It Turns Out All I Needed Was a Quiet Evening. Or Two.

Well, Friday night (known in some circles as "date night") has become one of the only nights a week that I actually sit at home. Unless I'm driving. Or going to high school productions of AIDA.

Last night was supposed to be the first Friday 3D date night for me and Shotgun (which will be my boyfriend's new alias on this site. It's one of Michael Vaughn's aliases, duh... It was between this and Boy Scout, which didn't go over so well). At any rate, a stomach bug and general malaise kept us once again relegated to Skype dating, which was just fine for me and the completion of The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag.

I adore Flavia de Luce. Adore her with a capital A. Any girl who remolds her sister's lipstick to contain poison ivy (don't worry, it was well deserved), who rides around the countryside on a bicycle named Gladys, and who considers it her personal mission to solve local murders-- if only so she can know about them before the appear in The News of the World-- is my kind of girl. Somehow a middle aged Canadian (that would be award winning writer Alan Bradley) has managed to create and capture perfectly a ten-year-old English schoolgirl. And while Flavia's precociousness is sometimes over the top, she is nothing if not perfectly portrayed.

Having read the critically acclaimed debut of Flavia and the universe surrounding her ancestral home, Buckshaw, last year, I was very excited to hear that the sequel had finally arrived (a consultation with the author's website confirms that there are at least four books planned for the series). Between her truely hideous sisters, her absent minded stamp-collecting father, and the eccentric array of characters that surround her at every turn, I knew that the story would be nothing if not enjoyable.

I believe I wrote about this before with Sweetness, but if you'll indulge me a bit, I want to talk about why it is difficult for me to finish these books once I start them. I like them, and they're mysteries, for goddsakes. There should be a sense of urgency to, at the very least, find out whodunnit.

Hangman's Bag, though, like Sweetness, held no such urgency for me. In fact, I finished the book last night, and I still am not entirely sure I know or care what the central mystery was. Something about a boy found hanging in the woods five years ago, and a dead puppeteer who probably ultimately deserved to die. Or at least, have something really horrible happen to him.

The point of these books, for me, is not to be riveted on a plotline. It is to imagine riding with Flavia through the sunny country lanes, to have tea in the decaying rooms at Buckshaw, to envision what truely horrid concoction Mrs. Mullet has prepared for dinner, and the amount of eye-rolling poor Inspector Hewitt must be doing when he finds himself beset upon, at every turn, by a feisty pre-adolescent (by the way, the introduction of his wife, Antigone, is one of the highlights of the book for me-- I can't wait to see how Flavia worms her way into their garden for tea in the future).

So yes, once again, the character is the thing-- and I have absolutely no problem with that. In fact, I have to wonder if that's not becoming my number one requirement for liking a book. Who cares about the plot? As long as the characters are interesting and dynamic, I'm not sure I do.

So Then I Read a Shiloh Walker Book. Story. Kindle Thing.

Thanks to a shout-out from SB Sarah earlier this week (including issuing a link to this blog which, previously, exactly 3 people have read), I have felt a particular pressure to write something lovely and witty and welcoming to potential new readers.

Only I couldn't think of anything to write about.

I have very little time to read these days, so the TBR list including 2 Vanity Fairs (though Michael Douglas might just have to deal with having a lower priority than Grace Kelly), a paperback pile that's at least 30 high (hello, library book sale!), and library books that, you know, have to be returned, are all vying for my 100% divided attention. In addition to the previously encouraging boyfriend who now suspects that I need to be checked into some sort of book-buying rehab.

I am currently reading The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag, the second Flavia de Luce novel by Alan Bradley and it's as delightful as the first one. However, like the first one it is taking forever for me to finish, but it's due back to the library next Thursday, so fine. I'll be writing about Flavia and the sulfur injected chocolates next week.

Having spent most of last night in luxurious laziness reading Flavia, I made the mistake just before bed of going back to the Shiloh Walker book I had downloaded (oh yeah, add the downloads to the TBR list... dammit) and started reading on my miraculous Kindle for iPhone while waiting for an appointment yesterday afternoon. It's called Her Best Friend's Lover.

Full disclosure: I am a complete, lame-ass loser push-over for books that involve a) pregnancy (let's not delve deeply into that, shall we?) and b) soul-shattering, "I have loved you forever but haven't been able to tell you", aching, desperate love stories. If you know the ones I mean, you know the ones I mean. Her Best Friend's Lover included these elements, so saying I didn't like the book is way untrue. I liked the book the way I like watching Flavor of Love... when I find it I have to read it, in an embarrassed, "yes, I'm reading this, and no, I don't want to talk about it" kind of way.

