In Which I Take the Rest of the Year Off.

Dear Friends,
As I'm sure is the case with all of you, things have been out of control for me in the past few weeks, and it doesn't look like it's going to let up any time soon.

I sat down to write a Thoroughly Obsessed post last Thursday and it was... bad. Because I've got nothing.

So, I've decided take the rest of the year off. I'm going to come back relaxed and refreshed (and having read at least two books) the first week in January. I'm even planning another weekly staple column to go along with Thoroughly Obsessed. Aren't you excited?

As consolation I leave you with the following oh-holy-hell-badass videos. Their awesomeness cannot be overstated.

May you have a Merry Christmas, Festivus, whatever. And may 2011 bring you nothing but good health and happiness.

See you next year!

In Which Lady Liberty Goes Out on a Limb.

By popular demand, this week I am proud (and thrilled because it's less work for me!) to welcome La Laliberte back to the floor. And since I'm not Obsessed with anything today except Christmas card writing, baking, and people-I-just-remembered-I-need-to-get-presents-for, this post shall alternately be called In Which Thoroughly Obsessed Thursday Likes to Delegate.

Madame, if you please:

Having hungrily eaten up any romance novel Kate Jones has been kind enough to throw my way, I thought maybe, just maybe, I was ready to select my own. And staring down the Paperback Section of the Local Library (a daunting task for a green young romance reader like myself) I finally settled on Not Quite a Lady by Loretta Chase. The name popped out because she was recommended on Amazon when I was trying to find out how to buy every. single. thing. Joanna Bourne has ever written. (see A Spymaster's Lady, which I may never return, by the way... okay I will, but only because I know there's a special corner of hell reserved for people who don't return borrowed books) Another historical by Loretta Chase is also one of the few historical romances graded higher than said fantastic novel by Bourne, so I checked out this book with high hopes.

The first twenty pages did NOT inspire much confidence. Here's a writer who knows how to play with tension and the fast-paced, later parts of a book, but spits out exposition like it's bitter medicine. Firstly, she starts Chapter One: "The trouble with Darius Carsington was, he had no heart." That sentence had so much promise (HELLO! That name!) and then you conclude it with a bald-faced lie. I know damn well you're going to make him the lovingest, most caring creature on the earth by page 60... And then, the whole first chapter was spent delving into the complex he'd developed as a result of intimidating talks with his father who doesn't see the merits of his accomplished science career and how hard it is to be the youngest of five highly accomplished older brothers. If he was really the churlish rake that she wants us to believe he is, than he wouldn't care about all that, or at least, we wouldn't know he did until they start falling in love and she realizes he's only a rake because he has these deep-seated emotional problems that need to be resolved. (That ladies and gentlemen, is a mild Lady Liberty rant.)

Even while Lady Charlotte appears to be a smart and admirable heroine adept at rejecting husbands without anyone noticing, much of the plot is advanced by her falling on her face. Not just once and not awe-inspiring, to be sure. Some fun themes, a painstakingly obvious plot twist (another tension-builder-that-wasn't) and a mostly emotionally satisfying relationship make it fun enough to read once you get past the awkward beginning, but I don't know what this says for Last Night's Scandal aka My First Romance Purchase Ever. Let's keep our fingers crossed, shall we?

In Which I Maya Banks Messes With My Sleeping Habits. Again.

I should have spent last night going to bed early, as I am fighting off this truly awesome December sinus/cold thing that everyone seems to be passing around.

But, no. Instead the second Maya Banks KGI novel was delivered to the house, and once again crackaliciousness trumps sleep. And I don't really know why I'm surprised by that.

Sam Kelly has been moping around since his last mission to Mexico, where he had a thing with a local waitress possessed of the Magic Hoo-Hoo. He had been down there to take out a local arms dealer at the request of the CIA, but got slightly distracted by a pretty-little-blond (as you do) until the metaphorical shit hit the metaphorical fan.

So when Sophie shows up, knocked up and half-drowned floating next to the dock at the back of Sam's property, he and his brothers are pretty suspicious (as you would be), despite the fact that every alpha particle in Sam's body is screaming "mine." He also says it out loud on a couple of occasions, just to clarify things for his brothers.

Sophie is (of course) the daughter of the aforementioned arms dealer who had been sent to distract Sam from his mission (of course) but she herself had Other Motives (of course). And I don't want to get too spoilery when it comes to Sophie's actions post-Mexican-coital-glow with Sam, but let's just say it's not entirely unreasonable for her to show up when and where she does.

I really liked this book as much as one can like a crackalicious book of such calibre. Great sex, chest-thumping alpha-male, resourceful (if slightly vague) heroine. More sexy brother action. More "no one messes with the Kellys" speechifying. There were only a couple of moments (mostly involving mercenaries and pep talks) that had me cringing into my down comforter.

My main complaint about this book would be that once again, everything is half-baked. We're asked to take a lot of things at face-value (Sophie's rough life with her dad, her relationship with Sam, his lingering feelings for her after leaving Mexico) that it would have been better to experience. For example, we find out the really awful thing Sophie's dad did to her mom in the last third of the book, and his actual motives for doing it (way, way different than what Sophie had assumed) even later than that. Couldn't Sophie have reflected on this before she told Sam about it? For most of the book we're expected to believe that her issues with her dad are Bad, without ever hearing what exactly they are.

(And PS- remember my beef about Rachel's abduction being cleared up a little too quickly in the last book? Wouldn't it have been fun for the arms dealer to be responsible for her captivity? To carry over to this book? No? Oh. OK.)

(PPS- Looking back at my last review, I see that once again Maya Banks saves the day after a disastrous DNF. Maybe book crack is the cure for intense disappointment? Like comfort food? Very, very interesting.)

Anyway I'm still excited for the third book coming out in March. I'll be hoping for a DNF and a quiet work week around March 7.

In Which I DNF a Pamela Clare

My plausibility limit is not easily tested. I read paranormals for goodness sake, the most recent of which involved a witch falling in love with a vampire/demon hybrid on an alternate plane of existence. Imagination? Yeah, I’ve got it.

I want to stress this at the outset, because when I tell you that it was sheer implausibility (and boredom, and annoyance, and the aforementioned Too Stupid to Live heroine...) that made me stop reading Pamela Clare’s Hard Evidence, I want you to know what that really means.

Earlier this year I read Clare’s most recent book in the Denver I-Team series, and I really enjoyed it. So when I found some of the previous books in the series over the weekend, I was pumped.

I even ditched my historical romance kick to read this one.

But pretty much from the first chapter, I was done.

Tessa Novak is an investigative reporter on the aforementioned Denver I-Team (for the Denver Independent). As soon as the book opens, Tessa’s caffeine addiction leads her to witness a murder. I know she has a caffeine addiction both because Clare tells us outright, and because just about every “new scene” is marked by Tessa drinking a latte, being offered a latte, or calculating the number of shots she is going to request in her next latte.

Peripheral to the murder that Tessa witnesses is Julian Darcangelo (Gangsta Name: Dark Angel. I only wish I was making that up). He’s been running an undercover operation to take down a sex trafficking ring, and the murder Tessa sees is of a runaway sex slave seeking help.

Tessa sees Darcangelo lurking outside the crime scene, and because he was wearing a leather jacket like the shooter, she assumes he’s the murderer (“Wha?” you ask. “Yup,” I say). When he stalks her to the hospital where she hopes to interview the only other witness to the crime, she freaks because she thinks the murderer has come back to find her.

I briefly touch on this in my TSTL post, but I want to emphasize it again, because I’m pretty sure that if I ran into a the man I thought was a murderer (never mind that I’m not sure I would have made that big a leap anyway...), I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t make out with him three minutes after he dragged me into a supply closet. Especially after he has confirmed that he knows my entire life story in the most creepy-stalkery way possible. And especially when there’s no lead-up to his grabbing me and kissing me. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s called assault.

And again, I’m pretty sure that’s when I’d kick him in the balls.

So for the entire sexual chemistry of this couple to be based on that single encounter is really stretching it for me. And it’s not even like their next encounter hits the reset button, where everyone gets in a room and he apologizes and it’s all some semblance of cool. The next time they see each other he arrests her. Not even a little bit, like as a warning not to get involved in the investigation. He has her booked, photographed, fingerprinted, and thrown in a cell.

Would you be lusting after that guy? Because I’m pretty sure I’d actually hate him.

To me, Tessa’s entire attraction to Darcangelo encapsulates her TSTL-itude. She also wanders into gang territory and asks to see the head gangstas. At night. Without really knowing how to use her gun. She keeps wandering around crime scenes and doing her own investigating, even after she has been advised not to by just about everyone, including the Chief of Police.

Let’s not get in to her “friends,” who are all so obsessed by the fact that a man kissed her that none of them are pointing out that she needs to file charges. Oh, and her long-lost mother showed up just after she’s been assaulted again-- not by the hero this time, this time by an actual (?!) bad guy-- and just before I decided to peace out of this entire endeavor.

Not to mention that Darcangelo’s investigation into sex trafficking, including women sold into sexual slavery and pedophiliac porn (which he has to pretend to like while undercover) does not exactly make for an easy turnaround into sexy time. I don’t want to hear about how he wants to jump the heroine just after I’ve read about how he’s disgusted by what he’s seeing on the job. No dice.

