and he’s so completely dissolute that while Emma mentions kindnesses in the past, and more honorable behavior when they were younger, I never see even an inkling of it. There were no nuances to his behavior - he was just plain bad. He was two out of three in the Trifecta of Evil Villain, in fact.

Just Plain Bad isn’t always a bad thing - sometimes the polarity of Knowing Your Evil can be reassuring and appropriate in a story. But given the rapidly shifting and ambiguous heroism and justifications of violence in the setting amid uprising, oppression, mutiny and murder, a starkly Just Plain Bad hero was a detriment to the story.

If Julian were a food, what would he be?

Mine. My food in my lunchbox, please. Wait, I didn’t mean for that to sound dirty.

You didn’t?

No comment.

So what’s your grade, and why?

B-. A “B"-range book because I couldn’t put it down once she and Julian were both located in London, and because the depictions of violence were heartbreaking and haunting. Further, because Julian was tortured and noble, and though he didn’t change so much as come to own himself and the power at his disposal in both of the cultures that shaped him, his journey was fascinating. Julian was marvelous, and did things I wished heroes in other historical novels would do, including beating the ever living shit out of someone who truly deserved it, and being vindicated for doing so. YUM.

A minus because the villain was Just So Damn Evil, and because Emma was often wooden, stereotypical, and a cliche of trite composite heroines of historical romance. Part virgin, part iconoclast, educated yet showing an absence of that education at key moments, I didn’t relish the scenes that featured her solely as much as I did any and all that revealed Julian. I’m going to be thinking of the hallway in his home from the end of the book for a long time - a simple description that reveals so much about that character.

Duran’s strengths, however, with development and care, could yield future novels of impeccable quality. The Duke of Shadows was often uneven, but those parts that were marvelous were even better than the heights of other books, which shows the talent Duran can wield, but also highlights the flaws to greater detriment. Either way, I will watch for her next novel. 

Gull is a young girl born of rape, whose mother was taken in the sack of Wilusa, the Hittite word for Troy. After an accident that hobbles her leg, Gull is chosen to be an acolyte to the Lady of the Dead, and she sees visions of future events, starting with an omen of black ships. The black ships arrive, carrying the remnants of her lost home after yet another sack of Wilusa, and she sails away with them, even though doing so violates many of the rules of being the Dead’s handmaiden. Gull walks between knowing what the future will look like and not knowing when it’ll show up, and not knowing at all what will happen to her or to the tiny portion of Wilusa that travels with her.

The beginning of the story is demanding. It demands your attention and your time, and it demands that you not put the book down because something is always about to happen within the first few chapters, to the point where reading becomes an exercise in apprehension. In addition, the visual imagery used in the opening scenes is bleak - white paints, black cloaks, white stones, black ships - and belies the complexity and nuances of the story ahead of it.

And the story....

If you are disturbed by discussions of war, by depictions of battle, death, and the harm of children or the rape of women, I would caution you about reading this book. I’m immensely disturbed by these things, and I have to remind myself that I’m still “post partum” with hormones and hair loss to match (oh, my freaking God, the hair loss) and I need to be cautious when I pick up material like this.

That said, this book was important to read right now, not only because it’s haunting and vivid, but it raises questions about war, about the wars that are being fought right now, and about defining countries and societies, and about how we treat prisoners of war and the widows and fatherless children left behind after battle. This story is based on the Aeneid, so fans of that particular time in history will be happy as clams in mud, but because it’s about war and the loss and recovery of peace, it also matters as a reflection of current times.

Moreover, while the writing is often elementary in tone and the heroine didn’t grow so much as grow older, the imagery and the characters - particularly the men, Neas, Xandros, Kos, and Hyl - are marvelously crafted and vividly entertaining. The flaws and distance in Gull, who is held apart from the group both by her vocation as an Oracle and her role as observer, not quite a member of the group and too important to be left behind, lessened my attachment to her, but through her observations I deeply appreciated the other characters.

Gull was my biggest problem with the book, which is difficult because she’s the narrator. She’s a reliable narrator in that she’s not given to deluding herself, but I found myself losing patience with her, and with the story. Gull’s role as avatar for the Lady of the Dead means that she’s an oracle, and as such she’s telling the reader the story as she’s telling the other characters pieces of stories. It wasn’t until the last third that Gull took actions on her own that weren’t at the direction of the Lady, and I wished I’d seen more of the contrast between her own life and that of her office as the Lady’s oracle. I thought sometimes she was merely a window through which to view the story just as she was a voice for the Lady of the Dead, and with my experience with other books of historical fiction, I wanted to connect more with her than I could.

