It was great, until it wasn’t, which unfortunately seemed to be the end of Act II (of five.)
Everything that charmed me in the beginning–and this did suck me in immediately–wore painfully thin by the end. Part of its ultimate lack of charm can be attributed to me not being the correct audience for this book–I did some musical theater once upon a time, but I’m not a theater nerd by any stretch of the imagination; I’ve read Shakespeare, but only a few things beyond what was required of me by school; I did go to a liberal arts college, but not one so dark, dramatic, or elitist as the fictional setting here. Also, I’m possibly just too old for this nonsense anymore, I’m finding that every time I try dark academia since I fell in love with The Secret History, it’s generally disappointing, even the other Donna Tartt novel I read, so keep in mind the personal bias of this unfavorable review.
I got tired of the endless Shakespeare monologues fairly quickly, even when it was clear that they were relevant to the narrative. I got tired of the over-the-top personalities of the main cast, though I will say I was impressed by how efficiently the seven of them were introduced and differentiated–wrangling that many characters is difficult and not often done well. But as the story wore on, I waited for them to get deeper than their stereotypes, and for the most part, they didn’t.
By the end, I was skimming past the Shakespeare and a good chunk of any given paragraph of normal text, just searching for keywords to tell me the plot was unfolding as I expected. This didn’t provide any surprises for me but one–I had figured out who committed the murder easily, but not who had assisted them in covering it up initially–and I saw the ending coming a mile away. But it felt predictable in a boring, “is it over yet” kind of way, not in the satisfying, “aha! I was right” kind of way.
Though most of the problems I found could have multiple solutions in theory, I think they stem from the same source–I think the story simply takes too long to get where its going. The murder happens too early, cutting off the high levels of tension too soon, as I never felt the post-murder story reached that same level of suspense. The melodramatic characters wear thin because they’re onstage too long without further development. The Shakespearean passages become a crutch to pad out the narrative with flavor but no extra meaning that hasn’t been conveyed by the plot.
There’s an argument to be made, certainly, for many genres of fiction being indulgent and melodramatic, and I’m not going to say dark academia shouldn’t be one of them. But I found this story to be too weak to support the level of indulgence and melodrama it was draped in, like heavy velvet curtains attached to a rod too delicate to carry their weight. The cracks in the wall where the supports are coming loose show clearly.
This series continues to be good, but to not quite live up to the OMG reaction I had to reading the first entry.
I think this could have actually been a little longer, as neither lead felt as developed as they could be. Amanda didn’t have much of a personality beyond the flaw she was labeled with–“too nice”–and the whining she did on the phone/in texts with Diana. Which is at least consistent, because when she was the other half of Diana’s conversations in the previous book, she was also pretty bland and whiny then.
Alexi fares a bit better, since he at least has the baby trauma that becomes his dark secret he “lies” about to Amanda, and he’s got the career/personal life dichotomy of being the Big Scary Guy on the ice but not at home. Only the story didn’t do much to deal with whether or not Amanda should be worried about what kind of guy Alexi really is, and we as readers know he’s pretty much a giant teddy bear who desperately wants to be a dad.
The pregnancy itself takes up so much space that it’s a third main character long before the actual child is born, and to an extent I get that, because it’s the reason they’re having a relationship at all, whether it’s the friend/co-parent one they strive for at the beginning, or the sexy/romantic one they end up with. But because the baby takes up all that room, and because the timeline jumps forward noticeably every so often so we can end the story with the HEA + birth, the actual development of the romance is short-changed, almost to the point of nonexistence. I believe these two are in lust with each other, but not really in love. I had hoped more would be done with that in the late game, like if Alexi had said something to the effect of “I want to stay with you even if we lose this baby”–which would have also done more to address his past trauma. (Which I did notice Amanda never invited him to talk about after their fight, a glaring omission.)
I feel like this story is almost there. It’s pretty close to achieving what it set out to do, it just falls short in a few places.
(And I think Hoopla has at least one more of the series available on audio, so I’ll keep going until I run out, but probably won’t buy any further entries. I’m no longer hoping they’ll be as good as Hot as Puck, but they are at least solidly entertaining.)
Let’s be honest: 5 stars for characters I fell in love with, 3 stars for plot and narrative style.
It’s been a long time since I read Flewelling’s The Tamir Triad and liked it just fine, but that was before I got into book reviewing, so I’m actually curious to see how “good” I think they are when I reread. Which, now, I’m probably going to do. I hadn’t realized that this series was set in the same universe, mostly because I picked this up on the strength of recommendations like “it’s fantasy that’s queer without the queerness being the main focus”–which is true–and “if you like lovable rogues, do I have a new main character for you to swoon over.” Which is also true, and a completely fair assessment of Seregil.
Maybe I wasn’t swooning, exactly, but I am in a sort of love with him, and Alec, and Nysander, and more of the minor characters than not.
The structure? While this never descends to the level of true head-hopping, the omniscient narrator and choppy scene breaks do make for a disjointed style that more recent fantasy mostly seems to eschew. (Not that I’m a great fan of alternating/multiple first-person narrators either, because authors so rarely manage to differentiate their voices properly, but that’s a separate complaint.) Sometimes I would find myself taken out of my reading by a scene break I felt came at a poorly chosen time, or the author’s tendency to try to end chapters on a quip that didn’t always land. And the ending is a giant, obvious, ominous, and possibly unearned cliffhanger.
But that’s getting into plot territory, so I’ll make my case for my complaints there as well–the first half (or maybe 60%) is clearly a sort of coming-of-age story for Alec, and also building the groundwork for the future romance. If I had been reading this when it was new, I would have classified that romance as “possible but I’m not sure it’s actually going to happen” and that’s definitely what the text supports. With the benefit of reading this more than twenty years after publication, even though I’ve been exposed to minimal spoilers, I do know that the romance does happen. And that part of the novel is slow-paced and filled with excellent character work.
But the back half is a complicated intrigue plot that introduces new characters to be villains, then discards them as their relevance declines, with surprising frequency. I don’t think the conspiracy itself is the problem, only that it seems mostly disconnected from the earlier parts of the book, not properly foreshadowed. And most of what I did feel was foreshadowed well was the stuff that didn’t get fully resolved–the “evil” nobleman and his necromancer accomplice, the magic object that made Seregil deathly ill, and Nysander’s role in/knowledge of those goings-on. I get that we have to leave something for future books, but since this was clearly The Important Thing, the conspiracy against the throne seemed almost like an afterthought, like it was just an elaborate exercise to show Alec had learned to handle himself. While that’s a valid resolution to his coming-of-age story, I think it needed to be more evident in the early plot, even when the other characters were hiding their purpose from Alec for his own protection. Did I need to be kept in the dark the same way he was, as a reader?