So... yeah. Back to the historical romances!!

In Which Thoroughly Obsessed Thursday Finds a Too Stupid to Live Heroine.

I think I have written about this before, so if you’re bored of this topic I apologize in advance. I’m reading a new book this week (a new book whose purchase was fully supervised and semi-endorsed by the Scout Master), and the heroine is Too Stupid to Live (TSTL).

I’m not going to get into the major plot of the book, or even tell you the title, the name of the author, etc. The review will be ready for next week. All I want to talk about, for a moment, is when a heroine is so dumb you want to punch her in the face.

And then stop reading the book about her.

So far, I have read up to page 53. That’s right, the heroine is so mind-blowingly dumb I want to lure her into a darkened alley and smash her head in with a frying pan already. If only because it would be so easy. On page 53.

Let’s do bullet points, “You Might Be a Redneck” style.

*If you witness a murder and think you have been identified as a key witness by the murderer, but don’t request police protection, you might be TSTL.

*If you are a newspaper reporter and witness a murder and think it’s a great idea to write a first-hand account of the event (including description of the guy you think made you!) to be published on the front page of the paper, you might be TSTL.

*If the Chief of Police comes to you and tells you that you’re a dumbass for writing your eyewitness account of the crime because now your life is in danger, and you hide behind the first amendment to continue writing about it anyway, you might be TSTL.

*If after the Chief of Police tells you you’re a dumbass you go to the hospital to question the only other witness to the murder to ask him about why someone might want to murder you now, you might be TSTL.

*If you run in to the man you think is the murderer in a hospital corridor and do not immediately scream bloody murder, you might be TSTL.

*If that man kisses you to shut you up (!!) after dragging you into a closet while acting extremely sketchy (!!) and not only do you not kick him in the nads, but you can’t stop thinking about him in a lusty way afterwards, you might be TSTL.

*If after the Chief of Police and Sketchy Kissy Dude (undercover agent, natch) tell you your life is in danger, you decide to go to the neighborhood where the shooting took place and knock on doors to dig up more information, YOU MIGHT BE TSTL.

I’m really disappointed by this, because I read a previous book by this author (same series) and while the heroine was no shining beacon of common sense, she most definitely was not as dumb as this bitch.

Now that that’s off my chest, I feel a lot better. And I hope you do too.

Aren’t you excited for this book review????

In Which I Review the One Book I Managed to Read in November.

Let me first say that getting old sucks.

Now I’m not one of those people who believes in saying things like that, and I most certainly am not dumb enough to think I am old (for example, I am not yet as old as Boy Scout). However, in getting older body chemistries change, and things that used have no affect on you whatsoever become life-ending, apocalyptic elixirs of doom.

Like, say... caffeine.

Or, more specifically, the amount of caffeine found in a chai.

Last week, in the midst of trying to write over 3,000 words per day to make up for my WriMo slackedness (Have you heard I won? No? Well I did. And it was awesome), I had a chai late in the day. A word about me and caffeine: it’s no big. Or it wasn’t a big.

Until I found myself wide awake at 11:00 that night, which then found me with the time and awareness to finally finish the Eloisa James book I had started 2 weeks before on the flight home from San Francisco. Maybe getting old doesn't suck that much.

As a rule, I’m not a hunormous fan of fairy tale ripoffs-- they can come out clumsily, and with very little connection to the real world they are trying so hard to... connect to.

A Kiss At Midnight is a take on exactly the fairy tale you think it is, only Cinderella’s name is Katherine Daltry. She’s not been made a servant in her own home, but rather has been the only one to step up and take charge to make sure everything doesn’t go to hell in a hand basket after the death of her father.

The Prince’s name is Gabriel, and as with so many princes, he belongs to a made-up kingdom, if for no other reason than there’s no complicating real-life history to contend with for the reader’s suspension of disbelief.

The reasons Gabriel and Kate cross paths, in addition to the bulk of the book’s plot, are flimsy at best. Kate must go and make a good impression on the Prince while pretending to be her own wicked step-sister (who is not wicked at all) at a house party because the step-sister has... a boil on her face? And no one really knows what Kate and/or Victoria looks like? And wearing brightly-colored wigs is all the rage, so even if people have met Victoria, all Kate has to do is wear a wig and they’ll think that’s Victoria.

See? Flimsy. Especially when it’s made very clear how much Victoria and Kate don’t look alike. All the time. It's pretty much all the omniscient narrator talks about. Which makes their eventual reunion at that same house-party (with no one noticing anything amiss) that much more unlikely.

That said, the romance in this book is aces. Gabriel is charming and fun, and it’s wonderful to see him fall in love with Kate-- especially because he is smart enough to know almost immediately that Kate is not her sister.

Meanwhile, Kate is definitely not her sister in any way, shape or form. She is smart and capable, and when she makes the decision to give herself to Gabe and damn the consequences, it is with the clear-eyed knowledge of a woman who knows she is seizing what may be her one chance at love (even if it's temporary) in regency-era England, where everything is controlled by the size of one’s dowry.

As with all of the books that grab me the most, it is the characters who shine, from Gabe and Kate to Gabe’s brother-from-another-mother (literally) Wick (Wick gets a book, yes? Yes?? Must find out) and the indomitable Henry (short for Henrietta), Kate’s godmother, who has the clearest view about romance and love over the course of a lifetime that I think I have ever read anywhere, much less in a romance novel.

On the keeper shelf? Probably not. But definitely worth reading. And definitely intriguing enough for me to want Eloisa James’ back catalog immediately.

In Which I Win at NaNoWriMo.

I'm coming back tomorrow with a review of Eloisa James' A Kiss at Midnight, but in the meantime I just had to share the news of how awesome I am.

Special thanks to all who listened to me whine, to Scout for asking me every single day (!!) if I had written yet, and to the long plane rides that taught me that I can indeed write 5,000 words at a clip.

In Which Thoroughly Obsessed Thursday is Thankful. And a Day Early.

Happy Thanksgiving! It’s that most wonderful time of the year where family and friends come together to celebrate the awesomeness of being family and friends. I’m a huge fan of this time of year in general; I like that it’s getting colder and that the trees are looking sinister, and I like that it is suddenly a really really great idea to sit at home under a blanket and read a book.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday because everyone celebrates it (Well, everyone in America. Hello British readers!). There’s no need for political correctness around Thanksgiving, no wondering if you just wished someone to have a pleasant holiday that they don’t even celebrate. You just say “Happy Thanksgiving” and smile when the other person wishes you the same.

Everyone has different traditions, but woven through it all are a few basic truths: we will eat turkey and potatoes and cranberry sauce and pie, dammit. And then we will have the ceremonial watching of the football (GO PATS!).

In the spirit of being totally cheesy, please find herewith the things I am thankful for this year. In no particular order:

*My family. It’s crazy, we’re crazy, and I’m at that time in my life where I seem to be acquiring a whole other branch. You can’t pick your family, but if I had been given the choice, I wouldn’t have picked anyone else.

*The continued health of my family. Despite my own run-ins with fatal disease this summer, we remain a remarkably hale and hearty bunch. We have friends who are having scares, or who have recently received some bad news, and they are in our thoughts every day. I am so grateful that it looks like we’ll get through 2010 unscathed (with some of us doing better than ever).

*At the risk of alienating everyone with my grossness, I’m thankful for Boy Scout. I’m not going to say more than that, though, because I already just threw up a little in my mouth.

*My MacBook Pro. This mighty machine has made my life at least 3 times easier, and at least 4.35 times more efficient. Thank you, Apple, for creating something that helps me keep my sanity.

*My beagle. He’s a regular pain in the ass, but he sure does give us something to talk about. And he’s too cute for me to hold any sort of long-term grudge about the burying-a-dug-up-bone-in-my-bed incident.

*My books. Obvious much? But in the past year the importance of books and reading in my life could not have been more apparent. I love to read, and I love to read romance novels. I’m just really thankful that there are so many awesome ones still waiting to be discovered (same goes for “television shows”).

*This forum. I’m thankful for the interwebs and the fact that a girl like me can get on her small soapbox and talk about one of the things I love most, and some of the things I don’t. Thanks for reading.

From my home to yours, a very happy, healthy, and overstuffed Thanksgiving. Just remember, it’s not shameful to go back for thirds.

In Which Lady Liberty Pays Us A Visit.

Lady Liberty is one of my favorite people. Paris chum, Grey's Anatomy grade "person," Law student genius, and all-around excellent drinking buddy.

I remember when we first met (still skeptical about whether or not we were really meant to be...) and she found out I read romance novels. I think I lost about 16 points in her estimation that day. But then I gave her one to read. And she liked it. Not enough to go out and buy Linda Howard's entire back catalog, but enough that when I recommended another one to her she was happy to read it.

Fast-forward five years (five years!! I weep for my lost youth!), and La Lalib is looking for more ways to procrastinate from her law-school duties. What's a good friend to do? Send over a stack of books, of course! And ask her to write a guest review instead of that important law-school analysis paper! (You can tell I know all about how law school works).

