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

OK, I’m totally stealing Michele’s thunder here for which I apologize but I can’t help it because wheeeeeee I totally won this auction on AAR Aid for eight autographed Loretta Chase books and WOOOOOOO and holy crap I just spent over $200 on books when I told myself “No books until you’ve moved and settled in” but who fucking cares, autographed copies of Loretta Chase novels aahhhhhhh and I mean ahhhhhhh ahhhh aaaahhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Wheeeeee and also ahhhhhhh.

OK, need to stop hyperventliating.

BUT AHHHHHH EIGHT AUTOGRAPHED COPIES! INCLUDING LORD OF SCOUNDRELS! AHHHHHHHH!

(I’m also happy the money is going to a good cause. But have I also mentioned AHHHHHH I WON WOOO LORETTA CHASE AHHHHH!)

The accounting firm of Bitchypoo and Crankypants have tabulated our results, and we are proud to crown the winner, Michele, for her entry, Longing for the Vigilant Outlaw.

Ffor all of you who fflocked to our site to ffling your votes, thank you ffondly!

Now summon the ffair maidens to throw fflowers at your ffeet! Michele, kneel and receive your prize, as the Smart Bitches hereby dub the:

Congratulations and thank you to all our ffine participants!

UPDATE: Pregnancy brain strikes again. My apologies to our two Michel(l)es - most humbly I admit I got confused! 

I saw the link to this hilarious article about female porn on HelenKay’s blog a few days ago, and meant to make fun of it. Unfortunately, a shiny object came along and distr--oh, hey, look, disco ball!

Whoops, where was I? Anyway, yeah, this article? HILARIOUS. Read it. Pay attention to their definition of what’s pornographic, to wit:

pornography – 3: the depiction of acts in a sensational manner so as to arouse a quick intense emotional reaction

I’m not going to bother deconstructing the article, because, well, it’s just too goddamn easy, and it doesn’t offer anything new that I haven’t yelled about a bunch of times already on this forum. I will, however, provide lots of links to some primo prurience, going strictly by their definition of what constitutes pornography.

Badly-drawn religious tracts: PORN-O-RAMA!

I always thought she was batshit insane, but now I know better: she’s pornographic too!

Porn for Democrats and Liberals!

Not to neglect the other side: Porn for Republicans and Conservatives!

Unf unf unf unf: Meatpackers are sexxxxxxy

OMG! Porn involving UNBORN CHILDREN!!!!!!!!! (Mo’ exclamation points = mo’ outrage)

Actually, come to think of it, the article itself is pretty pornographic. Look at how it sensationalizes the act of reading or watching a movie (I mean, COME ON: “When a single woman leaves a steamy chick flick only to return home alone to her cats and tub of ice cream, a part of her breaks—the heart part”? BWAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA), all in the name of arousing shame and outrage.

Porn-mongers: they’re everywhere. Are YOU protected?

I was ruminating in the shower last night because I had just thrown a Regency - a traditional Regency, specifically, one that’s not much bigger than a Harlequin in size, and features a heroine in an empire-waist dress on the cover - in my bag. (Tangent: what did the big busted girls do in that age with all those empire waist dresses? If I wear one? I look like a buxom hobag. For an age of decency, what was up with that?)

Anyway, as I was saying before I was distracted by my own breasts, the Regency in question features a non-titled gentleman and a non-titled heroine living on the “outskirts” of the ton, and yet I was totally intrigued by the back cover copy. This is surprising because, I must admit, I am a sucker for the titled characters. I’m not as willing to accept romances across social lines, and since the boundaries between classes were so defined at that point, I never really believed that a true happily ever after was possible between classes, even though I know it happened on occasion.

For example, Kinsale’s Flowers from the Storm ended with a brief discussion of how Jervaulx and Maddie would weather (har) the treatment they would each receive in their lifetimes, since she was distinctly of a lower class and also his wife. It’s one thing for the man to throw off convention and marry someone of a lower class, since he won’t likely suffer social ostracization to the extent that she would, particularly if he is possessing any degree of power or influence. Or if he’s a snazzy dresser. A variety of social sins can be forgiven of a snazzily dressed man.

But the woman in question, marrying up or down? Ouch.