All of that said, this book had some serious problems for me, quite aside from the bizarre editing errors that a sixth grader could have found and corrected.

First of all, it reminded me of another shameful book on my Keeper Shelf, Led Astray by Sandra Brown. Yes, I have two Sandra Brown genre romances on my Keeper Shelf. AND NO, I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. Both books feature a pregnancy based on... mysterious sexxorating, let's say. In Walker's book, the hero and heroine are BFF, he gets really drunk one night and they have sex, only he doesn't remember (first that it happened, then that it was her). She gets pregnant and doesn't tell him he's the father because she doesn't want to trap him... blah blah blah.

Sandra Brown's plotline (the heroine gets pregnant by her fiance's brother because he comes in the room, it's dark, and she thinks he's her intended... I told you. No talking about it.) at least has the excuse of being genre, and 80s, and, you know... Sandra Brown's plotline. Her Best Friend's Lover Kindle version was published in November 2009, and I would have expected a story that's at least more... modern.

Forgetting the stupidity of the no condom, no birth control thing (as discussed last time... it's what makes her special to him. Or something.), we need to discuss the stupidity of the characters for a moment. Like, Hi Dale (that's his name, Dale). You had a mysterious sexual encounter with a woman you can't get out of your head, and three weeks later, your best friend turns up pregnant. Not only that, but every time you... um... smell your best friend, it gives you flashbacks to your Mysterious Encounter. WHY ARE YOU SURPRISED THAT YOU ARE THE FATHER OF HER CHILD?

And you, Lauren (that's her name... Lauren). You know that you had sex with him. So can you please explain why you're jealous of an "unknown entity" and think that your best friend (now husband) is in love with someone else? Just because he's never mentioned his Mysterious Encounter to you directly doesn't mean that he has no memory of that night. Except that it does, because if he remembered, he would know it was you. Ugh.

There's a lot of torment and angst and a danger-riddled delivery (Dale also pulls the classic Sarah's Child douchbaggery and leaves on a trip during the third trimester, right around the time Lauren's not feeling well and showing early signs of pre-eclampsia. Duh.) and then more angst and "oh he doesn't love me because he's being distant" and "oh she doesn't love me because she's being distant" and "we are being distant because we're emotional wackjobs."

Needless to say, while the first half of the book had me all guiltily atwitter with the bad romance-ness of it all, the second half made it all a little... lame.

Because seriously kids. All you needed was one honest conversation, like, 9+ months ago, and all would have been fine.

An Annoying Book Beginning

I continued (attempting) to delve into my "unread books" pile last night. This is a strange concept for me, because it's not something I'm at all used to-- I usually wait and wait and wait for a new book to come out, read it in 24 hours, and then bemoan the fact that I have nothing new to read.

So now I'm growing or something. I'm trying new authors, seeing what's out there. But in actuality all I really accomplished was starting to read a book that I have already read, in addition to deciding that I need to order that author's entire back catalog.

This unfortunate backslide began when I started reading Seduced By The Storm by Sydney Croft. Sydney Croft, I didn't realize, is the pseudonym for two authors writing together, one of whom wrote another book in my TBR pile. Will wonders never cease.

Alas, this was not nearly the experience I wanted it to be. Don't ask me where or when or how, but back in the day I had heard about this book and added it to the "wait until your awesome boyfriend buys you an awesome birthday present" list. I was moderately excited to order it (having long forgotten the reason it was on the list to begin with), trusting my own memory and good judgment to guide my mouse to the "purchase" button.

Here is the problem with Seduced By The Storm: First of all, it is the third book in a series. I suppose I should have known that, given that it's subtitled as "ACRO: Book 3", but I also wouldn't have expected that to matter as much as it did. The info dump in the first 10 pages was enough for me to understand that a) I really needed to have read the preceding two books, and b) the hero is already fully developed through those books. Presumably they were not strictly about him, but enough info was given that I should have known who I was reading about before I even opened the book.

This was annoying. But not nearly as annoying as the number of men's names dropped far too early in the book. We had Wyatt (hero), Max, Sean, Ivor (Igor?), Oz, and several others, mainly members of the ACRO team. I didn't need this in the first 10 pages, when I was having enough trouble remembering the hero's name. In addition to the heroine, Faith, who has mental powers, was born in Devonshire but raised in Yorkshire but adds German inflection in her accent, and that both Faith and Wyatt Have Mysterious Circumstances And Secrets To Keep From Each Other.