OK. Enough with the introducing already. Without further ado, Lady Liberty's guest-review of The Spymaster's Lady:

What’s so remarkable about Joanna Bourne’s The Spymaster’s Lady is, in short... everything. While my foray into the romance world is about (exactly) six novels deep, I know a good heroine/hero/bitchin’ plot/style/180 degree plot twist when I see one. And boy, was there a lot of all that. What hits you immediately about this book is how quickly you’re trapped in a world you don’t ever want to leave. With a lot of these (or... the five previous) novels, I find it takes about 20 pages to wrap your brain around a writer’s voice and get comfortable, another 20 pages to understand where you are and what you’re doing there, maybe another 20 to like the main character and maybe even another 20 before you’re madly in love with leading man. And. That’s. O. K. Some people like to ease into a book and then let it pick up speed like a bike with no brakes on a downhill.

Not Joanna Bourne. By page 20, her leading lady is, in the words of Kate Jones, a bad-ass, (a French spy bad-ass who incapacitates large men while seducing enemy spies, no less) we’ve met a worthy hero who is not by any means convenient (but already tortured by the heroine), and we’re chest-deep in plot so juicy the pages turn themselves. Sigh. Okay. Deep breath.

What turns out to be so wonderful and unique about this novel is its relative subtlety. In other novels, even ones I’ve loved, I’ve been ready to throw down the book for the sheer obviousness of it. In most cases, we know the author is going to give us what we want--that being sex and a happy ending (unrelated to the sex part)--but the torturous twists and turns sometimes seem contrived and, well... torturous. Not so here. Every turn builds easily on what came before and is at the same time, unpredictable and with purpose. Yummy.

Annique Villiers is a bad-ass, point final, you can even excuse her blunt and straightforward ramblings about how she shouldn’t love the men she loves. It doesn’t deflate the tension like you’d expect it to, quite the opposite. Cool writer trick employed is interplay between the “good guys”. Grey, our dashing hero, and his team of spies, though enemies of Annique, care about her, respect her, and protect her, and so we care. Then when intrigue between Annique and Grey begins, it’s speculated on by the other “boys” adding a gossip factor that makes the tension irresistible, and even more so because it’s not the author telling us it should be irresistible. Bourne managed to do this with all of her principle good guys, the mutual respect and admiration turns them instantly into friends that I keep looking for even after reading the final page. Ahhh. Okay.

How terribly triste that my first guest posting is such an effusion of blather, but when you start out with a gem, it can only go down from here. Wait...

In Which Thoroughly Obsessed Thursday is Exhausted.

Thoroughly Obsessed is still obsessed with procrastination. And sleep. And also wine. (And additionally, whine).

This is a tough post to write, given that I am so far behind in WriMo that it isn’t really funny for me to write a procrastinating post about procrastinating. Dammit. But I’m going to anyway.

Because once again I have neglected an important part of my reading schedule: the non-fiction that kind gentlemen read to me while I’m running all over the region. Well, mostly back and forth to Scout Camp.

Since our last check-in, I have read (I think) two books, Mornings On Horseback by David McCullough (can’t get enough of that dude) and my current distraction, A. Lincoln by Ronald C. White. Once again I am reading with a sort of shocking time-linear efficiency, though this time I’ve read backwards.

Mornings on Horseback was fascinating, and I’m not just saying that because I think McCullough could make Sarah Palin seem like a compelling figure. (Sorry, I had to. It’s been one of those days).

At any rate, the tale of the Roosevelt children and their upbringing in upscale New York, surrounded by intensely interesting parents (mother Mittie was reportedly the model for Scarlett O’Hara, and was sending care packages to her Confederate soldier brothers at the same time her husband was running supplies for the Union), and even more intensely interesting adventures that truly shaped the people that they ended up becoming. Intensely interesting people, naturally.

What did I learn from this book? Well, the Scarlett O’Hara thing, natch. (Mitchell refused to name the influence, but it’s known that she spent a lot of time speaking to people who knew Mittie while writing the book. Mittie, by the way, was short with dark hair and an impossibly small waist. And she was not beautiful, though men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as Theodore Roosevelt Sr. was. Oh wait...) Also, I never realized what a tragedy Teddy lived through right around the time he started serving as a legislator in the state of New York; his daughter Alice was born on February 12, 1884, and within thirty-six hours both Teddy’s mother and his wife were dead. Alice, bearing the same name as her mother, was called by her middle name, Lee, by her father, who could not bear reminders of his wife.

I’m not sure exactly what to say about Mr. A. Lincoln, except that he is/was pretty badass. And I’m not done with the book yet, but at the three-quarter mark I can tell you that White is an excellent writer, and I would definitely consider picking up others of his works, McCullough style.

Once again I am struck by the similarities between politics then and politics now. Then Lincoln and other legislators who opposed (I think) the Blackhawk War were accused of “not supporting the troops.” (Hmmmm). Then when Lincoln ran for president, these accusations resurfaced to make him seem unpatriotic. (Hmmmm). This is of course ironic, because those who were mostly responsible for these accusations later committed treason against the United States by seceding from the Union.

Wow. I’m on fire today with potentially polarizing opinions, aren’t I?

In any event, I thank you, Thoroughly Obsessed reader, for giving me a forum to further procrastinate and... get warmed up? Huh. Look at that. I’m ready to go write some more.

In Which Thoroughly Obsessed Thursday is Procrastinating. Seriously.

Wow. This is one big ol’ hunk of procrastination, right here. I’m 3,200 words behind to meet quota tonight (No writing at all yesterday. At all. So now we have to make up for it, somehow...) and perhaps my heroine will suddenly develop a desire to blog about being thoroughly obsessed on Thursdays. You don’t know. And neither do I. It’s the nature of the beast.

I do want to take a moment to talk about my re-entry into the world of Historical Romance. It’s been a while since I’ve been in to it, as (I’m sure some of you are aware) these things are cyclical. One day you can’t get enough of the demonic paranormals, the next you’re drooling over wounded Napoleonic soldiers.

It Happened One Autumn is what did it for me (and no, I’m not jumping backward into Secrets of a Summer Night... I’ve instead started an Eloisa James called A Kiss at Midnight). Something about that book in particular re-enchanted me with the gloriousity of good regency novel, what it’s like when charming (and slightly clueless) heroines get together with rakishly good looking Earls/Dukes/Marquis/Etc.

So when I was at San Francisco International last week, I naturally bought four (yep, onetwothreefour) historicals. Please don’t tell Boy Scout. I may or may not have made a promise not to buy any new books. Clearly he had to know I was lying. Well, not lying. There was nothing malicious about it. It was more like short-sightedness.

ANYWAY. As soon as I have time in life (ha ha ha. HA.) I’m going to read these historical romance novels. And then I’m going to tell you about them. But in the meantime, in case you’re procrastinating about WriMo, too, here are some of my fave historicals to look up on Amazon:

Captain of All Pleasures (Kresley Cole)- The first and one of the best Kresley Coles, this one features a sailing contest, and a hot hero named Derek. And you know I’m a sucker for heroes named Derek.

Dreaming of You (Lisa Kleypas)- I’m also a sucker for a hero who is so bad he’s yummy. Just about every scene when Derek Craven tries to send Sara Fielding back to where she came from makes me melt.

Guardian Angel (Julie Garwood)- The Pirate Pagan. And a butler named Sterns. And that’s all I have to say about that.

Spymaster’s Lady (Joanna Bourne)- Girl spy. More post-Revolutionary France. Badass.

A Touch of Fire (Linda Howard)- Sure Rafe’s a bit of a douchecanoe at the beginning, but you would be too if you were on the run after being wrongly accused, and then shot. It’s the way they come together (and the not-quite-accurate history) that is awesome.

Goddammit, that did not take up nearly enough time. Now I have to go write. For realsies.

Dear My Heroine: How do you feel about blogging? It’s cool, right?...

In Which Thoroughly Obsessed Thursday Can't Stop Talking About The Good Wife

If you know me personally or have just been reading me from a distance, you know that I love me some superlatives. I like to invent them, I like to steal them from other people, I like to pile them one on top of the other for maximum effect.

So when I say that I can’t really think of enough to use with regard to The Good Wife, you know that I must be pretty effing serious.

The acting is superb. The writing is superb. And honestly, if I’m going to derail into a Thoroughly Obsessed post about a television show, I cannot think of a better show to endorse on a romance blog.

It’s odd to say that I am excited that almost all of my favorite people are in the same TV show, because I had no idea they were my favorites before I started watching the show. I mean, Josh Charles has been on my list since Sports Night (Dan Rydell, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways...), I have had a girl-crush on Juliana Marguiles since ER, and though I’ve had a moderate like/hate relationship with Sex and the City, Chris Noth is yummy. So is Christine Baranski. And Alan Cuming. And Archie Panjabi. And let’s not forget the recent (temporary... sigh) addition of Friday Night Lights’ Scott Porter. (I won’t get into Miles from Rubicon acting as Alicia Florrick’s baby brother... glorious)

In case you haven’t heard, Alicia Florrick (Marguiles) is the Good Wife of disgraced politician Peter (Noth). There’s political conspiracies aplenty in season two as Peter is now out of jail and running again for State’s Attorney of Cook County. After her husband’s imprisonment for corruption, Alicia had to go back to work, and she joined a law firm run by her old college flame Will (Charles) and a democratic barracuda (Baranski).