All that being said, I still love these characters and very much want to know what happens next. I was just lamenting with Shadowmarch not that long ago that I shouldn’t have collected the whole series before I started reading, on the strength of usually loving its author–I plan to donate the lot of them, without reading the other three. But here, I don’t own the next book already, and now I regret that, because I’d like to keep going immediately.
DNF @ 23%. I really thought I was going to keep going on this one, because it did have a promising opening, but since I ended up reading this on my phone on-the-go while I read another physical book concurrently, that turned out to be a much better fantasy work, I don’t really want to go back to/on with this one.
Honestly, I’m just having terrible luck with the freebies I’ve gotten from Tor’s newsletter. I haven’t been picking them up lately, because I keep reading novellas I don’t end up liking, or first-in-series novels like this one that I either don’t finish, or if I do, that don’t make me want to pick up the next book. Which is, of course, the point of the publisher offering these freebies.
When the book started, I was like, “Yes! We’re doing monks with an alien philosophy for me to learn about! Cool!” So I put up with the lack of definition to several new fantasy words the text threw at me, thinking I’d figure them out when I had more context. And I grit my teeth through the declamatory silliness of every character having to strike an unexplained “pose” as a part of their speech. (Do I think the idea of explicitly codified body language as a required supplement to verbal communication is interesting? Absolutely. Do I think it’s executed well here? Absolutely not.) I actually thought that perhaps that was endemic to the monks, but then we veer sharply away from them in Chapter 2, when the story becomes about trading intrigue, but yeah, everybody still spends half their conversation taking poses to convey extra meaning that the author is just clearly dying to make sure we understand.
But the intrigue never actually intrigued me. Oh, sure, Seedless is vaguely interesting as a character, once I started to grok the concept of what “andat” were–one of those undefined terms from the opening that I was hoping to learn. And I think I did. But the rest of it was just tedious posturing (literally, as I’ve covered, but also figuratively in the sense of people jockeying for power over each other) over semi-mysterious happenings that I never felt invested in.
As this author is one half of the team that writes The Expanse, I genuinely thought it would be better than I found it to be, but a) no one hits a home run every time, and b) I shouldn’t expect it to be similar since it’s only one of them, and also c) as much as I love The Expanse, it’s also flawed, and this is flawed without the benefit of me already liking its characters from a television show. So I possibly went into this with unfair expectations. Even if I didn’t, however, I still wouldn’t think it’s very good.
“And they were roommates” isn’t my favorite trope, but I don’t hate it, either. I think this isn’t the best example, because they were already attracted to each other before they moved in together and they start sleeping together really quickly, so there’s no time to savor any unresolved sexual tension.
Diana is annoying, but in a way that feels too real and hits a little too close to home. Her pessimism regarding men in general and her love life in specific isn’t something I relate to, but her feelings of being a crazy messy burden on anyone who might care for her, I get. Deeply. So I do understand her resolve to swear off men and dating, though I think “until I feel better about myself” would be a more interesting conflict for the story than her deadline of “forever.”
Tanner is… well, as a boyfriend, he’s pretty much perfect, and that’s a bit of the problem. Sure, he and Diana fight like wildcats in the very beginning, but my brain read all those altercations as Diana deliberately provoking him until she got him to take the bait, so I’m not going to hold that against him. The rest of the problem is that his personal conflict arc–ADHD and his career–has very little to do with Diana at any point. Occasionally the narrative takes a stab at linking them, like “oh, I can’t handle a girlfriend on top of this, she’ll be a distraction,” but that’s undermined by two things: Diana’s clearly a distraction just as a roommate, even if she never did become Tanner’s girlfriend, and also once they do get together, Tanner starts skating better, to the point where his teammates notice and approve.
While I’m not disappointed with Tanner as book boyfriend material, I am unhappy with the way his neurodivergence is treated, because his ADHD gets ignored for large parts of the book. In the beginning, he sort of hedges around it in his POV chapters, sure, fine, we’re building up to the reveal. But once it’s revealed, he only displays any of his supposedly regular coping behaviors when the plot needs him to, not the rest of the time, and certainly none of them were foreshadowed with any significance. If he lives by the to-do list he keeps on his phone, why don’t we know about it until at least halfway through the book? Why does his summer hiatus seem completely unscheduled? Because whenever Diana pisses him off he just goes back to the gym at the drop of a hat. Were all those gym sessions on the list, or did he really not have anything else planned for that day? Why is he never obviously nervous about being late to something or deviating from his routine? Why is there not even much evidence that he even has a routine?
Don’t get me wrong, I want more romance heroes to be dealing with mental illness or neurodivergence as characters, because men’s mental health in the real world is something society tries really hard to sweep under the rug. But this just feels shallow. (Except for the scene where Diana helps Tanner with his phobia, because that is well established from the team’s prank wars, and also echoes a scene with Wanda the pig earlier in the book. So that was actually really good. But the ADHD rep, not so much. Also, Wanda was pretty cute, and I’ll grant that having the pet be a pig instead of something more ordinary has a certain charm to it, as does Chloe’s hedgehog at the end of the book. Hedgehogs are lovely.)
Okay, I’ve aired my grievances, but this was still funny to me, as the earlier novels were, I’m still going on with the series, though I’m hoping I get plots that are better-realized again soon, like the first book.
Beat the Backlist Bingo: Cover features your favorite color prominently
Rating: 1/5 stars
Well, that was a slog.
So I have a history with this piece of intellectual property. I was introduced to Williams as an author in college (1998) because several of the friends I made my first year were big fantasy nerds–no surprise there–and I was perfectly ready to move on from my high-school-era love of less sophisticated fantasy authors. I borrowed The Dragonbone Chair from one of those friends and off I went.
So in 2001 when news about Williams writing an online serial went around, and I saw the $15 price tag…well, I was a perpetually almost-broke college student still, and sure I spent money on books, but that was a high gateway, because a) I didn’t own my own computer yet, I was borrowing friends’ or using the computer lab to write papers and such; and b) sure, a chunky fantasy novel might be $7 or $8 in paperback, but it was portable, easy to reread whenever, and nobody had tablets or smartphones or e-readers yet, so an online serial publication was definitely not portable. Even fifteen dollars seemed like too much for the inconvenience of a book I could only read sitting at a computer, and couldn’t read all of at once.