Annoying. This plus really confusing information on both of the main characters' powers, meant that I wasn't really following anything except for the hot sex they had back in her hotel room approximately five minutes after meeting. I have no problem with the speed with which they jumped into bed (more later), but I did have a serious issue with the hero's seeming out-of-control slutitude (you had a threesome last night, did you? and you're STILL being a horndog today? Nice.) and his uncontrollable pheromones...? Which to me screams "this dude is not ever going to settle down in a happy monogamous relationship with the heroine, or if he is, it's not going to make any sense."

It seems strange to explain to a romance novelist (or "novelists") that when your characters find The One, there is something different about the experience. The person who hears psychic voices doesn't hear them anymore around The One, the person who never had an orgasm suddenly has one just by putting on her shoes, the mind reading doesn't work (hi, Edward Cullen!), you don't want to jump out of bed the moment the sexorrating is done, etc. For Faith to fall into bed instantly with Wyatt the same way all of the other women do makes her... the same as all the other women. And their great sex doesn't even seem distinguishable (at least by him) from any sex they've had before. So... yeah. Buying the specialness of this encounter I am not.

I'm not even joking, I don't think I got passed page 60, and all of this had happened already.

Which brings me to Flat Out Sexy, the Erin McCarthy book I started re-reading in an attempt to cleanse my palate of the mass confusion that was Seduced By The Storm. This is my second time reading this book, what with the sexy race car drivers, the realistic contemporary relationship, and the hot, hot sex. Five minutes after they meet, but in a much more romantic (seriously) and downright yummy context.

What's my problem? I have no idea. Maybe I'm off paranormals. Maybe this Sydney Croft book is the product of too many cooks in the kitchen. Maybe I need to order Erin McCarthy's entire back catalog... now.

Favorite. Scenes. Ever.

Over at Smart Bitches they're having a contest to give away an illustration of Hubert the Bull, and in order to win you have to comment with a scene that you'd like to see illustrated from your favorite book(s). Thought I don't suppose it has to be your favorite book, it could just be a scene that logistically you're very confused about...

I picked the scene from one of my faves, Julie Garwood's Guardian Angel. To explain the context of the scene is to issue a monumental spoiler alert (seriously... I still consider this twist to be one of the best), but suffice it to say that part of the scene involves a burly pirate hauling the hero's mother out of the house, and insisting that the hero would be fine with this arrangement. I believe the phrase "Caine would want me to have her" is used more than once. Between that and the rest of the chaos going on around them, this is one of my favorite sequences in bookdom.

This leads me to a thought on a discussion I don't think we have yet had: favorite scenes.

I love the scene in Guardian Angel because it comes on the heels of the aforementioned glorious twist, which causes complete and utter chaos in the proceedings. Garwood does such and amazing job of juggling everything that is happening-- from Jade ordering Sterns to hide the silver under the bed, to Caine's realization that Jade has left the premises, the reader never gets lost, but is instead swept away to the point that you can imagine standing in the foyer at Cainewood looking back and forth until your head spins. And then Caine and Nathan start beating the crap out of each other. And it makes me smile.

And now I need to ditch the Amazon pile and go home and read Guardian Angel.

But the point is that there are some scenes that are so affecting that you flip back to them again and again to relive that emotion, in addition to re-reading the book in it's entirety to capture every nuance of amazingness.

Another scene that jumps to mind is the scene in Stephanie Laurens' Captain Jack's Woman, when Kit is shot and needs to put up a front to the head of the local militia in order to keep her identity a secret (those who have read both books will note that yes, apparently I like my heroines red-headed and steeped in secret identity), and so comes down to breakfast with complete and utter calm, despite the fact that she had a bullet removed from her side not five hours earlier (this is also where she finds out her lover has not been altogether truthful, either). Considering that this is one of only two Stephanie Laurens books that I have ever finished, I think it says a lot about the scene that I consider it to be quite memorable. And not in a bad way. Because there are those too.

But I don't have the brain function to think of them right now. Maybe next time.

My Boyfriend is Great.

I'm getting paid a lot of money for that headline. For reals.

Or wait, maybe I already was paid. ANYWAY...

My boyfriend is great because when it came to my birthday, he got me the absolute perfect thing... An Amazon gift card. Yay TBR books and The Hangover on DVD (not to mention all of my pre-orders for the whole year).

So yeah. Great boyfriend.

One of the first things on the order list was The Naked Edge by Pamela Clare, which was recently given this intriguing review by SB Sarah. Also I read an excerpt, and it was hawt.