What’s so awesome about all of this? The delicate balance woven each week between home and work, and all of these gifted actors (read: amazing characters) who collide and realign based on whatever is happening at the moment.

My favorite person right now? Cary Agos, played by Matt Czuchry, as Alicia’s former rival at the firm who was let go due to budget cuts at the end of last season. What’s a boy to do? Well, go to work for that demonic Man in Black, Peter’s State’s Attorney rival Glenn Childs. What’s so delicious about Cary’s defection, though, is his ambiguity in the ensuing period. Does he have a reason to be bitter and vengeful? Sure. He got screwed. But the fact is that for all of his anger, Cary hasn’t lost his sense of right. And he still seems to respect everyone from his former firm. So far.

The love triangle that is central to The Good Wife is that between Alicia, Will, and Peter. As a viewer, I love Alicia, and I’m dying for her to be happy with a man who is right for her. As it stands now, it’s terribly unclear which of these handsome and questionable men is right. Peter’s a douchebag who’s made mistakes, no question. But he seems genuinely invested in righting the situation and having a good relationship with his wife. Not to mention that their home/law chemistry, especially now that Alicia’s back in the game, is mesmerizing. Meanwhile, Will is the ultimate playboy lawyer with no interest/experience in family... but he loves her. He’s been in love with her since Georgetown. And he’s willing to go for it if she is.

I don’t think I need to ramble any more. I just need to say: Watch This Show. Immediately. And all the time. You won’t regret it.

In Which I Review It Happened One Autumn

After the Disastrous Christmas Book Episode, I really needed something to remind me why I love Lisa Kleypas, replete with the elements of her writing that make her one of my favorite authors.

I have a strange relationship with the Wallflowers series, in that I have only read one of the “official” books and haven’t quite read all of the “peripheral” books (the Hathaways). I read The Devil in Winter (the third Wallflower book) as soon as it came out, not because I was interested in the Wallflowers (obviously) but because I was intrigued by its connection to one of my all-time favorite books, Dreaming of You. The heroine of Devil in Winter is the daughter Ivo Jenner, the villain from Dreaming of You.

The idea of a book about the daughter of the villain is an awesome one, and Evie Jenner’s life and relationship with the world of London gaming hells lived up to all of my expectations.

A couple of book-sale finds meant that the first two Wallflower books would sit on my TBR shelf for months before the Disastrous Christmas Book Episode. I picked It Happened One Autumn to read first, even though it is the second book in the series.

What the ever loving eff? Well, I’m reading them out of order anyway, and It Happened One Autumn interested me more because of its connection to another of my all-time faves, Again the Magic. The hero of It Happened One Autumn is none other than Aline Marsden’s older brother, the unflappable Marcus, Lord Westcliff.

I suppose that terribly long introduction was to say that I didn’t particularly care whether or not I liked this book, and that’s why its taken me so long to getting around to reading it. All of its connections to other books, seemingly stand alone books, was downplayed to the point that if you had not read the prior books you would not be disappointed or left out of the loop. On the other hand, I would have loved to hear more about Aline and McKenna, would have loved to see them again, though I confess I was mildly placated when we heard about the birth of their son John.

But this book was not about Aline and McKenna redux. It was about Lillian Bowman, American New Money heiress who couldn’t find a respectable husband at home (ah, the perils of nouveau riche-iosity) and so has been dragged to Europe by her parents in the name of finding a titled husband. In the previous book Lillian, her sister Daisy, Evie Jenner and Annabelle (I only know her married last name because she is the subject of the first book. Just be satisfied with her first name, dammit) dubbed themselves The Wallflowers, and are trying to get each other married off.

This sounds rather cold blooded, but it’s not. None of the girls are fortune hunters (in fact, most of their problems stem from the fact that they are too well moneyed), and none of them is opportunistic. They just want to do what they’re supposed to do (get married), and not get screwed over while they’re doing it.

The chemistry between Lillian and Marcus is stunning in that the first part of the book, in which they are separate from each other and reflect on their feelings for one another, is spent with them both talking about how much they don’t like each other. And you almost believe them. Until you remember the line about protesting too much, etc., etc., etc.

When they have their first encounter behind a juniper bush, Marcus’ physical reaction is as surprising to the reader as it is to Lillian herself, and it’s that much more potent for it. The discovery of their mutual respect and affection for one another is a joy to read throughout the book, and it’s a testament to Kleypas’ New Skool writing that when Marcus’ truly evil mother starts to interfere with what she considers to be an unsuitable match, neither Marcus nor Lillian behaves like a dipshit.

Were there problems with this book? Negligibly. Marcus and Lillian are not what I would consider to be comfortable people; as individuals they were each a pain in the ass, and I’m not certain I could put up with either of them for a prolonged period of time. All that meant in the end, though, was that I do not doubt for a moment that they are perfect for each other and have a beautifully balanced relationship.

While these characters and their story were by no means earth-shattering for me, this was a solidly written historical romance, with no eye-rolling and no “who in the what now??!” moments. Devil in Winter is next in the series, but since I’m away on business and only brought Secrets of a Summer Night with me, I guess I’ll just have to continue back tracking and start at the beginning.

In Which Thoroughly Obsessed Thursday is Obsessed with NaNoWriMo

This might as well be every post that I write throughout the month of November.

I have had various fantasies about posting snippets from my WriMo novel for your consumption, judgement, and general WTF-ed reaction, but I just don’t foresee that happening.

Mostly because anyone who knows anything about NaNoWriMo knows that after about the first week, nothing you write makes sense, because at that point you’ve just started to make shit up.

Let me back up.

November is National Novel Writing Month. For the uninitiated, this is an insane month, invented and perpetuated by insane people, all of whom think it’s a great idea to write a 50,000 word novel between November 1 and November 30. In case you’re wondering, I finished (“won”) in ’08, but failed mis-er-a-bly in ’09. But I’m winning this year, dammit.

I think.

Anyway, there might be nothing but Thoroughly Obsessed posts throughout November, aimed at my talking through a particular point, making up bits of research that I think I need for my novel (“What kind of research,” you ask? I have no idea yet. Because I have no idea what I’m going to write yet. Awesome, right?) Thoroughly Obsessed is also going to be the place that I post every last ounce of procrastination that I can come up with. Get ready.

The moral of the story is, if you’re a budding writer, a professional writer, a first-time writer, or someone who is insane, I encourage you to go to nanowrimo.org and celebrate your insanity and writerly-ness.

Oh, I almost forgot. Anyone who has anything they would like me to write about (topic? sporting event? character name? type of ancient Egyptian drinking vessel?) please feel free to share. I can’t promise I’ll include it, but I can promise that between word 30,000 and word 39,999 when I’m going out of my mind, it will be extremely comforting to me to know that I have options.

This Thoroughly Obsessed Thursday has been brought to you by the letters A through Z, every word that begins with each of those letters, and National Novel Writing Month. May the Force be with us.

In Which I Review Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor

If I had to choose one word to describe my feelings about Lisa Kleypas’ new series opener Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor, that word would be “disappointed.”

If I had to choose two words, they would be “extremely disappointed.”

If I had to choose three words, they would be “don’t even bother.”

In fact, those were the words I chose when Wendy Pan cracked the cover of the second copy (!!) shipped to our house by Amazon. (Note to Wendy Pan: Let’s plan our pre-orders a little better, shall we?) (And while we’re on the subject, Dear Amazon: When there are two pre-orders coming to the same house, they should arrive on the same day, right? RIGHT??).

So back to Friday Harbor, which actually brings me to a complaint (Yes, this is going to be one of those posts. Deal with it). The entire concept of A Special Christmas Book is full-on craptacular to me. It’s an under-page-sized, hyper-font-sized, way for authors (or perhaps their publishers. Dear Authors: If you are contractually obligated to write Special Christmas Books, I apologize to you in advance) to make buckets of money by having us “catch up” with characters we already know, love, have made peace with, etc.

It’s bad enough when the series are established and the characters are already well-known. It’s inexcusably bad when the Special Christmas Book is the introduction to a new series.

OK, so now we get to Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor (I’m not even going to get in to release dates of Christmas books before Halloween. It’s too easy a target).

The book opens with the death of Mark Nolan’s sister Victoria, and his inherited custody of her daughter, whose name happens to be Holly (Wendy Pan: “Of course it is. It’s a Christmas book.”) Mark moves the two of them into a dilapidated Victorian with one of his younger brothers on a vineyard in Friday Harbor, Washington State.

Cut to Maggie, owner of the newly opened toy shop on Friday Harbor, widow who is Scared To Love Again. Her magical fairy talk gets Holly to speak for the first time in sixth months after her mother’s death. Mark is hooked. Maggie is hooked. There is much hooking (though not in the fun way). (Is all of this moving a little fast for you? Yes? Good. This is about the pace of the book).

What’s really irritating to me is that I dug (dig?) everything about this book. I dig Mark, I dig Maggie, I dig that Holly is neither overly precocious nor overly used as a plot device, and I dig that the Nolans are a scarred bunch with serious emotional issues. I dig Friday Harbor and the small-town vibe. I dig the potential for an awesome three-brother series.