I was genuinely angry about this shift away from the paradigm, and much like Williams vowing this serial was online only and would never be published traditionally (which I distinctly remember but don’t actually have a source for) I too vowed that I would never read it.
I held out much longer than he did, if my memory of that claim is even true. But I’m wishing now that I hadn’t bothered.
This is bad. Not even close to the level of quality I expect from Williams, based on the earlier Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn series, as well as War of the Flowers–which was weird but I enjoyed it–and the Otherland series, which was even weirder and not always good, but yeah, I still enjoyed that too, for the most part.
Who am I supposed to care about in this book? I’m no stranger to multiple protagonists, but there are simply too many here, meaning none of them get the development time they would need to be interesting. I’m trying to wean myself from the complaint that protagonists need to be “likable,” because a character can be a jerk and still be interesting, but few of these protagonists are particularly likable either!
1. Barrick is a whiny jerk who folds under pressure and abdicates responsibility to his sister, and then makes a spectacularly bad decision for no reason other than to set up some tension at the end, and his future arc. If it’s because he’s “mad,” bad plot reason, and if it’s because he’s affected by the more general shadow-madness, well, I guess he could be vulnerable to it like anyone else, but that’s pretty flimsy too. 2. Briony is a fairly standard “if only I weren’t a woman, people would take me seriously” princess who doesn’t fold as much under pressure but is dealt a really raw deal. I’ll give her credit, she does legitimately try her best to rule her lands, but she’s also kind of a whiny jerk like her brother, too. 3. Quinnitan is…pointless. Sure, I see how the end of her arc in this book echoes those of the Eddon twins, but there is no direct connection between her plot and anyone else’s. And I mean that literally, if there’s anything that ties her story to any other single part of the book, I simply do not see it, it’s buried in lore or foreshadowing that was lost on me amid the sheer weight of nearly 800 pages of plodding narrative. I read all of her scenes constantly wondering why I should care, and the fact that her arc is a very basic harem plot, “I don’t want to be a token wife but really what choice do I have?” sort of thing, doesn’t help, because on its own it’s incredibly unoriginal. 4. Chert is marginally likable, because he’s arguably got the most defined personality and most personal growth in the book, as a person of a “little” race who is distinctly not human–I get a mix of gnome and dwarf, with a faint whiff of Podling from The Dark Crystal–and who deals with an unexpected foundling by taking him into his family and trying to make it work, even when that foundling is really a big blank space in the story who still manages to get into trouble. 5. Captain Vansen gets points from me for being the guardsman deep in unrequited love, which is a trope I would absolutely eat up with a spoon. The problem is, the object of that love is a protagonist I don’t care for (Briony,) leading me to question what the eff he’s thinking that he can even admire her from a distance, let alone be in infatuation/love. And his plot arc is mostly “something goes wrong that’s not really has fault but everyone blames him anyway.” Which got dull.
Chert and Vansen are most of the reason this book gets a second star*, honestly. Chert’s scenes with the Rooftoppers are generally pretty excellent, even if they’re mostly tied to a plot arc that I don’t care for.
The other thing that’s getting me about this is that it feels like a deliberately grim-dark retread of Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn. You’ve got a castle that’s the seat of current government but used to belong to the enemy–the enemy that no one is sure even exists anymore, that lives in a land far enough away to feel distant but also somehow close enough to be threatening, once people believe in them again. That castle is perched upon magically important ruins/caverns, and that enemy has forms of magic/communication that affect humans and can cause or appear symptomatic of madness. There’s a race of small likable people who aren’t quite dwarves or any other “standard” fantasy race, but are still somehow cute/appealing. There’s a crippled prince who’s not really well-liked. One of the primary female protagonists is a young woman who laments the limitations of her womanhood under the patriarchal feudal system of the world.
And to someone who’s never read either of these series, that list of similarities could mostly read like fairly common fantasy tropes, and I forgive anyone who reads this review and thinks that. But I’ve read MSaT probably ten times all the way through in the twenty-plus years since I was introduced to it, and I feel like I’ve just been handed the same story again, with a thick coat of gray paint slathered on it and a few details changed–and those changes are basically always for the worse. No one in this story can be said to be a direct equivalent to Simon, who gets a very clear hero’s journey, but if I’m supposed to slot Barrick in as a Simon/Josua mashup (that crippled prince problem) then it takes the entire book to get Barrick out of his comfort zone and on his journey, where Simon got booted from the castle at the end of the first act of the first book.
And that gets at the underlying problem that is at least partially fueling all other problems–this book is clearly just the first act of the larger story, and yes i know! that is what first books do! but this also doesn’t have a lot of forward motion on its own, and it doesn’t resolve anything aside from the mystery of a single murder at that happens near the beginning. Seriously, all other plot threads get kicked down the road with the “and now they’re exiles” theme that the ending has assigned to most of the protagonists. Chert doesn’t suffer that fate, but the ending of his story line–also the end of the book itself–is the foundling reasserting that he doesn’t know who he is, which is not new information. We’ve literally not known who he is the whole time, except that we do find out who his mother is, but don’t find out how he was taken or why he apparently hasn’t aged as much as he should have or what the Qar intended by sending him back “home.” The identity of his mother is basically the least important question surrounding him.
I truly feel like I just read a 750-page prologue, and that is not a good feeling.
*Yeah, I told myself this was a two-star book, but by the time I wrote the whole review, it’s not and I can’t pretend I still believe that. This is a one-star book. This is so bad I don’t want to go on with the series, even though it almost has to get better, now that most of our protagonists are out on their journeys. And because it could hardly get worse, right? But this already took up so much of my time (I had to take a week-long break in the middle to binge some romances, as a relief from all this grimdark toil) and even though I’ve managed to collect secondhand copies of the rest of the series, and they’ve been sitting on my shelves for a few years waiting for me to invest my energy into them…I’m giving up. Not worth it.
What did I like about this? It was digestible. Having just come off a heavy, plodding, disappointing fantasy read, the easy YA tell-don’t-show narrative style went down smooth like a slushie on a hot day.
And that’s the best thing I can say about the whole book–it read fast and easy.
What didn’t I like?
1. The fact that this touts itself as fantasy when it’s not in the least bit fantastical. I don’t require my fantasy to have magic or creatures or zombies or anything, but if you’re going to call something “fantasy” it should at least be about fictional cultures that the author has invented. This is just England colonizing the Americas with the names changed. The only thing that could be said to be “fantasy” is that the population they’re displacing in the process isn’t an indigenous one, it was established by previous outcasts from their own country–though that wasn’t clear to me until the first time we met them and they were white, blond, and used woad as decoration. So they’re not supposed to be Native American analogues, they’re supposed to be displaced Picts?
