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

In a nutshell: here’s the pattern of the heroine’s thought process.

Jail and my life experiences have taught me to be strong! And clever! And made me a whole new person!
But I’m a bad person who doesn’t deserve all the things that have happened to me. I’ve made some bad choices.
But my release from prison gives me a chance to build myself into a new confident woman!
But I’m not confident; I’ve caused a lot of harm and my children hate me. I’ve made some bad choices.
But everyone in this halfway house should go to college! We all have potential! I’m great! You’re great! We’re all great!
I’m not. I’ve made some bad choices.
I’m great!
I’m not. I’ve made some bad choices.

Seriously, if you scanned this book and did a CTRL-F for “bad choices,” I’m betting you’d find at least four uses of the pair in each chapter. The reader does see some of Monette’s bad choices, or hear about them as she tells someone else at length what they were, but the reader also sees that some of those bad choices result from not ridding herself of a slew of negative influences, even as she counsels others to do the same. Just saying she’s made bad choices doesn’t give me any sympathy for her when she continues to follow the same path.

There’s no initial explanation of what happened in jail to give her this insight into her own flaws, or what happened to put her at war with her own confidence, so all I had in the hundred or so pages was an annoying character who didn’t seem real or consistent. Add to that a love interest who is stuck in some wooden and terribly trite dialogue exchanges, and some cliche jealous women who embrace stereotypes with loving precision, and I had to put the book down.

The dialogue between characters, particularly the protagonists, was equally frustrating. Sometimes it was cardboard platitudes, sometimes it was phrases that wouldn’t roll naturally out of anyone’s mouth, and sometimes it was info-dumping. I couldn’t believe any of the characters because the dialogue wasn’t moving the story forward so much as filling in the past, or circling in the present.

Furthermore, the events in the heroine’s life were improbable as well. She walks out of jail, checks into the halfway house, appears on the morning news, then lands a job hosting her own mid-day talk show on a talk radio station. Because people who write books automatically do well on the radio?

What disappointed me most was that cover to plot summary, this book could have been great. The cover is exceptionally sexy - a woman’s legs walking up stairs in gold d’Orsay heels? Wow. And the plot summary holds an incredible amount of potential. An innocent woman who hadn’t lead a most honorable life sent to jail for years for a crime she didn’t commit (though she was guilty of a slew of much lesser crimes) is released because of her own bravery in telling the truth of her own story, even the unflattering part, and thus has a chance to rebuild her life? And to do so she has to balance her sense of innocence and her sense of guilt while ridding herself of people who only want her money or fame but give her nothing in return? Could be amazing. But it wasn’t. It was trite, stereotypical, wooden, boring, irritating and disappointing.

It’s hard not to compare Victoria to the obvious: there are a few nods to Buffy, particularly in Victoria’s struggle to maintain something of a normal life while following a legacy she’s chosen, a legacy that has also chosen her. There are many layers of internal conflict to be resolved for Victoria, as she’s inherited a strength and ability to do something extraordinary, and shows potential to be one of the most powerful Venators in her family’s history due to the purity of her lineage. That same lineage also guarantees her a socially marvelous season in London shopping for a husband, a process that would be overshadowed and rendered somewhat obsolete by her choice to become a Venator. The balance of social popularity and, well, saving the world affects Victoria’s life at every moment.

Unlike Buffy, she has to willingly and somewhat repeatedly choose to follow that path in order to become a full Venator and receive the amulet that will aid her in protecting and asskicking.  She could have opted out with no harm, no foul. So when life gets decidedly sticky for Vicky, she has to blame herself, and can’t start whinging about how unfair it all is. There will be others in generations to follow and she could leave the battle of good and evil up to them. 

The power of that choice creates a strong heroine, but one who isn’t infallibly perfect - thank heavens. Victoria makes mistakes, has lapses of judgment, and wants desperately to get to a level of competence such that her great aunt and her fellow Venator Max will stop looking over her shoulder or protecting her from her own inexperience. Victoria is also interesting as a heroine because she is surrounded by exceptionally strong women in her family, from her great aunt, who is proof that eccentricity in old age can be used to conceal just about anything, to a mother who has hidden depths of steel and devotion to her family, even if she makes different choices than Victoria might expect.