Gabe is a Park Ranger, Kat is a Native American, and also a journalist. They meet when he saves her after a rockslide, and then again when he saves her from some cops who try to rough her up after a Native ceremonial sweat-lodge (see the pattern?). Kat was a capable heroine, but she was also always in danger, and he was constantly rescuing her because of his tough alpha-male-ness. This gets a little old (she is also almost shot and almost carbon-monoxide poisoned). They're both inoffensive characters, but they're kind of... bland. She has a lovely dedication to her Native roots, but is not stereotypical. And he's an alpha rock-jock. They don't have awesome banter, and I'm not even 100% positive I know why they like each other (beyond "I need to save her from danger" and "I need to patch his wounded soul").

So this was the book that I finished in its entirety, obviously a quick read, and obviously not entirely memorable EXCEPT.

Ohholycrap, there's a qualifier. I liked the ending. Happily ever after, blah blah blah, but with an actual, real consequence to the danger and conflict that permeated the whole book. It was so refreshing a change from the norm that it changed my whole outlook about the story. For serious. It might even end up on the keeper shelf.

This is obviously the third (I think?) book in this series-- there were two other couples running around who we were obviously supposed to know about ahead of time. They won't go on my priority list, but if I run into their books, I'll definitely pick them up.

So... yeah. On to the next book from the Amazon pile :)

Lessons in French, and Also Getting Back in the Groove

And so I ease back into the swing of the blog writing.

Having finished one book and reading another in its entirety over the weekend, I finally feel like I'm at a point where I can, you know... write about books again. Sorry it's been so long, but with the Festival-ing and the driving, I honestly had not finished a new book before this weekend. And now I'm going to write about it. Woot.

But first a digression (try not to be shocked):

Dear Nicholas Sparks,
No, your books are not "romance novels." They're the stories romance editors dismissed as being too repetitive and trite. You sir, are the heir to the Danielle Steel throne. Got it?

Kbye.

(those wondering wtf I'm talking about should visit http://www.usatoday.com/life/movies/news/2010-03-11-lastsong11_CV_N.htm)

Moving swiftly onward.

Oh oh oh! Speaking of the opposite of Nicholas Sparks, the book that I finished this weekend (as opposed to the one that I read in its entirety) was Lessons in French by Laura Kinsale.

WAYS IN WHICH THIS BOOK IS EXCELLENT (unlike Nicholas Sparks' books):

1. The heroine was not stunningly beautiful, as acknowledged by just about everyone in the book, including the hero, who nevertheless was madly in love with her.

2. The heroine had a quirky habit (obviously), but it was animal husbandry, which was both realistic for the time and her life-station. Not to mention that Hubert the Bull needs his own sequel.

3. The hero was damaged, but not in such a way that he behaved like a complete douchebag toward the heroine. In fact, despite his damage, he is a totally cool and adventuresome dude.

4. The hero tells the heroine he loves her well before the halfway point of the story, and lo! The L word does not in any way solve any of the problems besetting our characters, nor does it make them particularly mopey and naval-gazey

5. The hero has a badass mother who is one of the best new characters I've read since Nucking Futs Nix. And that's saying something.

6. The story ends a little conveniently, but there's still a nice little zinger in the epilogue to make things go out with a bang.

So, let's review:

Laura Kinsale, widely acknowledged to be one of the best living romance novelists, wrote a novel that, while reportedly not her best, was still far superior to anything Nicholas Sparks has ever written. Awesome.

Tomorrow: The Book I Read In Its Entirety Over the Weekend (or) Why My Boyfriend Is The Best.

Excited much?

Dear Kate:

You are an inspiration!I am humbled. While you manage to get your WriMo ass moving, I am stuck in readers paradise. I got the latest JD Robb book in the mail yesterday. As if WriMo wasn't difficult enough, now I have to share my writing time with my reading time (and I even started knitting again!)! Yowza!

Okay, so I read those Tessa Dare books that you made me read - and then I mailed the latest one to you. Thanks for the push. I did enjoy them and they were very easy and comfortable reads. Like wearing old slippers with new soles. The characters were fresh, the heroes believable (if a bit dominating) and the heroines were not too prissy!

Now I have to get into my Eve Dallas mindset. Ready to absorb the intricacies of being a famous NYC cop of the future, married to the richest man in the known universe. Your grandfather is already asking me if I have finished it... we soak them up! Will get back to you, when I have finished, to let you know what I thought!

Hugs and kisses, Wendy Pan