Smart Bitches, Trashy Books

Delicious by Sherry Thomas

The trouble with stories wherein one party is betrothed to another is that the jilted   person must either be unspeakably awful, or really wonderful but not quite right for the protagonist. It’s a tough balance. Unspeakably awful calls into question the judgment of the protagonist, and you can’t have a reader wondering if the hero or heroine is secretly a complete idiot for having chosen that turnip head in the first place. If the jilted party is pretty spiffy in his or her own right, there’s the risk that their relative spiffyness will cause the protagonist to pale in comparison, or cause the one what does the jilting to look like a complete arse with no moral compass much less a sense of decency or honor.

To my happy pleasure and vexing frustration, despite having had exactly 3.5 hours of sleep the night before, Sherry Thomas’ Delicious kept me reading when I would have loved to have mashed my face against the bulkhead and slept.

Dark Lover by J.R. Ward

I blogged obliquely about this book two years ago. I am a judgmental douchebag—I admit this up front. But as Sarah noted in her review at Romancenovel.tv: I’M OUTIE? A massive thug says “I’m outie”?

No. For the love of everything Alicia Silverstone, no.

And this particularly choice turn of phrase always kills me when I look at the first page: “advanced degrees in violent crime.”

Pray tell, sirrah: Where, perchance, may I obtain an advanced degree in violent crime? No, before we even address that burning question: what would an advanced degree look like? Would an MFA be a Masters in Fuckin’ yo Ass (up)? Can you get PhD’s in, say, Violating Your Parole Like A Dumbshit, or Roid Rage (with specializations in Pointless Property Damage or Kicking The Crap Out of Your Girlfriend), or Mini-Mart Robbery Gone Bad?

And I won’t even go into the names, because really, that’s like shooting fhish in a bharrehl.

For these reasons and more, I avoided reading the book. Look, I told myself, if a book can give me about three hours’ worth of riffing material from… read more »

Lover Revealed by J.R. Ward

Coffee Room, Black Dagger Brotherhood soundstage, 4:00 pm. 15 minute break per union regulations.

Marissa: Man, I am beat.

Butch: Me, too. This “your angst, my angst” thing is way tiring, you feel me?

Marissa: Frankly, I’m a little tired of feeling you. You’re all up my skirt with lust ahoy and then in the next chapter, if it’s not about some blonde baby powder monster man, you’re freaking out about your own worth or some shit, so you get drunk and you blow me off.

Butch: Hey, that’s how it’s written.

Marissa: I’m just saying, if I were an actual woman, I’d have kicked your ass to the curb by now with this, “I want you so much my balls are on fire but I’m not worthy of you” routine. You go get drunk off your ass and whine for awhile while I consider my perfect yet lonely life? Boring.

Butch: What can I say? I’m a sensitive man beneath a crusty exterior, both of which are intimidated by your beauty and perfection.

Marissa: Perfection? Please! I’ve… read more »

Lord of the Fading Lands, and Lady of Light and Shadows, by C.L. Wilson

I’m sure you’re all tired of my griping about series books and how I get to the end and realize it’s not quite over - and turn into a whiny pissypanted pain in your ass reviewer. So what did I do when I realized that Lord of the Fading Lands was a series? I waited until I had the second book, Lady of Light and Shadows and read them back to back. Ha! Even though the series continues past book 2, I at least have a more complete story arc to reflect on.

Because Lord and Lady are really two halves of one book, the plots blend into one another in my brain. And in my brain they are resting happily, giving me plenty to stew on as I think back on the story. The two books contain fragments of a Cinderella story mixed with other legends and tales. The layering of myths, themes, and pieces of fairy tales and archtypes is both familiar and unique, and in… read more »

Dear Sister from Francine Pascals’ Sweet Valley High, by Kate Williams

There is no shortage of items in this book that make me either want to (a) chuck it at a wall (b) laugh until I hurt myself, or (c) question why on earth I wasted so much of my parents’ money buying these stupid books.

But first, let me take you down memory lane with the opening description that pretty much marked the start of any Sweet Valley High book: When people in the sunny town of Sweet Valley, California, saw a five-foot-six gloriously attractive young girl with sun-streaked blond hair and sparkling blue-green eyes, they knew it was one of the Wakefield twins, but they couldn’t always be sure which one.

Only thing missing in the standard description - which appears on page 1 for God’s sake - is a mention of how the twins are a “perfect size six.” A river of dark, murky, growling ire runs through me every time I think about how many girls, myself included, were tortured by the idea that unless they met that ideal figure and description, they were not “perfect.”

But I’m not… read more »

Better Days Ahead by Charlie Valentine

Better Days Ahead is a 1950’s saga of several families whose misfortune leads them to California. Their lives begin in disparate settings and by the end of the novel are entwined in multiple ways, struggling with racism, violence, class differences, and the loss of their collective innocence.

I found that throughout most of the book, the struggles overshadowed any moments of growth or contentedness for the characters, which made the novel increasingly difficult to read as it continued.

Countdown by Ruth Wind

I love Ruth Wind. You should’ve seen me doing the Snoopy Dance when I found out she was returning to writing romance. Well, not that the Silhouette Bombshell line is a conventional romance line, but WOO HOO asskicking babes with strong romantic interests.

But this book? It’s good, don’t get me wrong, and I enjoy how the heroine, Kim Valenti, is actually competent for once, unlike the usual bumbling, wouldn’t-hurt-a-flea morons who litter the landscape of romantic suspense, blowing your mind with another retarded-yet-cutesy antic (like throwing the gun at the bad guy) when you least want or expect it—and when I say “blowing your mind,” I don’t mean in a good way,  I mean the way a landmine rips the limbs off another innocent, unsuspecting Cambodian child.

Yeah, secret agent heroines: far too many of them are brain-dead weenies. But that’s a rant Mrs. Giggles has covered in detail. Kim Valenti: NOT a brain-dead weenie, which is good. This chica knows how to get the job done.