I hate that the series opener left me with this “why bother?” vibe. It was way rushed. It was too short. It don’t feel like I learned enough to care about anyone. To write this review I ask myself “why bother reading it?” But I think the more appropriate question has to be “why bother writing it?” To start a new series? Awesomesauce on a stick, extra crispy. But the way to do that is with substance and length and detail. Not to put out a half-assed Christmas season novelty (pun?) item.

Essentially, I finish my review with this thought: I love Lisa Kleypas, and I love her contemporary novels. If the next Friday Harbor book looks like it has some substance to it (i.e. is as big as those luscious Travis books), I’ll happily buy it, read it, and dive in to the series. If not, I’m going to take my own advice and not even bother.

In Which I Review You Don't Know Jack

This book took me longer to finish than it really should have given it’s length, infinite readability and the amount of time I actually do have in life (ha). But One Day came in the mail. And Community came from Amazon. And two weeks later, here we are.

While I liked You Don’t Know Jack, I’m glad I read it at exactly the pace I did; it would not have been a good use of my time to prioritize it in front of any of the above. The story of Jamie and Jack was a good one, but only the part that was their story. The rest was... meh.

I like books that deal with Fate and the Universe, and I liked that this one opened with a fortune-telling, cross-dressing ex-con named Beckwith telling Jamie that she was going to meet her soulmate over a food-related disaster. When she essentially throws pasta sauce all over Jack’s $300 shirt on the subway, it must be love. Unfortunately the other part of Beckwith’s prophecy, the part about the relationship being shrouded in lies, is true too.

Jack has been pretty much stalking Jamie since he’s realized that someone is embezzling from her place of work (she’s a social worker) and he wants to make sure she’s not involved (he has a crush) before he makes his move against the perp. Jack’s a multi-millionaire, by the way. I’m just saying.

So this is all well and good(-ish). They have great chemistry and great sex and I don’t doubt their being together for one single moment, and though the jump from lusty infatuation to lusty love is a little far and wide, I’m happy to go along with it. Hell, I’ll even be excited about the fortune teller and the intricacies of prophecy, because I’m down with that shizznit. But the rest of the story... yikes.

Something about her dad re-appearing after having abandoned her to avoid the FBI. Seriously. Something about Beckwith having another prophecy regarding Jack’s sister (who’s also Jamie’s roommate)’s marriage. That's never resolved. Unlike the embezzlement plot that is resolved all-too-easily. Sigh. Something about her having “trust issues” that are not really explored except when it's convenient. Something about his family being completely snobby and horrible, and then none of it meaning anything in the end. What. A. Mess.

But I liked it anyway. Once I sat down to read it (over roasted duck... yum), it was a quick, light, engaging read, and I was glad to read a book that bridged the gap between the Erin McCarthy books that I heart, and the ones that I can’t even freaking finish. It was restorative in the hopeful direction. And I’m all kinds of ready for more.

In Which We Inaugurate Thoroughly Obsessed Thursday

So in light of a complete lack of contribution on your end, and a total blockage of brilliance of mine, I hereby dub The Weekly Regular Column to be Thoroughly Obsessed Thursday.

That is, until one of us has a better idea.

I'm totally obsessed with romance novels. Obviously. But I am more than a love-loving fool... I love plenty of other things too. And while this blog is ostensibly to talk about romance novels (or whatever the hell I am pretending to read this week), I have just officially hijacked it for Other Things as well.

I might be obsessed with a book or a character or a movie or a show or a site. It'll depend on my mood. So basically this is going to be a regular contribution of... what I talk about every week anyway. It's just happening on Thursday because that's my favorite day of the week, harkening back to the good old days of Must-See TV and Friends on NBC.

Speaking of, this week I am thoroughly obsessed with Community, that little-seen sparkly gem hiding at the beginning of the NBC Thursday lineup. It's not-so-much Must-See TV anymore, both because we're now in a different century and because reminding everyone of their previous Thursday night heyday is not the right move given NBC's current anemic ratings.

SO ANYWAY. Community. Last year I watched the pilot and the first few eps from Utah, but like so many things in the final months of 2009, it was lost to the chaos of Press Accreditation applications.

What I missed was a steadily growing and improving (perfecting?) ensemble comedy that is one of the finest I've seen since Liz Lemon and her gang first took to the small screen in 2006. The most interesting (and best) part of Community for me is that it is genuinely an ensemble effort. Sure, The Soup's Joel McHale is handsome and theoretically "the leading man," but Danny Pudi's Abed, Donald Glover's Troy, and Chevy Chase's Pierce are in no way his second bananas. Quite the contrary, I'm a little convinced that Abed himself is the true main character of the show.

And of course we must not forget the women, who are genuinely portrayed as... realistic women. They're flawed and can be bitchy, but there's no "slut," or "good girl." Well, Mad Men's Alison Brie plays Annie as an innocent who has to whisper the word "penis," but the girl evolves along with the rest to become a fully rounded and multi-dimensional character.

An aside: In watching the eps with commentary (and they ALL have commentary) there are a couple of comparisons here and there to Gilligan's Island, referenced by the creator and the writers. And ohholyhell is Community the 21st century Gilligan's Island. Jeff's the Captain. Abed's Gilligan. Troy's the Professor. Annie's Mary Ann, Britta's Ginger, and Shirley and Pierce are (albiet not at all married and/or romantic AT ALL) are Lovey and Thurston Howell. Watch it and you'll see. I'm not wrong.

Have I mentioned it's funny? No? Because it's hilarious. If you're going to skip the season marathon (which I don't recommend... not because you can't miss anything, but because you really won't want to) and pick selected episode's before diving in to the still-stellar second season, I recommend check out the Pilot, "Introduction to Statistics", "Debate 109", "Romantic Expressionism", "Physical Education", "Contemporary American Poultry", "Modern Warfare", and "Pascal's Triangle Revisited". All excellent, all worth a look, and all well-placed to give you a general overview of all of this awesomeness.

Well, there you go. The first Thoroughly Obsessed Thursday. Don't tell me you're not excited.

In Which I Finished One Day, And I Can’t Really Talk About It

So in an admirably short period of time following my last blog entry, I finished One Day. And I can’t talk about it.

Have you ever seen the movie The Upside of Anger? In order to explain about One Day, I kind of need to talk about this delightful movie starring Joan Allen. Throughout the film, Allen’s character deals angrily and bitterly with her life in the time after her husband left her for his Swedish secretary. She becomes an alcoholic. She rages. She says terrible things to her daughters. She sleeps with Kevin Costner.

And then, (SPOILER ALERT. FOR SERIOUS.) at the end of the film, it turns out that her AWOL husband did not leave her for his secretary. He’s been dead the whole time. I can’t even explain the tonal shift this lends the movie, and despite the fact that I just ruined the ending, I highly recommend it. The ending is shocking, and suddenly the film becomes a lesson in anger and anger management, as well as the things we would change about our lives if only we really knew what was going on.

Back to Emma and Dexter. Almost as soon as I finished lamenting what a terrible douchebag Dexter was being, he and Emma finally hooked up in the messy aftermath of his divorce from Sylvie. One fateful summer he comes to visit her in Paris (where she’s living to write). They hook up again, and start their lives together in the ensuing years.

Finally in the (book) year 2005, we find out that the husband has been dead the whole time. Well, you know what I mean. Something happens that I will under no circumstances spoil here, and suddenly the entire book takes on a new meaning, a new flavor, and a new depth of emotion that was not even touched upon in the three hundred or so pages leading up to this great reveal.

Knowing this change in retrospect, and therefore knowing the author’s true intention for his book, it would be really hard for me to go back and re-read. At least, anytime soon. It’s going on the keeper shelf, though, if only so I have a copy on hand when I tell people that they must read it, too.

So I’m ending this piecemeal review on a really bizarre note, because I can’t (won’t) tell you anything more about the book. I can’t go into the changes the characters undergo (any of them), and I can’t go into plot twisty twists without giving away the most momentous part of the story.

All I can say is that I highly recommend One Day to anyone who likes “those” sorts of books. And by “those” sorts of books, I don’t mean “romance novels.” I’m not sure I can even classify One Day as a romance. It’s more of a story about the people who come into our lives, and how we can have no way of knowing how they will affect us. The person that you’re saying goodbye to today could have a profound impact on your future. You’ve just got to go with it, and hope for the best.

In the words of all of the Sams in my life, “you never know.”

In Which I Write A Little More About One Day

Yep, still working on this one. Should have the final wrap-up sometime tomorrow. But as I'm sitting here in my obligatory writerly coffeehouse on a Sunday morning, here comes the review for the second third of One Day, still written by David Nicholls.

With each passing chapter, I am disliking Dexter Mayhew more and more. As a character he is super-flawed (not always a bad thing), but he has officially crossed over into "downright unlikeable." At first, following the disastrous drunk-dials of 1993, it seemed as though he was as much a victim of circumstance as his own personality-- a television star struggling for relevance in the '90s was sure to want/need copious amounts of drugs and alcohol in the name of industry. But one would think that after ruining his final time with his dying mother, and then his relationship with Emma, he would have learned. Something. Anything.