So I prefer to go in knowing that there isn’t any major class boundary between the hero or heroine - and I must confess some snobbery as to whether the characters are titled or not when it comes to a historical selection. I don’t know why I’m fascinated with the titled vs. the non-titled, and I fully admit to my own prejudices in this department, but give me two musicales, a few balls, maybe some Almack’s for spice, and toss two characters in there of a certain class, and I’m intrigued. I do giggle at the thought that each novel talks about how rare the love match is, and yet there are bagillions of romance novels featuring ton love matches, and not one of those happy couples knows the others. But yet, I never get tired of it.

I have to question, though, as I know I am not the only one with this preference given the glut of romances featuring the noble and titled, why we readers actively seek stories of titled characters of the elite class. A friend of mine who also reads romance once said to me, “Look, this is my brain candy, and my fantasy time. I want titled people in opulent settings, and I want the hero tall, dark, handsome, rich, Lordly and successful.”

And by Lordly, I am assuming she meant that people addressed him as such, and not that he was priestly.

Just about every European country has a titled class, even today, even countries that have parliamentary governments. And given the number of magazines like Hello! that follow the clothes and babies of the rich and titled, there are plenty of people who like to know what they are doing, what they are wearing and what strollers they push.

There are shades of our fascination with the titled in the US, as we are always treated to news about the British ruling family, and on top of that we manufacture our own royalty, from the Kennedys to the celebrities in movies and on tv. Now, I have a theory that Americans are obsessed with royalty in similar fashion to our obsession with luxury, because we love to consume us some material goods. So even though I might be Sarah from Pittsburgh, I can carry the same handbag as the Crown Princess of Norway, and wear the same shoes as Princess Letizia of Spain, and I can even find out that my baby is due the same week as Princess Mary of Denmark. While the baby obviously is coincidence, I can bring myself to having a possession in common with any number of royal individuals - minus that one key item: the title.

You can buy one, if you’re up to the challenge of verifying the title’s veracity, and I personally would love to purchase myself the title “Lady Puddington,” but I think part of the fascination is really that, despite the high number of luxury items that can be bought by just about anyone with a credit line, the title is the one thing you can’t really purchase.

Perhaps that allure of unattainability is part of the reader’s fascination with class and titles. I also know that among the readership of this here site there are many who bristle at the class structures of past and present set novels, and deliberately seek out novels that break the boundaries with innovative plots.

So, do you prefer the titled vs. the common hero or heroine? And why do you think so many readers prefer romances that focus specifically on a particular upper class?

I was settling down to read Jennifer Ashley’s The Pirate Next Door last night when I looked over on my nightstand and realized, ah CRAP, I have The Historian checked out from the library, and it’s due in two weeks. So I put my pirate romance down, feeling sulky, and hoping The Historian is going to suck donkey balls so I can in all good conscience abandon it after 15 pages and return to my pirate shenanigans.

I ended up reading over 60 pages of it, which is a miracle given how bone-tired I was last night. I even fell asleep with the book over my face. The Very Tall Husband very kindly lifted it off me before he climbed into bed. Good thing, too--that book is huge. Suffocation was a distinct possiblity.

I’ve been sucked in GOOD. I actually dreamed about the damn story. Dracula ended up looking a lot like Brad Pitt, which is annoying. Damn Anne Rice, and damn the movie version of Interview With a Vampire!

I’m not quite sure why I like the story so much. There are a few things about it that are kind of irritating:

1. The narrative device. It’s told in first person, but so far a big chunk of the story is the narrator’s father telling a story to her, also in first person, and then there’s a story that her father’s professor told to him, also in first person. Interesting narrative device, and I haven’t seen it in any books published after, ehhhh, 1920, but it’s making me flash back to Wuthering Heights, and I fucking hate Wuthering Heights.

2. The pace? Is slow. As. Shit. But I’m turning the pages with much quickness because I want to find out more about the creepy sallow guy who smells bad under his cologne nownownowNOW and what about those creepy monks in the French Alps and STOP DESCRIBING THE SCENERY I NEED MORE STORY GAAAAH.

3. Something about the voice is pretentious and chapping my ass, especially when it attempts to be lyrical. I don’t know if it’s deliberate, because the narrator is a middle-aged history professor, or if it’s unconscious. Because let’s face it, some authorial voices sound like real prats, and this prattishness carries over from book to book.

I haven’t been this fascinated by a book in a long time, especially one that I see as being flawed in a lot of ways. I’m actually cranky that I forgot to bring the book to work with me.

If updates from me are sparse this week, you’ll know why.