2. Either way, it’s still racist and pro-colonization, because even if the Icori aren’t meant to represent an indigenous people, they’re still clearly Other, and constantly labeled as “savages” in order to justify taking their land, which all of our protagonists are participating in, in some form. Does it matter what color this fictional group of people is, if the narrative is parroting real history and real racism?
3. The second half of the plot feels, at best, tenuously related to the first half. The change in fortune for our protagonists that happens at the midpoint struck me as so flimsy and unbelievable that it was hard to take the rest of the book seriously, and that made it more obvious to me who the real villain was, despite whatever weak red herrings were planted along the way. Seriously–the first half of the story is The Bridgertons but the second turns into Little House on the Prairie. It’s too big a genre shift to make the transition seem natural.
4. There were times when I was approaching a reasonable level of sympathy for our heroine, despite her many flaws, but every time the story had a chance to explore those flaws and perhaps let the character do some work on them…well, she just kept being headstrong and selfish and whiny, right up until the LHotP section where after a single pep talk from the hero, she’s completely changed, resolved to her new station in life with a determination that seemed half-delusional and certainly out of character. She didn’t work for it, so it didn’t seem real.
5. I did not know, having picked up this book in isolation, that the rest of the “series” is actually the same time period from the perspective of one of the other girls, specifically the two best friends of the heroine. Now that I do know that, the giant blank spaces in this story where Mira and Tamsin constantly fall out of it without explanation–or with the pointedly obvious lampshade “it’s not my business so I’m not going to ask”–make sense structurally. However, that doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s a terrible flaw, because these holes are constant and irritating. For a while in the middle of the book, it felt like every time I turned two pages, the heroine was asking out loud, “Where’s Mira?” And pretty quickly I knew that question wouldn’t be answered in this book, so why keep asking?
6. I never found Cedric compelling enough a hero to justify the constant sacrifices that Adelaide made for him. I don’t think he’s a terrible character, and I enjoyed some of their banter and their occasional fights, but I’m also not about to add him to my book-boyfriend list, so it was hard to imagine myself, or anyone for that matter, doing as much for him as Adelaide did.
7. Religion. Woooo boy. I guess this part is the “fantasy” I was lamenting the lack of earlier, because if the accepted and heretic forms of this fictional religion are supposed to correspond to real-world counterparts, I didn’t pick up on it with enough certainty to tell. But my problem is that it’s suddenly a Very Big Deal that one character is a heretic, when religion had played such a small part in the story leading up to that revelation that I was mostly operating on the assumption that the main religion was socially performative, and that no one in the story was especially devout. Adelaide certainly doesn’t seem to be. But since this heresy becomes central to the conflict later on, I wish it had been better established in the beginning, because (again) the second half of the book seems wildly different than the first, and this was another aspect that made it hard to take seriously.
8. Heteronormative AF. There’s one token queer person who has a minor role, showing up just long enough for Adelaide to realize other women/cultures don’t abide by her society’s rigid norms and to feel briefly uncomfortable about it. But there’s no follow-up, no depth, no opportunity for Adelaide to grow beyond what she’s been taught. To some extent, I’m okay with that–not every story has room for fighting LGBT+ battles, and even more simply put, stories are allowed to be about other things. But parading just that one wlw character out for a moment, and making her a foreigner to reinforce her otherness, strikes me as a really poor choice if the story didn’t actually want to fight that battle. Why bring it up at all? Especially as this is supposed to be fantasy, why couldn’t the Glittering Court be an institution that provides marriage candidates to both men and women? If the candidate pool was both male and female, and so was the clientele, then many forms of queerness would be covered by it without having to dig into specifics about each character. (It doesn’t directly address ace/aro people, but presumably they’d be less interested in a marriage mart anyway, on either side, and self-select out of it.) I mean, I know why, because that would mean that in the New World there would have to be women in positions of power who needed husbands (or wives, yes, but this wrinkle is about men.) And there’s no shortage of men in the colonies, so that doesn’t track logically the same way the actual setup does. But again, if this is supposed to be fantasy….
Beat the Backlist Bingo: Based on non-Greek/Roman mythology
Rating: 3/5 stars
In many ways, mostly good ones, this reminded me strongly of Juliet Marillier’s work–basically, what if Marillier wrote about Russian mythology instead of Irish? Both authors are working in the same space, where the old clashes with the new, expressed through fantasy and fairy tale.
But however much I liked the setting and the little fae creatures and even Morozko himself, I disliked the extremely slow pacing, unnecessary history-tangents about characters who stop being important less than a third of the way through the book, and the lack of character development for anyone in the story besides Vasya.
There’s also this pervasive aura of dread throughout the entire story–though it’s for different reasons at different times–that I don’t feel like the ending fully paid off. I’m not all that satisfied by the climax of the story, the “battle” against the Bear–I think partially because he never felt like the primary antagonist, even though he was clearly supposed to be. He had to share the spotlight, though, with the priest, and also Morozko. The priest is the center of a lot of that dread, because he was just enough crazy to be slightly unpredictable and I was never sure when/if he was going to go mad, and what would happen if he did. And Morozko was sitting directly on top of the “is he a villain or is he a romantic hero” fence. He does a lot to aid Vasya, and the wispy bits of maybe-romance aren’t strong, and aren’t resolved, but the whole time he remains a dangerous, menacing figure as well. So the Bear almost struck me as incidental to the plot, which isn’t great when he’s half of the title.
The other half was one of the underdeveloped characters as well–Solovey is cool for what he is, a horse who is also somehow a nightingale, and I dig that! But he’s just there, and since I have no idea what his deal is because I don’t already know the story this is based on, I was waiting for an explanation I never got, or something more to him than “I am a really cool bird-horse who you just met but I will be instantly loyal and awesome for no obvious reason.” Which is a very, very fairy-tale trope to have, the amazing mythical beast companion, and I’m not knocking those in general. I just wish Solovey had any depth (or really that anyone other than Vasya had any depth, she’s surrounded by stereotypes.)
While in theory I’m all for the message of the very end of the book–screw the patriarchy, let’s have adventures–I’m finding myself not all that interested in finding out what those adventures actually are. Since I’m not on fire to read the next book after finishing this one, I probably won’t ever bother.
