by SB Sarah • Wednesday, December 03, 2008 at 02:38 AM
Thanks to FD, I have a link to an advice column from the Guardian penned by one Mariella Frostrup which addresses the emotionally unavailable man.
As FD said in the email to me, the part in the beginning where she ladles on the pathos in an attempt to establish empathy was irritating, and her assumption about Mills & Boon heroes is way off the mark imo, but her point about the emotionally unavailable man is thought provoking.
I have to wonder if everyone went through the “tragic mate” phase in their 20’s, finding partners with the urge to fix and make them happy all the time - aka “the more tragic, the better.” Probably we all did at one time, if not the 20’s then at some other point.
But I take issue with Mariella’s point that Mr. Darcy is a malfunctioning man, a “monosyllabic” grump, and serves more as a canvas on which we readers paint our ideal tragic hero:
Darcy is a classic malfunctioning man, and the idea that he could be transformed into some Mills & Boon-style romantic hero by the barbs of a bright woman - no matter how persuasive actors like Colin Firth and Matthew Macfadyen have been in trying to make us believe it - is just schoolgirl fantasising. The sad truth is that the monosyllabic man in the corner of the bar isn’t usually thinking deep thoughts about the future of mankind; he’s a monosyllabic man in a bar. One thing you can’t knock women for is their imagination. We can fantasise miserable Darcy into a totemic love god, a plethora of myopic musicians into babe magnets, and an actor outspoken about his determination not to marry into the sexiest man alive.
From my perspective, and granted I haven’t reread P&P in a number of months, Darcy is socially awkward and certainly a snob who has to get over himself already, but emotionally broken hero? I don’t think so.
Do you disagree with Frostrup? Perhaps you never got the Darcy-mania any more than the Edward-mania, and find him to be as stunted and unattractive as she does? What’s the deal - do you think Darcy’s a broken male?
by SB Sarah • Tuesday, December 02, 2008 at 09:14 AM
I’m hoping Jane Porter‘s sense of humor is iron clad and in top shape.. Not only did the trolling asscheeses of hell unleash themselves in the comments to a Seattle PI article about Porter’s book-to-movie on Lifetime this month, but it seems the poor woman is also being seduced in fiction. With bondage!
Is “not Googling the name of one’s heroine” the new black? Because dude. Ouch.
[Thanks to Serena Robar for the link.]
by SB Sarah • Tuesday, December 02, 2008 at 01:28 AM
Our Grade:
Title: What a Scoundrel Wants
Author: Carrie Lofty
Publication Info: Zebra Kensington December 2008, ISBN: 1420104756
Genre: Historical: European
In order to get this review going, I have to get one thing out of the way:
“Fuck me, he cleared it!”
Ok, then.
The buzz is a-building about Carrie Lofty’s What a Scoundrel Wants since the buzz-o-matic Ann Aguirre launched a viral contest to spread the word about Lofty’s debut with Kensington. I read this book a few weeks ago, and I have to say, Lofty set herself for a hell of a task: she took a legend with which most people were familiar, and a setting and time period that hadn’t been visited within the romance genre in a very long while, and placed a romance among characters who are so familiar and enduringly popular that readers who pick up this book may already have a visual for the hero in mind, whether it’s Christian Slater from Prince of Thieves, source of the quote above, or Harry Lloyd from the BBC version of Robin Hood. Or maybe you hear the name “Robin Hood” and think of and think of foxes, bears, and lions. No matter how Lofty describes Will Scarlet, her description may be overridden by the reader’s preference. Plus, how to handle the epic overshadowing potential of Robin himself? Can a secondary character in a legend that dates back to the 14th century be a hero?
Yup.
The story opens with one of the best first lines I’ve read in awhile: “Will Scarlet hated trees.”
Will Scarlet is also in deep shit. He’s about to ambush a coach traveling through the woods, and when the rush commences, he realizes that something is way rotten in that forest among the not very merry men with whom he’s fighting. Meg of Keyworth is also in deep shit. She’s blind, her sister’s been arrested (by Will - oops), and her alchemic experiments have caught the eye of many a nefarious character who seeks to take advantage of Meg, and of her blindness, and to top that, her coach was just ambushed in the woods. When Will realizes that the double crossing might be increased by an exponent of 436, and Meg realizes that she has to rely on Will whether she wants to or not (and she doesn’t, really, see above re: sister), the layering of internal and external conflict is a fourteen-foot Napoleon torte of deep shit.