Deciding how to grade this book was a challenge, and I almost didn’t review it because it didn’t fit in the existing rubric of romance novel grades assigned in years prior. However, the book held my attention and even when it hurt to read I kept going, through images that twisted my heart and made me shudder. This story leaves an aftermath in the reader.

Graham tackles some huge subjects in this book, such as peace and war, as I’ve mentioned, and what happens when children become parents but still must answer to their own parents, or, as in the case of Neas, be a parent to a society while still growing up and having to grow up quickly. Graham’s writing style is spare - at times I felt like I was reading a novel meant for an elementary reading level for the simplicity of the dialogue - but the imagery left behind after the words is bleak, and meaningful. This book will definitely leave an impression. And it will make you appreciate peace when you have it, and hold it all the tighter for its fragility.

One of the two major conflicts to be resolved in the larger story arc is a love triangle, and I am not rooting for Sebastian. He has more screen time in this book, and perhaps because I’m rooting for a different character pairing, I didn’t enjoy or become more sympathetic to Sebastian as a result of this book. And I’ve been navel gazing about why it is that the fact that *my* choice didn’t get enough face time makes me both disappointed with the present book while simultaneously eagerly awaiting the next because in my opinion? OMG MAX ANGST = HOT HOT HOT. WANT MORE MAX PLS KTHXBYE.

In this book, Sebastian has to settle one of his major conflicts - his loyalty to his powerful vampire grandfather vs. his desire for Victoria - and has to reveal the true nature of his character. By the end of the novel he is only slightly less ambiguous than it has been in previous novels, but still a large and knobby mystery to Victoria, and to me as a reader. 

The scenes between them read to me as if they were more carnal, and not so much emotional, which of course gives me real hope for Max, because I’m a pleated-skirt skimpy-top color-coordinated-scrunchie-wearing cheerleader for Team Pesaro. Rah rah rah. But then, I have to ask whether my preference for Max could have colored my perceptions of the scenes with Sebastian, and if any reader who hopes Victoria ends up with Sebastian could have reveled in their hot attraction and erotic chemistry.

In any triangle-based conflict, I have a fear that the author will invent a shallow reason to tarnish the nobility and worth of one of the characters so the other becomes an obvious choice. I don’t think that Gleason will pull such a shabby trick; my big fear now is that I’ll feel genuinely bad for the character Victoria doesn’t choose because the three of them, Max, Victoria and Sebastian, are layered, flawed, and fascinating characters individually. The three of them playing off one another is more than a little sparky as well.

Further, Gleason definitely has her eye on the larger story arc, the development of the Big Bad that will likely return to face Victoria and the other Venators, and the development of Victoria into a female leader who hopes to equal the legacy of her grandmother’s time as Illa Gardella. While this installment didn’t leave me breathless and edgy as the previous two books did, The Bleeding Dusk did cover my curiosity with accelerant and light a big ass match.

“Gale has taken too many liberties with the plot and the characters. The basic tale of the opera ghost and his love for the chorus girl is there, but other than that, this is a risqué sexual journey that will make you cringe.... The overall writing is okay, but the actions and thoughts of the characters are disturbing. ”

The writing is okay but the actions of the characters are disturbing… because they had a lot of sex in an erotic novel? The logic here confounds me.

“...wonderful story was tainted and screwed by this horrible so called erotic romance novel by Ms. Gale. I am no prude but this book was such a disappointment and not the romantic erotica I was expecting. It was nothing but BDSM sex, twisting our beloved Phantom into a sex fiend who wanted nothing more to do NON erotic but only hard, cold sexual things to Christine, there was NO love, NO romance...just hard core, not written well, sex, nothing but crude and unrealistic sex. Please take my word as someone who has read possibly every book that has to do with Erik or The Phantom...this book will taint your mind forever....”

The story was screwed! By the erotic novel! Ha!

But the accusation that there’s no love, no romance? Well, it’s an erotic novel, not a romance novel. So I assume the “sex” comes first (HA!). But several times there are admissions of love from Erik and Christine. And ultimately Christine has to choose between a man who is disfigured and kinda nuts, but also the one she loves, and a man who is rich, titled, socially acceptable, but not necessarily the man for her. I’ve read plenty of romances with that type of storyline; was there too much kinky sex such that it got in the way of that reader’s enjoyment of the romantic elements of the plot?

“...this book haunts me! I have never read such a piece of trash in all my life that included my beloved Phantom. I know the word “erotic” is in the title - but, what I had expected was something more Sensual, Romantic, and Love - those are the qualities that the Phantom story possesses. This book merely takes our beloved characters and puts them into scenes of bondage, whips, chains and sex with no feeling. It is sad that the writer felt they had to put someone having sex onto every other page - - the story line itself (excluding the sex) was not that bad - and the writing was okay - but the calousness of the sex throughout the book just ruined it! If you like S & M/Bondage and Animal lusts - then you’ll just love this book.”