Meeting Sylvie seemed as though it should have been his saving grace (the woman is too stern and humorless to tolerate anything like drunkenness, let alone drug use), but instead he's just gotten better at hiding it. In the most recent year, 2000, Dex is left at home with his daughter while his wife goes for a hen night. He gets drunk. He smokes. He drunk dials old girlfriends. And at a certain point I was genuinely afraid that his daughter's life was in danger, if only because of his lack of control of his situation. I'm really hoping that Dexter can pull himself together, because right now I want nothing to do with him and Emma together. He's not good enough for her.

Because for every notch Dexter has fallen in my estimation, Emma has gone up. Sure she had an affair with a married man, and sure she is not accomplishing all that she could in this life, but she is trying. With each year that passes she is making strides in her life; she quits the horrible Tex-Mex restaurant, she gets her teaching degree, she leaves teaching to pursue writing full-time, which is something she has always wanted. Now in the year 2000 she is considered an "old maid," acting as godmother to numerous friends' children, and not particularly caring that she doesn't have a man in her life.

"The problem" between Dexter and Emma is that he has never quite grown up enough to admit the depth of his feelings for her, or to acknowledge the depth of her feelings for him. It's easier to marry "an ideal" (Sylvie), loving the idea of her, than it is to sober up and try to be good enough for Emma. I genuinely hope for Dexter's redemption, both because it would make for a more compelling story (How many times have we seen the heroine hung up on the asshole when there is a perfectly wonderful man right in front of her? Too many. At the moment Emma isn't holding out for Dexter as much as for herself, but it's time to reform the rake or get off the pot, Nicholls!)

One Day is really picking up now that we're nearing the end, and I'm looking forward to a relaxing evening of finishing this thing up (and having a lovely time with a certain Boy Scout). More later.

In Which I Talk About the First Third of One Day

I’m in Atlanta this week at the NACS show, surviving terrible occurrences like Ritz-Carlton Hotel upgrades and delicious three course meals. Yes, it’s incredibly difficult to be me.

Actually, what IS challenging this week is a) reading and b) finding time to write about it. Because I’m making such lousy progress on the book, and have been seeing various people contribute chapter-by-chapter reviews on other sites, I feel confident that I won’t seem like a total tool for reviewing this book a section at a time.

In a second.

Before I get in to that, I would like to propose that in addition to my ineffectual weekly book reviews/rants, that I want to add a weekly feature of something else fun. Smart Bitches has Friday Videos, DearAuthor has Friday movie reviews, etc. If doesn’t have to be Fridays and it doesn’t have to be movie related (in fact these days you’re better off asking me to talk for hours about television), but I’ve decided we need to step up to twice weekly posts. One of which is a regular “thing.” I’m thinking about it, so you think about it too. Suggestions welcome.

One Day by David Nicholls. If you’re confused about why I’m talking about this book, you might have missed a post.

I’m only about a third of the way through, but I find that it’s actually getting better as time goes on, easier to read in addition to easier relation with the characters. One Day follows Dexter and Emma, two students who had a one night stand the night before their college graduation, and the story checks in with them every year on the same date for the next twenty years.

While it’s very apparent from Day One that Emma is in love with Dexter (but knows it’s futile), it’s fun to watch her accept the not-gonna-happen-ness of it all and try to find what makes her happy. It takes a long time. And it’s equally apparent that Dexter is in love with Emma in the too-dumb-to recognize-it, TSTL hero kind of way. Which is annoying. And slightly refreshing. But whatever.

Part of the problem I had with initially getting in to this book is that it’s so obvious we are not going to see them together in the end. It’s one of “those” love stories. This isn’t a SPOILER ALERT situation here. I haven’t finished the book yet. But its so clear from page one that if Dexter and Emma were going to waltz into happily ever after, there wouldn’t even be a book to read. It’s not about the HEA. It’s about the journey.

What’s interesting about the format is the problems and issues that arise from year to year, that are resolved (or not) with the merest casual mention in later years. Their wildly complicated trip to Greece together? Apparently they laughed the week away, though Dexter’s then-girlfriend, we’re told, has subsequently threatened to cut out his heart if she ever sees him again. Implying... something happened. Or nothing happened, and her bitterness is a completely unrelated incidental.

Currently the year 1993 is being split into two chapters because Dexter and Emma seem to spend no part of the day together. That doesn’t mean they’re not still very much involved in each other’s lives, or that Dexter is not currently making very inappropriate drunken calls to Emma’s answering machine, the ramifications of which will surely be felt well into next year. Dexter’s about to complicate things, and it’s going to be interesting to see what happens.

I tend to dislike stories like this, wanting to punch the hero, the heroine, or both in the face. My “an honest conversation would save you a lot of time” assessment stands more than ever, but the story is genuinely more complicated than that. It’s a real life story. The conflicts that are (usually) not confronted or addressed properly in traditional romance novels are being confronted in spades (bad jobs not meant for comic relief, bad breath, dying parents whose death will do the opposite of solving long-standing problems). Because it’s the depiction of a more real-life scenario, the lack of honest conversation between the characters is almost acceptable. Because honestly, if I were in their place, I might not always say what I was thinking, either.

Oh, who are we kidding? Of course I would.

In Which I Deviate.

Remember that time I was going to write about my heroines? Yeah. Semi-fail.

Remember that time I abandoned my other blog in favor of this one? Yeah. Total success. I think.

So now is the time when I wish the two points above would coalesce into something awesome. I am currently reading two books, with emphasis on the one that arrived from Amazon today (I clearly need to talk to someone about my ADD reading habits... Melissa?!). The new book is a new-ish book called One Day by David Nicholls. I recently read the super happy Entertainment Weekly article regarding excitement over the movie that has just been filmed, and was intrigued by the premise.

Don't worry, it's totally a romance.

Moral of the story? I don't have a book to write about right this minute, but I really would like to write a blog entry anyway. As we all know, I have been fully entrenched in all of my new DVDs (Community is my most current obsession) which is not entirely appropriate for my book-reading blog, but which brings me around fully to my heroine post.

I've written about it before on the other blog, but I am actively not linking, because that would be cheating.

Liz Lemon is my heroine. "And by heroine, I mean 'lady hero.' I don't mean I want to inject [her] and listen to jazz."

Coming from a generation of girls nursed through adolescence by Sex and the City, I have to say that nothing about that show appealed to me. (Full disclosure: I enjoyed the first movie) Sure, the fashions were great and it was awesome to see a group of liberated women living unapologetically in the 00's, representing a new generation, etc. Yay post-modern feminism. Or something.

Except that they didn't represent me. I fully acknowledge my freakishness on a number of levels, but I don't think I'm alone in saying that I am neither a Carrie, a Samantha, a Charlotte, nor a Miranda. I mean, I'm a Miranda if nothing else, because that's what she was there for, right? To represent the nerds. But she wasn't a nerd. At all.

Liz Lemon, rather, is my hapless, Star Wars referencing, successful, bra-taping role model. Is she perfect? Not in the slightest. But she also doesn't give two fat rats about her shoes, clothes, the condition of her hair, or the fact that she is, quite simply, a raging nerd. This is the woman who tried to write Star Wars references into a telenovela called Los Amantes Clandestinos, and who dumped Jon Hamm (Jon-freaking-Hamm, people!!!) because he was too dumb, who regularly writes sketches about farting, and who constantly finds herself in socially awkward sitations. Like having to stall your ex-boyfriend's wedding so your boss' girlfriend won't leave. I believe the quote "Come on, Bible. Give a girl a break" is used. Genius.

This is my kind of woman, and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get her on to my list before. I guess things are finally lining up for old Liz Lemon.

P to the S- I'm sorry to report that the paranormal writing thing didn't quite work out. Obviously it's going to take more to get me to write it than it took to get me to read it.

In Which There is A(nother) DNF, and Also a Kindle for iPhone Book.

Oops, sorry. Didn't quite realize it had been that long since my last entry.

This post is going to cover a lot of weirdness, so bear with me.

Part of the reason this has taken so long is all of the same reasons involving the insanity of my life, but also there is the fact that I have not been excited to read anything for the past week. This might be due to the arrival of last season's The Office, Big Bang Theory, and 30 Rock on DVD and my obsessive need to catch up immediately. It might also be because I have no idea what I am in the mood to read lately.

Or write, apparently. More on this in a bit.

I started reading Wicked Delights of a Bridal Bed by Tracy Anne Warren... two weeks ago, now? (Really?!) It was light and charming and full of all of the things I love... a lovesick hero... an oblivious but charming heroine... A hunormous family about whose members I had already missed three books... You know, the usual. I was really excited about this book because of the contest Smart Bitch Sarah organized around it (If you have some time, read the entries. They're amazing) Alas, I didn't win the mattress or the backlist or the book, but I did find it at Target for 20% off, and who can resist that?!

Well, I sort of wish I had. After reading a perfectly charming (if slightly perfunctory) first third of the book, I started skimming ahead. I do this, by the way. I totally skim ahead, especially if the sexxing isn't happening as quickly as I feel it needs to. At some point a girl just needs some reassurance that these crazy kids are going to stop running circles around each other and jump in the sack already.