Will Scarlet is tremendously enjoyable. His dialogue is sardonic and sarcastic and with each successive scene he staples on a sense of disinterest, while every now and again betraying his inner reaction to the situations he finds himself in. To wit: “Ohshitohshitohshit. Ok, play it cool.” He’d be the actor with the slightly manic eyes and the utterly still expression on his face.
Meg is curious. It would take a hell of heroine to stand up to the mythic and fictional Will Scarlet, and while she’s prickly, somewhat nuts, freaking brilliant, stubborn, not a little dangerous and fully aware of her own worth as a female (fail) alchemist (win) who is blind (fail fail fail) and has a tendency to set things ablaze (fail).
But as I said, the setting is as much a reason why this book drew me in within a few pages each time I picked it up. Lofty pushes a lot of potential buttons, from the familiarity with the legend the novel’s based on, to the sexual experience and attitude towards sex on the part of the characters, particularly Meg’s ambivalent realism. Some readers may object to the degree of assertiveness with which Meg approaches all things in her life, including and especially her own sexuality. She’s smarter than just about everyone and she knows it, and she’s terribly curious and insatiable in every sense. Her interactions (ahem) with Will are incendiary from the start, and watching them figure their way to an emotional connection through the heat of their attraction is part of the adventure of their story.
Will’s equally stubborn adherence to his own values, which are, namely, “Rule #1. Save my neck. Rule #2: see #1” add plenty of conflict as well. Further complicating the potential of the setting and the sexuality is the concept of nobility and chivalry that is all up in that time period. The subtexts of the plot contain an exploration of not only nobility and honor, which are a familiar discussion in the subtext of romance, but also the concept of chivalry - a slightly different concept that draws upon the first two. Will is inherently chivalrous, even when he’s being an utter dog, and that ingrained sense of conduct informs his decisions, and Robin’s too.
Speaking of Robin, by the time he rolls in, I was begging to see him despite dreading his arrival in the beginning, because his role - and rule - in Will’s life leads to such depths of conflict and unresolved anger that he has to show up to complete Will’s journey. I worried that he’d overshadow Will as the hero, because, well, how could he not? He’s fucking Robin Hood (adjective, not verb). And how to allow Robin to remain a hero in his own right? Can Will be the hero of his own story without removing any of Robin’s heroism? These are not easy tasks, to say the least.
The action sequences are also spectacular, and they had an almost cinematic quality to them. I could see how they’d be filmed, or how they’d play visually, which underscores the descriptive talent in narrating and blocking at work in the book. The other fun part of this novel is the adventure that makes the plot look like the end result of a game of dominos. Right turn here, wait backwards we go, double cross! No wait, over there, wait, right turn, run! There’s no predicting how the mysteries will be resolved. Neither Will nor Meg are sure who to trust, or if they can even trust each other, and even the reader is challenged to figure out the potential motivations and machinations of every character - including the protagonists - as Meg and Will puzzle through their quest.
Speaking solely for myself, I definitely read and heard and saw in my mind’s movie theatre a whole lot of Christian Slater as Will. From the sarcasm to the quick and wry wit to the rapid-fire replies and general smart assery, Slater took up residence in my brain. For me, that’s not at all a problem. But if it could be due to the fact that I’ve rocked a crush on him since Pump Up the Volume and much preferred looking at him versus at Kevin Costner in Prince of Thieves. I couldn’t possibly predict how another reader may interpret or experience celebrity interference but it makes me wonder how that would affect a reader’s experience, particularly since, even though Lofty’s skillz with dialogue are fab and the banter is fantastic - even when Meg and Will are fighting, it’s fun to eavesdrop on them - I definitely had a preference for Will. Meg often irritated the crap out of me - she is not your typical limp washcloth easily likable heroine.
However, in creating a heroine who is singular, irritating, prickly, brave, strong and brilliant, Lofty did something that I as a reader always appreciate: she wrote an intelligent romance, and she treats the reader as if the reader is intelligent as well. I always enjoy and respect that.
So in setting herself up with an enormous challenge to scale, from using a medieval legend and a well-known and frequently-portrayed character as the hero for a romance to developing a heroine who is his equal and allowing readers to both invoke their own impressions of Will Scarlet and enjoy the author’s liberties with the character, Lofty gave herself a mighty tall obstacle to cross.
Fuck me. She cleared it.
Interested in a copy of the book? I’ve got five - so leave a comment and, in poetic form of your choosing, express your love for all things Robin Hood, Will Scarlet, and Sherwood. Emphasis on wood.
by SB Sarah • Monday, December 01, 2008 at 07:11 PM
In The SB Book, we take a look at the fact that romance cover models are the opposite of the rest of the modeling world: we know many of the men’s names, but the women? Not really.