Animal lusts? Whoa, nelly! That last sentence reads like a condemnation - if you like this book, there’s something WRONG WITH YOU!

One reviewer, “YA Librarian,” who gave the book four stars, said, “I find it odd that people’s knickers are in a knot when reviewing this book. I’m not sure how this book could have fooled anyone into believing it was a nice wholesome tale about POTO when the title is: Unmasqued: An EROTIC Novel of The Phantom of The Opera. People should know that this book is going to have sex in it; a lot of sex in it and people are having sex with each other in different ways. If you are not a fan of erotica then this may not be the book for you.”

That about sums it up for me. It’s an “erotic novel,” and it flips a love triangle over, chains it to a bed on wheels and leads it to the kinky section of the erotica shelf. As I said, “erotica” can encompass many, many things, but if I pick up a novel labeled with that word I do expect to see “lots of sex in different ways.”

But what really confused me was the AAR review, which focused on the morality of the characters as one of the reasons for the “F” grade:

“There are not many books that I can say have made my stomach turn, but Unmasqued is definitely one of them. If Gale had written a more contained story between Christine and Erik - even if Christine was also involved with Raoul at the same time - I would have been more accepting. I am a fan of erotica in general but this was an unsettling, never-ending sadomasochistic tale filled with amoral characters.”

Amoral? Christine is a stage dancer, and has already had sex with other people, and as such in that time period would be considered a “loose” woman, or at least a woman of dubious reputation. The other dancers have “protectors” and engage in sex as well. So what’s the amorality? There’s definitely an S&M overtone, and while some of the scenes I’ve read didn’t do it for me, I can see why it might turn someone else on, particularly someone who likes S&M scenarios.

But the use of the word “amoral” in the review really puzzles me. Christine doesn’t choose to betray Erik because she’s a cruel, heartless person. She finds herself in situations where she has to submit to the point where it becomes a habit for her, but it’s not out of any loss of morals. The same is true of Erik: he might be socially inept and a wounded hero with visible scars and a chip on his shoulder, but he’s not amoral. So why the accusation based on morality? Is it because Gale based the book on a story that has a primary monogamous protagonist pair, and has introduced other partners into that sanctity? It is erotica, so what’s wrong with multiple partners? Why is sadomasochism “amoral?” The use of the word seems to assign a lot of value to monogamous nonkinky sex, and while I can empathize with readers who prefer monogamous storylines, any time I see the word “erotic” I assume there is a higher chance of multiple partners at the very least.

The reaction is half of what keeps me pondering this book. I’d have a lot more respect the various reviews I found online if they’d said, “I can’t take the twisting of a story I love,” much like people were turned off by the Pride and Prejudice sequels that had Lizzie and Darcy getting down to some raunchy raunchy action. I can understand that and can see why it would squick someone out. But to call her and Erik immoral and to rage against the erotic sexual content seems to focus more on what the readers sees as a degradation of a beloved storyline, which the author owns up to rewriting with erotic tones on the cover and in the dedication. You can’t say you weren’t warned.

It would be easy to rail against the relative prudishness of these reviews, but that’s not my point. If the sex didn’t do it for someone, I understand that. It didn’t always do it for me, either, but I’m not that into BDSM scenarios and I know it. However, I do know that they turn other people on. I also know that I didn’t approach this book with any preconceived notions of the storyline, or any blissful memories of romantic enthrallment with the Webber musical or the Leroux novel. Identifying the flaw fuels these negative reactions confounds me. Are people upset at the corruption of a beloved story, or angry that, despite the book being labeled as “erotic,” there was a lot of kinky sex with multiple partners?

“Erotic” doesn’t just mean, “Avast! Here be buttsecks!” But then, that’s just my interpretation of the word - perhaps the word “erotic” is not sufficient to describe the varying levels of sexual content housed within it, and that’s the real issue at hand.

Just as the novel plays with perceptions of control and sex, the reactions hinge on expectations as well. Those expecting an erotic novel got what they came for (har har) but those focusing on the Phantom part were shocked and appalled by the erotic part, and their disappointed expectations of romance more than sex yielded some very whiny and upset reviews. But then, that’s the danger that Gale faced when revising a much-loved story and adding in a different ending and a whole lot of sex. Either way, people talking about a book means people are talking about a book, and that is always a good thing. Just ask Anna Campbell.