What I found in the ahead-skipping was every cliche that has ever come out of the powerful-man-in-love-with-a-woman-who's-in-love-with-someone-else trope. Delayed wedding night due to chicky-poo's whining and hero's (justifiable) frustration about the heroine's refusal to let go of the past (though, come on... you're surprised, dude? You've been CEO of the "let's get her to stop acting like an idiot" campaign) and then (IF YOU'RE PLANNING TO READ THIS BOOK, THIS IS THE SPOILER ALERT. FOR REALSIES) the reappearance of the object of her affections, followed closely by marital blow-up and her realization that she's been acting like a Class-A Moron, with a dash of dumber-than-a -Barbie-doll thrown in for good measure.

Again, I didn't finish the book, so there could be a perfectly legitimate reason for this sort of tom-foolery. All I know is that I didn't have the patience to find out.

So then I started reading The Tycoon's Rebel Bride, an awesomely bad Silhouette Desire book written by my personal "new one to watch," Maya Banks. (To be clear, she's not even close to "new" as an author. But she's new to me.)

It was one of those free Kindle giveaways... or something... and has been sitting on my iPhone for several months. Finally enlargeable text and an eye appointment involving dilation led me straight to it.

In so many ways Tycoon's Rebel Bride is every Harlequin cliche (we're big on those in this post, apparently); the "Tycoon" in question is Greek and from a family of overbearing men (each of whom has a book, natch), he's got old world ideas about a woman's place, her virginity, and exactly how much control he has the right to exert on those around him. So when his family's ward (not really clear on the details here) shows up in New York, of course he a) takes steps to supervise her settling in to the city and to "protect her" and b) starts lusting after her immediately.

The incongruity of this whole story is what makes it work. For every insistence that Theron has on his Old Skool hero garb, Bella (Oh, when is that name going to go back out again?) has marks of a New Skool heroine. Literally. That would be her oh-so-tempting belly button ring and tattoos. Don't you worry, though, that hymen is still fully intact.

Of course Theron's Old Skool-ness got to be a little much ("We must get married because I took your virginity"? Really? You know we're in 2010, right?) and there was no real reason for Bella to have been so madly in love with him for so long... especially when it's clear that she probably saw him all of... one time in her life. And my psycho boyfriend antennae went up when Theron made Bella's friend quit her job at the strip club so... Bella wouldn't be exposed to that kind of thing? He even went so far as to pay Sadie's rent for the rest of the year so she wouldn't have to strip. Which I suppose is a degree or two of noble. But also painfully overbearing. And a little creepy.

But you know what? It's a Silhouette Desire book. And my eyes were dilated. And it did what it needed to do.

So now my mission for the next 48 hours: To write a paranormal of 2,000-3,000 words. Go on, laugh. But that's only 2 days of writing on a WriMo scale (Which is coming up, btw. Guess who's finishing this year, kids!!) Here's the problem: the only paranormal I have ever attempted was last year's epic-fail WriMo. Wish me luck.

In Which I Answer a Question You Didn't Even Ask.

This is the review I read earlier today on DearAuthor.com.

Lovely, well-written review.

It brings up an issue that I'm slightly embarrassed to admit has never ONCE occurred to me: the obvious pro-British, anti-French thread running through almost all American-written Regency/Revolution era romance novels. Once you hear (or read) that it exists, it's like, the biggest "DUH" ever. EVER. What can I say? I left all of my major thematic analytical skillz in Mrs. Eriksen's Senior English.

The lovely review vaguely tries to make sense of this, but ultimately offers little by way of answers. Because honestly, who can answer that question definitively? Maybe every single American author of Regencies hates all things French (highly doubtful). Maybe they all favor hereditary monarchies (possible, but only in hypothetical, ridiculously small countries where the nannies are particularly virginal and marriageable). Maybe they're all pacifists who abhor the violence writing about the French Revolution entails (probable, though the vast majority of heroes seem to be badass retired military).

I suspect the comments section of the post will continue growing, both with ideas about the whys and wherefores, and also with commentary about the book in question, which I confess I have not added to my TBR list. Too many books, not enough interest in this particular one despite the largely positive review. I also know that I tried to form a response in the comments section with my theory about this phenomenon, but a) it was too long and b) I realized I hadn't blogged in a while. So without further ado...

REASONS I THINK THERE IS A PRO-BRITISH, ANTI-FRENCH BIAS IN REGENCY/REVOLUTIONARY ROMANCES WRITTEN BY AMERICANS.

Small Print/My Qualifications For Addressing This Issue: I write as an attempted writer of romance, a long-time reader of romance, a person who lived in Paris for a year, and a person who dated a Brit for three years.

Firstly and foremostly, it is important to note the "written by Americans" part of the thesis (is that a thesis? I didn't make an argument. Mrs. Eriksen is going to kill me). The "written by Americans" is key because anything anti-French written by a Brit makes some sense (old habits and all that), but it makes no sense for our bias to play out this way. During the Regency period, we were at war with Britain (though it might not have been officially declared... I don't remember), and they burned down the White House. There was no Special Relationship, only sailor impressment and shore raids. Fun! Also the French Revolution, while bloody and brutal, was modelled on and inspired largely by our own Revolution, and it could be argued that theirs would not have played out the same way (if at all) if ours had not been so successful.

So we should have a natural inclination toward the French side in these matters, right?

HA!

Here's THE THING: While writing books with a pro-French bias would make more sense for American writers historically speaking, there is the entirely other matter of culturally speaking.

Most obviously, there's the fact that the French speak French. Books can most certainly be written for Americans/English speakers in English with the understanding that the characters are actually speaking French. But as a reader, when I realize that the characters are speaking a different language than what I'm reading I find it distracting, and as a writer I would be terrified of getting something wrong. Changing the language can change the entire tenor of someone's character. It changes their tone of voice, it changes their mannerisms, it can even change the way they look. Writing for a (major, fully fleshed-out) character in a language that is not the language that they're actually speaking is really intimidating to me as a fledgling writer, and I can't imagine it being a wholly comfortable concept for others.

Also, while there are obvious differences between American and British temperament (obvious, obvious differences), there are still many, many similarities. Possibly stemming from the shared language. But in general it's easier to get into the head of the Brit and to write their motives and personalities and not feel like you're making stuff up.

Eddie Izzard said it best when he said "I like the French, but they can be... fucking French." What does that mean? It means that they think differently from us. Not in a bad way, not in a wrong way, but in an incredibly generalized way. They value different things in their romances, in their sex, and in their expectations for relationships. They aren't nameable, definable differences. It's just about perceptions of what's important. It's cultural. And again, as a writer, I would feel like an absolute fraud trying to write about something I didn't understand, or trying to fake it.

You don't have to fake it as much writing Brits. Which is why any French-Revolutionary characters we run in to are usually women (at least they have that in common with the author), and have been Anglicized. Like in the book that was reviewed; the heroine is French, but raised in London, working for the British government. Or in Spymaster's Lady. It turns out the French spy in Joanna Bourne's most excellent Regency-period novel is... Welsh.

It's not really pro-or-anti anything, to be honest. It's about what and who is comfortable to write about. What's familiar, and what's not. And that's all I have to say about that.

In Which I Read the New Maya Banks Book. Last Night.

So after the DNF disaster I sat down to read the Maya Banks book that Amazon miraculously delivered to my door on its release date. Say what you will about Amazon, they know how to keep their rabid constituents happy.

Having been hotly anticipating The Darkest Hour since I saw an ad here and read an excerpt here last week, it really look no convincing to drop everything and read this book.

Full disclosure: I do love me some tortured heroes. You probably already knew that if you've read the Top Heros post, or know anything about my favorite books. Very few scenarios get me more excited than a tortured, lovesick male character. Thusly, Ethan Kelly of The Darkest Hour was someone I couldn't wait to lay eyes on: one year after the death of his wife, Rachel, the very-much-still-grieving Ethan gets proof that she's alive. And not just proof, but a freaking road map to where she is being held in the South American jungle.

Enter... The introduction of a new series! Ethan is one of six Kelly brothers, all of whom were in the military in some capacity, and most of whom run Kelly Group International, a Blackwater-like privately-owned security contracting firm. Thank GOD this poor girl married in to such a family, otherwise she would have been stuck in this drug cartel camp forever.

The boys get her out (with the help of their very own army) and Ethan sets about bringing his wife home and putting his life back together.

There is a lot, A LOT that is not really OK with the plot of this book. A lot. But it's also very terribly easy to ignore it all, because it's such a crackalicious read.

I've read a couple of Maya Banks books. Some of the dirtier ones (sister got it on with how many dudes? at the same time? and they were brothers?) and a few of the cleaner ones, all of which move a little quickly, but are ultimately nice romances to read.

Ethan (and indeed, all of the Kelly brothers) is a typical Banks hero in that he is 1000% testosterone and can't go more than five minutes at a time without pounding his chest and threatening to kill someone. These men worship their women, and when I say "worship their women," I mean they tie them to the freaking pedestal so they don't accidentally fall off and hurt themselves. And also because being tied up is kinky.

As a result of all of this burgeoning alpha-maleness, Banks heroines tend to be a little mushy. But then, who wouldn't be, with all of that muscle closing in on all sides? Rachel actually holds up pretty well, being neither overly weepy nor too quick to recover from her ordeal.