Until now! Thanks to some courtroom drama ker-brou-ha-fuffle, we now know Cindy Guyer’s name. And we also know not to fuck with her, lest we want our hair pulled. Ow.
[thanks to many, many Bitchery members for the link.]
by SB Sarah • Monday, December 01, 2008 at 01:08 AM
Here’s the final episode of DocTurtle’s snarking of a contemporary category romance novel: a mathematician reads Kathleen O’Reilly’s Sex, Straight Up!
Almost there, folks.
It’s been a few weeks since I last snarked on this book, and even longer than that since I read the chapters I’m supposed to be snarking, so I’m finding myself re-reading the book trying to recapture my feel for it.
As I admitted in my last post, I finished reading the book in one sitting one morning before heading off to class. Although it would be a stretch to call the book’s ending thrilling, I found the story engaging enough to track down and tackle the denouement uninterruptedly. Kudos, Ms. O’Reilly!
Ultimately the book came together well for me, but more on that later. Here’s a chapter-by-chapter synopsis of the last 60 pages or so…
Chapter 13: Happy Birthday, Catherine!
Catherine’s birthday begins on page 161 and before the next ten pages are up becomes a bone of contention between our two protagonists, who can’t seem to leave bickering aside and fall in love already. This chapter is one of the book’s weakest.
The chapter’s high points:
1. The O’Sullivan Brothers bond over a heated game of racquetball (Daniel sees Sean as a “two-bit amateur”! What a cutely Cagneyian expression!).
2. Daniel realizes that he’s slept with his new love on his dead wife’s birthday (oops).
3. Brianna Taylor Kelley, “of the Seventy-first Street Kelleys” (granted I didn’t grow up anywhere near the elbow-rubbing range of the NYC social elite, but do people anywhere really talk like this?), is first mentioned: this is the selfsame Brianna Taylor Kelley whose initials adorned the ring found in the
O’Sullivan boys’ bar’s wall back in Chapter 6, and whom we’ll meet in person in the next chapter.
4. Page 161 brings further bouts of soi-disant hoo-haw busting sex!
And then on page 162 the birthday-themed game-playing commences when Catherine’s moms inadvertently reveals the special date to Daniel, from whom Catherine had heretofore hidden the occasion, thinking he’s only in it for the sex. “I didn’t know today was your birthday. Happy birthday.”
Catherine recovers over a two-martini lunch at Lever House! A quick internet search tells me that this Park Avenue eatery’s lunch menu currently features a 22-dollar hamburger with “hand cut french fries, gootessa cheddar, or maytag-burrata.” I’m a cheese fan, sure, but...huh? They also offer pork cheeks, “braised.” Hee hee! I’m showing my rustic roots again, aren’t I? (Incidentally, the trancelike and slinky aquatic sounds of the Lever House website’s theme music are going to be in my head for the next few hours...)
Random fact: the Maytag Dairy Farms, presumably makers of the maytag-burrata cheese adorning Lever’s selection above, were founded by the grandson of appliance maker Frederick L. Maytag. Whoda thunk it?
Anyway, back to our story…
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t want you to think I’m, you know, expecting something from you because I’m trying very hard not to...A birthday’s a huge thing for me, and I’d rather you not know about it, because if you knew, then you’d think you have to make a big deal out of it, because I expect a big deal, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”
Ooooooooookay...so I guess it’s time to shut things down, now that Daniel’s finally started to show signs that he’s growing comfortable with the relationship?
Chapter 14: The stately town houses of Central Park
It’s going pretty well between Catherine and Daniel, and for several chapters it began to look as though the path from where they stood to everlasting bliss was uncluttered and clear.
Then came Brianna Taylor Kelley and her eye-popping classical décor (including a real Gainsborough). It appears that long ago Ms. Kelley’s husband of one year, a firefighter, died in an explosion while on duty, inexplicably embedding the ring in the wall of the bar. At this point things go south quickly for Catherine.
“You didn’t remarry, did you?” Daniel asks Ms. Kelley.
“No. Everyone wants to replace things, replace people, but this house is filled with irreplaceable things, and Samuel was irreplaceable, too.”
Well, shit.
We learn in the next few pages that Daniel’s only trying to let Catherine down gently, knowing full well that sparks will fly between the two of them when it comes out that he and Catherine can find absolutely no evidence showing Charles “Don’t Call Me Chuckie” Montefiore is not guilty of collusion. Of course, this doesn’t stop them from having YET MORE SEX.