Additionally, there is a Big Bad to be dealt with in the novel, and a larger Big Bad looming for the series as a whole, plus the individual battles and attacks facing Victoria on a chapter-by-chapter level. Victoria and Sebastian find themselves battling Lilith, the queen of the vampires, over a book that can call to life a demon army, tipping the world domination scales way to far in the vampires’ favor. The origin of the Big Bad and the Bigger Bad, and of the Gardella family itself, is also tied into both Christian theology and vampire lore, which yields larger implications for all parties, and creates an increased sense of depth for the backstory.

I’m going to put a dollar bet down that this book series will be optioned for film or television in some form, either as a whole or as individual books, because the influence of television series viewing is evident in the plot structure, and the organization of the larger and still larger story arcs. This is not at all a bad thing; it’s simply telling of how storytelling in visual and literary forms can influence one another and will likely continue to do so.

The good parts? Victoria can be frustrating, but her fallibility makes her more accessible as a heroine. If the heroine is a superhero who can throw the reader and all men within arm’s reach through a wall, it becomes harder, I think, to create flaws that won’t damage her as a character yet will make her a more empathic individual. Gleason manages to make Victoria a very noble heroine with understandable flaws. Victoria wants to succeed, and wants to make her great aunt proud, aside from the whole ‘saving the world by staking vampires’ thing. She operates from a place of good intentions both grand and local, so her goofs and slip-ups only make the reader cheer for her more.

I only wish the men had been more developed, though by possibly developing one over the others, Gleason would run the risk of giving away the ultimate ending of who Victoria will choose as her hero. I think with the presence of three potential heroes, each demonstrating character flaws that can urge Victoria to grow stronger emotionally, it’s more than a triangle - not to state the obvious. A triangle of attraction isn’t strong enough structurally to contain the potential entanglements that are certainly imminent for Victoria and her three mysterious men. Each represents a different facet of Victoria’s development, so each is equally important. Still, there’s that part of me who wants to know who the hero will be, so I don’t get all bummed out if I root for the wrong dude.

Above all, the writing is what recommends this book most. Gleason’s writing is sharp and taut, which makes for excellent action sequences, and a plot that travels quickly from the start. The writing strength alone gives me ample reassurance that this potentially plot-heavy series is in the right hands. I’m definitely looking forward to the next installment. 

Sorcha, as the future queen, has been hidden in the innocent simplicity of a life in the convent, and as a result hasn’t had to grow up much or mature beyond her responsibilities as a novice- responsibilities that don’t include kingdom-running. She was educated by her grandmother, the dowager Queen, but she still has a great deal of trepidation at leaving the convent, and would prefer to pick the easy, though cold and windy, route than journeying home to a kingdom she hasn’t set foot in for years. But she has to leave the convent, because her identity has been discovered, and her life is in danger. She must run, hide, and find her way back to her kingdom to save her life and the lives of her people.

Arnou, it turns out, is Prince Rainger in disguise (don’t worry, I’m not spoiling anything. It’s revealed in the back cover copy) and is desperate to find and marry Sorcha so he can redeem himself and recover his country from a cruel despot who took Rainger’s throne in a humiliating coup. Rainger needs the stability of the Beaumontagne army, and the support of its people, to rescue his own, and he needs Sorcha to accomplish his ends. 

And there you have a few of my favorite romance storylines, tied up together: secret identity, and journey romance. I love the romances where someone hides who they are for whatever reason though I prefer it be a somewhat lucid motivation driving the idea. I love watching people reveal their true selves while hiding in plain sight, particularly when the someone hiding is someone whose presence would attract a great deal of attention. And I equally love journey romances that take place on a quest or on the road to a destination. While it’s easy to place a hero and heroine on the road, unsupervised, without parents or social demands watching over them at every moment, it’s also enormously effective at cutting right to the heart of the attraction between two people.