I’d had this book on my TBR for quite a while, but then recently a friend recommended the author to me, and I said, wait, that name sounds familiar. Since the audiobook turned up on Hoopla, and I’ve been knitting a lot lately and audiobooks are ideal for that, I took a break from my regularly scheduled reading and listened to all of this in a single day.
It’s not perfect–I have some plot issues–but it’s very, very good, and the narrator is lovely.
At first I wasn’t sure our dour, grumpy hero could be redeemed from his absolutely dickish behavior, and surprisingly by the end, he really hadn’t been–he was notably less of a jerk to the heroine, for obvious reasons, though they still bickered very charmingly. But he was still at least mostly a dour grumpy person to everyone else. I’m kind of mixed on this–it would be fake to have him do a 180 and be sunshine and roses all the time, and it’s good that being in love changed him, but not too much. On the other hand, he is still kind of an arrogant ass, and that’s not my favorite hero type. It’s a delicate balance, and it won’t necessarily be for everyone.
Our heroine is witty and not at all spineless, which I love about her. On one hand, I almost hate that my bar for good heroines is so low that I’m impressed when one isn’t a total pushover, but here we are, modern romance heroines are so often wishy-washy pushovers that it’s notable when one isn’t.
My sticking points are in the plot escalation. I have no problems with the early romance obstacles, or even the pace at which the two lovebirds realize that they don’t actually hate each other, that’s all fine. Even the “must protect girlfriend from lecherous but powerful old man” scene was foreshadowed properly. You know what wasn’t? An actually life-threatening situation which provides the final cathartic reunion between our two leads after their fight. I don’t think it was set up properly, and sure I was happy that everyone lived, but I don’t feel like the danger was earned because it felt so random. A seemingly throwaway line near the beginning about how their theater was old, and the presence of some construction crew immediately before the disaster, wasn’t really enough for me to believe this turn of events. And since the hero putting himself in danger deliberately was in service to the misunderstanding he had about how much “ex” the heroine’s ex was, it got tied into the jealousy subplot which was probably my least favorite aspect of the book.
All that being said, I still enjoyed it immensely, listened to it all in a single day, and look forward to going on with the series.
I enjoyed it, but it was a bit of a letdown compared to my experience with the first book in the series. Call it 3.5 stars.
The humor is still there–I clearly jive with the style. And I’m totally down for a good single-parent romance, especially when the kid isn’t a perfect, unrealistic angel child that never causes a single plot disruption. Chloe sounds like a wonderful kid in most respects, but clearly isn’t perfect, and her presence does cause friction in some places.
Our hero, however, is not the greatest. He’s not a complete trash fire like I sometimes run into, when I seriously question how anyone could possibly find the sort of on-page behavior those heroes engage in acceptable, let alone attractive–but let’s face it, Brendan is a user. A user who is partially aware of it, and does have deep-down good intentions because it’s for his kid, but a user nonetheless. And he’s pretty terrible at respecting boundaries, which is certainly a flaw carried all the way through the story–the flashpoint at the climax is a natural extension of that.
He may be handsome, he may be the sexiest thing between two hotel sheets, he may even be sweet in some ways. But he’s a user, and it makes him harder to like than I prefer my romantic heroes to be. When he screws up and inevitably apologizes, those apologies are sincere, but only bring him back to square one in terms of reasonable behavior.
It doesn’t help that Laura, who seemed like such a firebrand as a supporting character in the first book, has devolved into an “I’m so in love with this apparently unattainable man that I’ll completely enable his user behavior while calling it friendship” pushover. As paired flawed characters, these two line up perfectly, and I see why the plot happened exactly the way it did–I’m not slamming the structure, just questioning what happened to turn Laura from wise and self-possessed older sister to simpering fool.
Okay, this is starting to sound like a less-than-three-star review. Yes, I’m less than happy about some aspects of the characters and that made some of the plot conflicts seem both predictable and frustrating. But I did still like the book overall! I was laughing my ass off at several scenes, because the banter is either adorable or hilarious or cheesy as the mood calls for. I was even laughing at the “naked mole rats” scene that I see other reviewers generally cringing over, because I, too, have said incredibly random/stupid things when under the influence of mind-altering substances, so I get that it’s weird and kind of gross, but that’s why it was so funny to me! (As always, humor is deeply personal and I’m not criticizing anyone who didn’t enjoy that bit–I see you, I get it. But I was cackling, myself.) And Chloe was cute, Diana was an excellent new supporting character, as were Brendan’s in-laws from his first marriage. Libby and Justin were great in their limited roles as former leads who are still friends/siblings with our current main characters. The sex scenes were still graphic, and the whole story was still full of swearing, and I am still totally okay with both of those things.
I’m willing to forgive a lot in a rom-com that I actually find funny, so while this didn’t live up to the five-star ticker tape parade of a review I gave the first book, it’s a stumble, not an unforgivable drop off a cliff into the pits of despair. Still moving forward with the series.
DNF @ 76%. This book fell off such an amazingly steep cliff that I actually went back and read my review of the first book in the series to make sure I was remembering the right story, that yes, I did actually enjoy it and didn’t mistakenly continue a series I meant to abandon. But no, I gave the first book 4 stars then couldn’t bring myself to finish this one.
First up, I didn’t care for the female narrator, who had this weird tendency to end the last sentence of a scene or chapter on a rising tone, which meant it always felt like there was more she was going to say, but then there wasn’t, just a pause and then “Chapter [whatever].” I noticed no such problems with the male narrator. Also, I didn’t care for her accent (which I peg as SoCal but could be wrong, it’s those hard, elongated R’s that stick out like speed bumps) and definitely did not care for her exaggerated “girly” delivery of the conversations held via text.
But whatever issues I have with the audio presentation, it’s only icing on the cake, after all. The underlying cake of the story is terrible.
I did have a problem with the premise of the first book, for the very beginning. I had a problem with the premise of this book the whole time, it never went away. I never felt the hero’s behavior was appropriate to the situation–the jump from “I’m angry at this wake-up-call operator” to “I’m actively going to seduce her until this is just phone sex” came very early and with very little buildup…and she just goes with it! I sat through that scene chanting in my head “she’s being harassed, when is she going to notice she’s being harassed, a real employee of this type of business would have hung up and terminated this client’s contract, she’s being harassed.” But no, she masturbates. And yes, she’s not really doing this for a job, but I would think that engaging in phone sex in this situation would be a dead giveaway that she’s a fake.
The premise continued to be unrealistic well beyond my ability/willingness to suspend my disbelief.