This chapter closes at the Montefiore Auction House offices, where Catherine and Daniel get an F in “ferreting” as they fail to find even a scrap of evidence that might exonerate Grandpa, but an A in “exhibitionism” as their affair is discovered by house skulker and nogoodnik Foster Sykes. Foreshadowing? Naaaah…
One final note: Kathleen O’Reilly atones for her sinful “hoo-haw” and endears herself to me eternally in her use of the word “schlub.”
Chapter 15: Busted, squared! [Warning: spoiler alerts!]
This short chapter’s packed full of action as the various plot lines begin to converge.
So, Daniel’s been pulled from the audit for “having an affair with someone closely connected to the client.” Worse yet, Daniel’s higher-ups are moving forward with his report, a scathing indictment of Charles “Auctionmeister” Montefiore.
In the time-honored tradition of adding insult to injury, Daniel dumps Catherine: “I thought I could have a relationship, but I can’t. I’ve loved the time we’ve had, and there’s absolutely no other woman that I would want to be with other than you, but this limbo isn’t fair to you, and I don’t think I can move past it.”
Well, hell.
The chapter’s ending passage includes another sly return to the Forgery motif: “With a flourish, Catherine slung her faux Prada bag over her shoulder and heard the seams rip even farther apart. Because at the most personal levels there were some things that just couldn’t be faked no matter what.” Not bad, Ms. O’Reilly!
Chapter 16: Tennessee Williams called, he wants his scene back [Oh, and more spoiler alerts...]
Drunk as hell and baited by his brothers (“transitional babe”?), Daniel leaves their Wednesday night poker game to do his best Stanley Kowalski impression. “Can you get me in the building?” he asks Catherine. “I need to get inside there.”
The clouds now part, revealing rainbows and fairy puppies and angels that poop chocolate and gumdrops.
First, after a cursory survey of the auction house’s phone logs, Daniel digs up the evidence he needs to exculpate Charles Montefiore and at the same time incriminate the company’s IT director.
Then, with the help of his loving mother-in-law, Daniel finally finally finally finally finally gets it through his thick skull: “Don’t wait too long, Daniel. I was married to my Bernard for forty-three years, and I wouldn’t get married again because I was too old, too set in my ways. You’re set in your ways, but you’re not too old, Daniel....Bring me the grandkids, and I’ll be happy.” No pressure, Daniel.
Finally, Daniel asks Catherine over to his apartment for the first time so that he can bare all, dumping his heart, soul, and everything else sloppily at her feet in a bucketful of emotional goo. What ensues is a well-written, entirely believable, and genuinely heartwarming dialogue in which Daniel begs Catherine to give him a chance, which she does.
Three pages later (and on the morning after 9/11, no less!) Daniel asks Catherine to marry him for the first of what will be 104 times (according to the book’s one-page Epilogue).
And it’s Happily...Ever...After.
Whew.
My overall impression?
I’m sure it will come as no surprise to the SBTB regulars that I most definitely came to this book with various preconceived notions. Mea culpa. “Low-grade bodice-ripper” comments aside, I’m sure I undertook this reading assignment with expectations of purple prose and tenuous plot twists that served only to tie together various sex scenes that would ensue between the book’s protagonists.
I have to be honest that the first several chapters did little to sway me from these views; I felt the writing was overwrought and the characters a bit over-the-top. Much of the dialogue and description was simply silly (viz. “man-man,” “velvety hardness,” and “hoo-haw”), and the characters’ slowly-building relationship was limned in two scanty dimensions.
Chapter 11 was where things started to pick up for me. O’Reilly’s writing grew more zestful as the Forgery motif made itself known in the back of the Chinatown shop where Catherine and her friends had been trapped. As the characters became more real and more well-rounded, I had more sympathy for them, and more sympathy for their plight. I’m sure this newfound sympathy was evident in my slackened snark. The last sixty pages or so I read all at once, genuinely interested in the novel’s conclusion.
Ultimately, I was satisfied. As I’ve said before, Kathleen O’Reilly shows herself to be a solid and engaging writer: if she can get me to turn a few dozen of her pages without a pause, she’s got something going. While her style is not my cup of tea, it’s admittedly effective.
So, is category romance for me? I don’t think so, but I’m glad to have had a chance to learn a bit more about it. Nevertheless, I have to admit that I’m looking forward to my next reading assignment.
Please let me say that I am grateful for the overwhelmingly positive feedback I’ve received from the SBTB readers (and humbly chastened by the constructive criticism), and I’d like to give my sincerest thanks to Sarah for the opportunity to post my reviews on her blog. I hope you will all continue to follow my breakdown of Georgette Heyer’s classic, An Infamous Army, which is likely to cleave more closely to my own reading tastes.