So with The Prince Kidnaps a Bride, we have Sorcha wishing she could hide in the convent, and, once she leaves it, wishing she could somehow reveal her identity as the Crown Princess without bringing her life into more immediate danger. Rainger (and you know I had to force my eyes to see the “i” and thus not picture a Cuban bounty hunter) needs to overcome some dreadful discretions that cost him his kingdom, and save the oppressed people who aren’t sure they can even count on him as a ruler or savior.

Thrust the two of them onto a dangerous assassin-filled journey home to their respective kingdoms, and it’s potentially delicious: he doesn’t want her to know who he is because he knows she’ll see him for the callous bonehead he was in his youth, and she’ll rightly assume he’s only interested in her because of her kingdom. He’s enjoying being a more simple version of himself, while keeping her safe and learning who she is. Meanwhile, Sorcha is drunk on the freedom of life outside the convent, and rushes headlong into any social interaction she can, since she’s been talking to the same handful of nuns for years. She thinks that Arnou couldn’t possibly understand her position as a royal, so she is herself as she had been at the convent. And beneath all that hidden agenda, they fall in love.

I wish the book had lived up to the delicious promise, but alas it did not. The biggest loss for me as a reader were the huge jumps in time: there were large gaps after an almost-daily accounting of their adventures from the convent to the ship that would take them home, like once they got to the ship it could warp time and drop them months into the future. Bam! We’re home! Bam! It’s the future! Bam! Prepare for the nursing home, Sorcha!

How would they manage becoming, or returning to an existence as royal betrothed as opposed to hunted fugitives? How did they transition? There’s little mentioned to reveal how their future romance would survive, even though that future is so very different from the beginning and foundation of their relationship. That’s the problem with many on-the-road romances: once the journey is over, I wish the hero and heroine would remove themselves from the static environment of their homes that stifles their romance and forces them to hide behind roles and expectations, and get back on the road already. Once the journey is over, the romance changes, and I wanted assurance that the romance that they had would survive that change.

Sorcha herself is perfect perfect perfect. She charms hos. She outwits horse sellers (with the intimidating yet hidden presence of Rainger behind her). She befriends everyone, even the most jaded, hardened person in town, and Rainger is driven batty trying to keep up with her and keep her from getting herself killed. Her innocence becomes grating even as she ponders and discusses her role as a ruler, and her education that prepared her for that life. At times, I wanted to smack her: Yes, dear, you’re going to have to rule a kingdom, so it’s time to grow up, grow a spine, and stop discussing blow jobs with the hos.

I did love the hero, but I’m a sucker for the flawed hero confronting his own foibles and committing himself to redemption, even as he nurses the same selfish intentions with Sorcha. She’s a means to an end, and he does make the mistake of saying so.

The best part of the book was the setting: the pressure of royalty and the expectations from others that genuinely affect the motivations of the hero and heroine. They were both crown royalty, born to leadership, but both have to work to restore themselves to their positions, and thus Dodd ensured that both characters earn their royal status in the readers’ eyes - smart move.

I also enjoyed the different questions and definitions of honor that surrounds the hero, and the heroine. They each had to resolve questions of their own worth in the face of future responsibilities, that is, if they could overcome the obstacles that stood in their way. To have a heroine who will be queen face similar issues as the hero when examining self worth and duty was entirely refreshing, and I have to believe that any person born into a position of monarchical authority would face similar doubts. Add to that a rich imagery of faith, and the idea that honor and love can protect your life, and I probably would have arrived at a better grade.

Because of the themes of worth and leadership that surround the protagonists, The Prince Kidnaps a Bride is more complex than most romance novels. I wanted to rank it higher since it did give me more to ponder, and gave me that rumination in the form of a empathetic hero and charming heroine. But there were too many “but’s” standing in my way, not the least of which was the resolution of the story of other two lost princesses. Add to that large gaps in storyline, and a feeling of a slow journey and a very rushed final denouement, and I arrived at a grade that, while not bad, isn’t as stellar as it could have been.