But the sham doesn’t last forever, and the parts where the hero was trying to figure out how to contact her weren’t terrible, in terms of solving a mystery. They were, however, terrible in that it’s awful creepy stalker behavior to want to track down a woman you only know over the phone, who is paid to provide a completely nonsexual service to you. Am I supposed to like Theo? Because I hate him. There’s no good side shown to his controlling personality, he’s just an a-hole the entire time.
I gave up because the story actually gets worse after they meet up in person. The tension is completely gone, the sex scenes are laughably cringe-worthy, and the new conflict is apparently supposed to be “hero must convince heroine not to move out of the city,” and I’m actually offended on her behalf, because given the financial trouble she’s in because of her backstory, her plan for getting back on her feet seems incredibly sensible to me. Like, let her concentrate on her business? Which she clearly cares about? But since the hero is Super Rich, I’m willing to bet he’s going to continue to solve her problems with his money, and that’s way less interesting. I’m not going to say the heroine has it easy–the whole book is about how she doesn’t–but the whole book is also about her hard work in solving her own problems, so him throwing money at her isn’t a satisfying conclusion. And if I’m inferring the wrong thing, well, then I’m wrong, but at the point I gave up he’s already paid off her immediate loan shark debt, so I don’t know why he wouldn’t keep paying (somehow) to keep her around, which does make the whole thing very Wake-Up Call Girl.
A happy and mostly triumphant ending to a series that I (and many others) feel has stumbled a bit along the way. We can’t seem to agree on what those stumbles are, specifically, because so much has happened over the course of several in-universe years and seven other books. And the major problem that causes is that this sometimes didn’t feel like a story, it felt like a to-do list of getting closure for the many, many plot threads.
Which, yes, is what endings are for. But in covering everything that’s ever happened in the story, that drags up a lot of the things that feel like dead weight. I wasn’t a fan of the idea to give Sophie a baby she didn’t birth by killing off its parents in a car accident; I felt it undermined Sophie’s determination not to be a mother. So now, in every book since, she’s had to do a mental dance of “I’m a caregiver, not a mother” even when she’s clearly performing parental duties and experiencing something at least adjacent to a maternal sort of love. And this book addresses that, actually in more depth (or at least more consistently) than I recall other books doing, by exploring her dynamic with El-Mudad’s children, who were long out of babyhood when they came into Sophie’s life. So I won’t say that cognitive dissonance isn’t recognized and discussed, only that I wish it had never had to happen in the first place.
But the list goes on. Some readers apparently dislike El-Mudad (not me, I adore him.) So they’re going to be unhappy he’s even around, let alone getting a happy ending with Neil and Sophie. Holli and Deja and Penny all have to show up–and man, even though I’d read the first two of Penny’s spin-off novels back when they came out, I’d managed to forget she was a character at all, it’s been so long. It’s been long enough that I’d also forgotten, when Sophie runs into Ian at a party, that she slept with him and his ex-wife back in their collective swinging days. As for me, I didn’t really like The Sister that much (relatively speaking to the other novels) so I was forced to sit through Molly half-heartedly being important to the plot again, and the only-sort-of-resolved issue of Sophie in denial about her diabetes. I don’t particularly feel like either plot thread enriches the story, and even the tiny subplot with Molly and Amal, cute in isolation, felt like a complication that we didn’t really need on top of everything else we already have to speed-run through.
If there can be said to be a “main” plot of this novel on its own, it’s certainly the Laurence/Valerie/Olivia family tangle, and that, I do feel was handled well. The issues were foreshadowed, the complications laid out and entangled with subplots in great detail, and the resolution satisfying. Given that Valerie has been a thorn in our main characters’ collective side for the entire run of the series, I would have been disappointed if she didn’t still have a major role to play at the end, and as far as that goes, I got what I wanted.
I just also had to wade through a lot of flotsam that I wish could have been left behind.
This was another “it looked halfway decent at a bag sale so I bought it for almost nothing” romance, and when I grabbed it off my shelf quite literally to have something safe to read in the bath–I don’t bring my electronics in there!–I was like, “wait, I hate football, why did I get this?”
But it’s not about football, really. Sure, one lead is on the team and the other lead’s dad is the coach and late in the story there’s an actual game as part of the narrative (which was thankfully short on strategy and eminently skimmable) but it’s about sports and sports culture far more than it’s actually about football. So the sports parts of it felt a lot like I was watching a halfway-decent movie about team-building and personal achievement, and the rest of the book felt like a slightly cheesy romance.
About that romance. It’s rushed, pretty much everything about it is rushed except them banging in the most traditional sense, but they’re definitely performing other sexual acts for each other in short order. And this is set in college, so fine, I get it. But they drop the “L” word pretty fast too.
All that being said, I did actually like their chemistry together. On her own, Dallas is a bit of a whiny brat who has obvious anger issues, and in other stories I might not like her as much, but a) she’s clearly aware of at least some of her emotional shortcomings, and b) she grew up abandoned by her mom and raised by a goal-driven, emotionally distant dad, so you know, fair enough if she doesn’t have herself totally figured out as a college freshman. It does make her skew young, but since part of her arc is about her striving for self-determination, I’ll give her a pass on that. For Carson’s part, on his own he’s a bit of a boring workhorse, who has his nose to the grindstone as much as possible for both schoolwork and the football team (seriously, Dallas was right that if he kept working out so much he was going to injure himself!) and doesn’t have much going on otherwise. But when the two of them are in a room together, sparks really do fly, and suddenly they’re both fun people having fun.
The “forbidden” aspect of the romance plot felt a little weak. Bringing up Romeo and Juliet, even to reject its premise, is so obvious that I wish stories would stop doing it. The coach as an obstacle is somewhat believable, but making a big deal about Dallas’ ex being the star quarterback at the beginning, only to have him suddenly and unceremoniously removed from the story partway through, through no action of the main characters, strikes me as a minor deus ex machina. I mean, if nothing the hero or heroine did had anything to do with those events, why include him? And it has the double whammy of opening the QB spot for Carson, who certainly has been putting in the work, but also didn’t really “earn” the spot, it got emptied for other reasons and he was there. (Yes, there were presumably other people on their huge, 100+ team who could have been chosen, so in one sense he did earn that spot. But since we never met the others and Carson was only ever painted in competition with the ex, Carson’s elevation didn’t mean much to me.)
So overall, I enjoyed this more than I thought I would when I realized/remembered it was about football, but there were definite weaknesses in the story that kept it from being great. Not planning at the moment to go on with the series.
DNF @ page 249, which is partway through “Dedication.”