The relationship between Ethan and Rachel is a complicated one, and it's revealed after she's rescued that Ethan had asked Rachel for a divorce right before her "death." Due to the copious amounts of drugs she had been injected with during her incarceration, Rachel is left with little memory (for once, a plausible amnesia device) and Ethan lives in dread for most of the book that she will remember the extent to which their marriage had deteriorated.

The very glaring problem I am ignoring studiously is the speed and ease with which everything in the story is resolved. Considering that throughout the book the Kelly family seems to be taking Rachel's "death"/abduction as a personal and purposeful assault on the Kelly family itself, the end result that what happened to her has nothing to do with anything feels like a tremendous letdown. This is the beginning of a series! With sexy alpha heros! Surely there could have been an actual threat to the family that would have taken a book or six to resolve. Also, the lack of "person whose ass we can kick" over the incident(s) made all of those overly muscled men seem... moot.

Ultimately, this is beside the point. The KGI series is currently filling the "hot and dangerous brothers" quota I've been missing for quite some time now. I liked Ethan and Rachel, and am pretty excited for Sam's book (December) and Garrett's book (next year) and... on and on and on.

Well done, Ms. Banks. Thanks for giving me a reason to stay up until 1:00 am.

In Which I Report a DNF

This post is to say that I did not finish (am not finishing? will not be finishing?) Mouth to Mouth by Erin McCarthy.

I'm not sure of the tense, because this is such a new decision that I am not sure it's fully formed yet.

Oh wait. Yes, now it is.

I was really looking forward to this book, mostly because I have (had) yet to meet an Erin McCarthy book I didn't like. I'm not nearly versed enough in her back catalog to fully endorse "anything she has written," but what I've read so far has been sexy and fun and enjoyable.

Mouth to Mouth is the story of Russ, a police detective in a midwest town (Milwaukee? Cleveland? I only just stopped reading the book about two hours ago, and I really don't remember) who is investigating a man who preys on women, gains their love/trust, and then steals all their money. Douchecanoe? Douchecanoe!

While staking out the next suspected victim (they found her name and contact info in papers left at the most recent victim's house... sloppy conman), Russ decides to "get a closer look" at the newest mark. She's gorgeous. And blond. And deaf. Lack of hearing ability aside, there is nothing to distinguish Laurel from her TSTL predecessors. She has money and has been in her shell since her dad died in her first year of college but is looking to bust out of her shell with some sex... stop me if you've heard this one before.

The other thing about Laurel is that she recognizes Russ as the guy she's supposed to be meeting for a blind-date-coffee thing at the coffee shop. Why? Because the conman has been assuming the identity of cops in the various areas he visits. He just coincidentally happens to be portraying Russ at this moment.

If you think this doesn't make sense, that might be because it... doesn't. The conman has assumed Russ' identity, which I guess is fine (if ballsy) (and awfully coincidental) but has also supplied Laurel with personal details (apparently someone the real Russ went to high school with put them in touch with one another? I'm fuzzy on the finer points) and a photograph. Of the real Russ. Who Laurel then recognizes when he coincidentally decides to go into the coffee shop to scope out the hot chick in the window. (Dear Conman: Assuming new identities is fun! But it only really makes sense when you substitute your own photograph. Right? Right!)

Too much coincidence? Yeah, that's what I thought, too.

As far as I can tell (from 106 pages), they don't even really like each other. Russ wants into her pants, but thinks she's a little dumb (or naive, as he uncondescendingly puts it). Laurel thinks he's a bit of an ass who is condescending. Yet thinks it's a really good idea to invite him into her bedroom the first time he (rather stalkerishly) comes over to her house. And also, thinks it's a good idea to string along the conman (now fully aware of his intentions) and to not really tell anyone about it.

All of this nonsense, combined with the truly irksome secondary story of Russ trying to raise his thirteen year old brother (a mopey, attitudial lame-o in need of a serious ass-kicking) meant Mouth to Mouth was abandoned early in favor of the Maya Banks book that was delivered to my doorstep today.

Which will hopefully end with a much happier entry.

Special shout-out to Wendy Pan for the following exchange-

Me: I'm not really loving this book.

Wendy Pan: It doesn't get better. It doesn't get worse, but it doesn't get better.

Me: I'm thinking about abandoning it for the new book that came today.

Wendy Pan: Do it.

See Wendy Pan? Your contributions could have saved me 106 pages of agony ;)

In Which I Finished Demon From the Dark, And Am Ready to Write My Review.

At some point, you're going to get tired of me writing about Kresley Cole. I just hope it's not today.

After battling fatigue and illness and general busy-ness (which I'm not technically supposed to be having yet), I finally finished Demon From the Dark last night. I aired my concerns about the future of the series here yesterday, and maybe it was the catharsis of speaking out, but I was able to put my head down and power through to the end.

I'll say up front that I was left totally relieved and re-energized about the series.

Let me back up and start with the plot summary. Carrow Graie, who was reported missing at the end of Pleasure of a Dark Prince, has been imprisoned for a week when the book opens. As suspected she's being held by something that closely resembles Whedon's The Initiative, only with a dash of secret religious order thrown in for fun (apparently these mortals rise up at each Accession, convinced that the immortals are going to war with them and not each other). The head of the compound where everyone is being held seems to have it out for Regin the Radiant, specifically, and is reportedly torturing her at every possible opportunity. Turns out he may just be her mysterious Berserker, after all. Whether or not he's under a spell or heavily medicated (and therefore being manipulated) remains to be seen.

The immediate deal presented to Carrow by her captors is simple: go and capture a vemon (half vampire/half demon... a new and artificially created species within the Lore), and they'll free her and her new charge. A word about this: We're supposed to believe that Ruby is an all-important witch child whose mother (now dead) is well-known within Carrow's coven. We've never heard of her. It's in situations like this that I wish there was a little more background to these characters and this world-- it wouldn't hurt to really deviate from the main characters and show us other things that are going on elsewhere throughout the books. Context after the fact doesn't really work for me.

Carrow agrees to the deal even though it's an obvious double-cross, mostly because they are threatening to outright kill the child if she refuses. So off we go to a new Hell dimension with the help of Lanthe, sister of Sabine the Queen of Illusions. When she reaches Oblivion, Carrow has little-to-no trouble finding Malkom, the aforementioned vemon, and despite huge language barriers and his obvious lack of civility (by which I mean he has not lived in civilization in over three hundred years), they manage to communicate and get naked in an expedited manner.

(I'm OK with this and willing to buy it... Cole evolves the characters reasonably within their tightened "we have to get this done in five days" timespan)

Malkom is an interesting figure, if a little close to J.R. Ward's Zsadist. As a child he was sold as a blood slave to a vampire and used for blood and sex repeatedly-- both by his Master and by his guests. When the book opens and we meet Malkom in his adult state, it has been quite some time since this occurred and he is reasonably "over it" (as much as one can be) though he understandably has serious trust issues.

Long story short, he is betrayed by a domestic enemy and turned over to still more vamps, where he is turned into a vemon. He kills his best friend (prince of Oblivion) and flees to the mountains where he lives as an abomination.

Despite all of this, he is a reasonable being. Lack of civilization for three hundred years aside, he adapts remarkably quickly to Carrow and soon remembers the finer points of interacting with people. He in no way carries the psychosis of the other vemons we've encountered (Hello, dumbass who got between Lachlain and Emma. How's your head? Still missing? Cool.) despite being tortured repeatedly throughout his life.

ANY. WAY. Of course Carrow has to betray him to get back to Ruby. Of course they are separated (though mercifully this is Kresley Cole, and everyone comes to reasonable and not at all outlandish conclusions in the end). Carrow and Malkom deal with his issues, we get us some Wroth brother action (Hi Conrad! I missed you like whoa), and in the end, the Accession is nigh. FINALLY.

Carrow and Malkom were a very nice couple. Not quite among my faves, but solid and well-written. It was a nice change to read about the dude being betrayed and having trust issues, but it was even nicer that he didn't have to be beaten over the head with a sharp object to get why Carrow did what she did. And I liked that Carrow knew she screwed up, and was willing to do whatever she could to help the situation. Per usual they could have had a couple of more honest conversations and taken care of a lot of tension, but overall I was never more than slightly irritated by their running around in circles.

Without giving away the finer points, the book more-or-less ends with half of our favorite people in the same room, on the same mission, trying to get to their loved ones who are now trapped on the island where the The Initiative (I mean, The Order) was located. This includes Sabine and Rydstrom, Garreth and Lucia, Myst and Nikolai, and Mariketa and Bowen. Would have loved some Emma and Lachlain and Holly and Cadeon, too, but I'll take what I can get. As long as over the next two books (one for Regin, one for Lanthe, and then NO MORE) things get wrapped up and we get to see all of our peeps being badass again, I'll be thoroughly satisfied.

I do need to mention that I'm very worried about Nix. Like, a lot. And I have a sinking feeling she's going to be fighting the Goddess of Evil all by herself.

You know what got me really pumped? I mean really, really pumped? HOLY ALPHA MALE THROWDOWN IN THE LIVING ROOM, BATMAN. That's all I have to say about that.

Dear Kresley Cole,

It's spelled "frak." Not "frack." Plus 20 cool points for correct usage. Minus 5 for spelling.

Thanks.