I always try to resist DNFing short story or novella collections, because sure, maybe the ones at the beginning aren’t to my taste, but aren’t there more that might be better? Of course there are! (In this case, almost 600 pages’ worth of stories I might like.)
But because this was such a behemoth, and because I was planning to read it leisurely–a story or two a day, depending on their length, while I also read other things–I was taking notes about each story and giving it a star rating, to help me decide at the end what I thought of the collection as a whole. I finished seven stories and part of an eighth. One of those stories earned a 2, and all of the others either 1 or 0. Yes, I hated some of these stories and they got 0-star ratings.
So why on earth would I keep going, hoping other stories would be better? It wasn’t long before I dreaded picking this back up.
My overall complaints that apply, to some degree, to all of the stories I read: too long/wordy for the plot it covered, gross/gory/silly instead of scary, vaguely racist overtones to some, lack of satisfying endings to most. And in one case, putting “Popsy” right after “Night Flier” made it really freaking obvious that the second one was also about vampires, to the story’s detriment.
I’m beginning to wonder if I should just be done with Stephen King. I’m tired of playing “will I dearly love or absolutely despise this” every time I pick up a new title. Because he has, without a doubt, written some of my favorite books I’ve ever read, but it’s equally true that he’s written some of the worst books I’ve read, so I can’t help thinking it might be time to move on. (I say this with three unread King novels still sitting on my shelves, so I’m not entirely sure yet, because I could give those a try and then give up…?)
Picked this up as a freebie a while back without realizing it was the fourth in a series. Looking at it now, knowing that this is the first book to follow a new lead character after the the first three books followed the same couple, the not-quite-standalone vibe makes a lot more sense. It is possible to read and enjoy this on its own, but at the beginning I definitely felt like I was missing things, or that the author was trying to reference major events without going on for pages, only I didn’t already know what those major events were.
Setting that aside, though, this was fine. Not amazing, and occasionally hard to take seriously as it tried to balance sweetness and light with the harsh realism of working in the entertainment industry. It didn’t help that Grayson was the star of an obvious Glee analogue, and I was briefly a fan before hating it passionately and kicking myself for ever liking it at all, then gradually getting some distance and nearly forgetting it existed. (Now I have “Defying Gravity” stuck in my head, unfortunately, except I’ve forgotten most of the words so it’s really just the chorus over and over again. Please, make it stop!)
But that’s a really personal quibble based on my specific history, and shouldn’t detract too much from the larger story for most other readers (I hope, for your sakes.) The best thing I can say about this book is that it features two bisexual men as leads, one who knows himself going into the story but isn’t out publicly, and one who discovers that aspect of his identity as the story goes on. Grayson’s journey maybe feels a little rushed–this is a pretty short book to handle both a romance and a coming-out arc–but it definitely feels genuine, and rep-wise it’s nice to see someone have an epiphany about themselves and not immediately be crippled by worry and self-doubt. Grayson takes his bisexuality in stride, and that’s honestly nice to see. Bi men don’t get a lot of rep in general, and the few times I’ve seen it, it’s often playing into common negative stereotypes. (I’m looking at you, Westworld. Someone please give me Ben Barnes playing a bisexual character who isn’t also a dissolute, hedonistic drug abuser who comes to a bad end.)
Grayson and Jesse are cute together, but there is a sort of over-reliance on a few very specific bonding moments and gestures–like, can we stop talking about Jesse’s hats? I don’t care about his hats. The vegetarian thing was a little better integrated, and most of the other stuff didn’t irritate me, but I felt like we could go a single chapter without finding out Jesse owned yet another style of hat.
It looks like book #5 is also about the same couple as #1-3, so if I want to go on with the series, I actually have to go back to the beginning–I really did manage to find the only semi-standalone somehow. But I’m not sure I will, I liked this, but I don’t love it.
Beat the Backlist 2021: Caused a major book hangover
Rating: 1/5 stars
Whatever charm the language held (this strikes me as a beautiful translation) I was as bored by the stories as their own protagonists were bored by their lives. Seriously, if their lives are so unendingly dull, why would I want to read about them?
This isn’t even about how I generally hate works primarily about infidelity. I do, but that’s not even the main issue here. If I’m supposed to be captivated by how young the author was when she managed to get this published, am I then supposed to ignore how petulant and wishy-washy both leading ladies are? If I’m supposed to be shocked by the sexual nature of the stories and how frank the author is about young women having sex…well, shouldn’t there be sex in them, then? The sex scenes are so short, infrequent, and elliptical I can’t even imagine what a censored version would read like, what’s even there to censor? And If I’m supposed to be enchanted by the Frenchness of it all, then shouldn’t the books be about something more enchanting than the stereotypical French ennui?
Bonjour Tristesse reads less like a complete novel and more like a Rorschach test for the reader’s moral compass–who is most at fault for (supposedly) shocking twist at the end of the tale? Who bares the blame for this (actually) utterly predictable and weak ending? And A Certain Smile is just, metaphorically speaking, “watch this young women put her hand in a fire and think she won’t get burnt,” oh, except of course she does because that’s how fire works. She doesn’t learn anything, and I as a reader didn’t learn anything, and it was just a waste of time for everyone involved.
Oh, so it’s a love triangle, a historical narrative, and sociopolitical boondoggle all at the same time? No wonder it needs nearly 500 pages to get through that tangle, and no wonder I was utterly bored by it to begin with.
DNF @ 16%. Early on, I thought it would be an accomplishment just to make it to my minimum 10% cutoff, but just when I was about to give up, we changed sections, time periods, and POV characters, and things actually got better for a while. In the first section, ancient Amba was somehow both a crone and also a sexually desirable woman, and that weirded me out, but jumping back in time to find out about her childhood held promise.
Then I got to be weirded about by her father’s unusual “love” for her, which by the time I stopped reading had not crossed over into obvious sexual interest, but the hints that it might were certainly there, and incest is something I’d really rather not read about. Since I already know from the beginning that Amba is the center of this mythic love triangle, does her father need to be inappropriately attached to her, too? Is this going to be a novel where every possible person who could “love” the main character is going to?
Am I reading the Indonesian literary equivalent of a harem anime?
While it did pick up in both pace and interest for a while when we turned to Amba’s childhood, most of my basic complaints about were still present, only slightly muted. The language alternates between beautiful description and strange metaphors that I can’t tell are idiomatic mistranslations, correct-but-inelegant translations, or just plain poor writing. The text itself is choppy, jumping between times, places, and topics with little obvious connection, and the sections that were mostly concerned with politics or history lived cheek-by-jowl with scenes where Amba’s father had unusual sexual fantasies about horses. No, I’m not kidding. Though I guess I would rather it be a horse than his daughter… (sigh)
Often when a book feels like a slog to read, as this one does to me, I’ll still manage to finish because there’s something going on that’s enough to keep my interest, but here, the framework of the myth retelling just lays out the bulk of the plot right at the beginning, and I don’t generally like love triangles anyway, so I just don’t see any point to me continuing to read.
DNF at the end of the first chapter, around 10%. Which, you know, is a loooong first chapter, and that’s part of the problem. (I counted pages for the next one, which turns out is half as long. I’m not a stickler for consistent chapter length, but that’s pretty variable already.)
I understand that not all stories start with a bang. Some of them barely even start with a simmer. This wasn’t even on the heat, it was so slow. A larger-than-I-wanted portion of that first long chapter was awkward exposition-dump tangents about the history of the town and how it was So Important because of where it was on the river, yet it was also a bit of a backwater, and oh this is the family that runs the inn, except the mother doesn’t really run the inn she makes pottery and arranges the flowers for the inn and isn’t that special, that the tables at the tavern at the inn always have this specially made pottery with fresh cut flowers that don’t wilt as fast as they should because everybody is just a little bit magic and that’s her thing, flowers and pottery?
In case you think I’m exaggerating…well, I’m not, that bit about the town and the inn takes two pages and I was bored the whole time. Whenever I thought the story was going somewhere, that the main character might actually do something, there was a tangent about somebody or something else to stop her. At least until she FINALLY abruptly nonsensically goes to the griffins. But I’ll get to that issue later.
The other thing I found distracting (and detracting) from what little plot there was, was a chain of editing mistakes, inconsistencies, and word repetition that added up to a feeling of amateurish writing. And I’ve got receipts: the first one concerns how old our protagonist Kes is. One of their farmhands both “hired on six years ago” and “has been on the farm half [Kes’] life.” So, taken literally, she’s twelve. Less literally–if we assume the farmhand has been around for half of the life she remembers (because she wouldn’t remember being a baby) she’s fourteen or fifteen handily, sixteen would be stretching it. But she also has a sister who’s starting to go gray (one of the inane character details in the exposition dump about her) and has been “quickly married and quickly widowed” twice. Well, how quickly? Did those unnamed unfortunate husbands die after a month of marriage or a year? How long between the marriages? Why were the siblings born so far apart as to make this possible? Or, alternately, just how young did the sister marry the first time around? And why is this aspect of her life brought up at all if it’s a one-sentence history that isn’t explored in any depth, despite it raising all these questions for me in order to have it make any sense? (I’m assuming, of course, that these past marriages aren’t important, but I don’t know. I do know that the book is about griffins and magic and the younger sister, not the older one.)
All of that, because the author wouldn’t just say how old the protagonist is, so I have to nitpick these not-necessarily consistent details to figure it out. And I’m still not sure. Her precise age isn’t important if we’re talking about a month on either side of sixteen, but the difference between twelve or fifteen or twenty sure is significant to how the character thinks and talks and acts, right?
Kes acts like…I don’t know, a spacey and exceptionally shy four-year-old? She can’t talk, even to people she knows, and especially not strangers. She has her head in the clouds about griffins and nature and not doing anything at all that her sister or society want her to do, but not in an actively rebellious way that implies she has a spine, just that she’s terrified of basically everything that might resemble normal life. And the “can’t talk” part of her personality gets really grating when she’s interacting with the mage and the griffins at the end of the chapter, because every time she’s upset or confused, she thinks something and “looks helplessly” at the mage, and he answers her just like he’s read her mind. Which apparently is a thing that griffins can do, but wow, does it not justify the protagonist not having the will to actually say what she thinks out loud, and wow, does it make for really awkward “dialogue” in the narrative. No, thank you, I know it’s only been one chapter, but if you can’t sell me on your protagonist in the first chapter, what are you even doing?
As for the other issue I mentioned under this umbrella, the worst offender for word repetition was “white” showing up five times across two consecutive sentences–four in the first, once again in the second. The passage was describing a griffin, and okay, I get it, the creature is the whitest white ever seen, but for pity’s sake, don’t say it so often!
The whole tone of this is inconsistent, hand-wavey nonsense that’s scattered in ten different directions by all the things it’s trying to accomplish at once. It’s got no focus, so I don’t have patience for it.
A slow-paced, somewhat meandering piece of introspective fiction that isn’t really what it was marketed as–I was introduced to this title via a f/f romance rec list, and the blurb screams “romance” at the top of its lungs. But the romance is a subplot, and the main plot is…well, I’m not exactly sure, because there’s not a lot of structure, and there’s not a lot of closure. Things just happen, in an order that mostly makes sense chronologically and in real life, but don’t really fit neatly into a plot.
Is there a genre for “coming of age but they’re a confused adult rather than a confused teenager”?
I think this plot was trying to do too much, and thus accomplishing little of it well. Ava as a narrator was reasonably fleshed out as a successful musician who still somehow hasn’t got herself figured out, but also she has, because she’s bi and lives for her drum kit, but she doesn’t think anyone outside of her band (and not even all of them) “get” her, and she’s still chasing the approval of her parents, who don’t seem likely for most of the story to give it to her. If the story is about acceptance, well, the ending is pretty weak, because her parents end up saying they’re proud of her but I didn’t really believe them, Ava just blows up at them a few times and they fold over. It came off as them (her mother especially) trying to make her happy by saying the right thing, because they usually manage to justify the way they raised her, and the way they didn’t want her to be a musician because it was too hard a life, by saying “we just want you to be happy” while totally ignoring that being a musician makes her happy. It didn’t feel cathartic when they gave in, only placating.
And the reason that I could write that mini book report about the parents’ plot line is because that’s most of the story. This isn’t a romance. It has a romance in it. I’m trying hard to judge the book on its own merits and not the skewed expectations I went into it with–but I did want a romance, and I got a lackluster moody personal essay about how hard it is when people don’t understand you. Which, you know, valid, even if that’s a vibe we mostly attribute to teenagers–it’s not like being a misunderstood adult would be any easier. But on the other hand, Ava comes off for most of the book as a whining disaster who has no idea what she wants or how to go about getting it (despite her obvious success in her career) and blunders from mistake to mistake without a lot of intention, but with a lot of regret. And it’s just hard to feel a lot of sympathy for someone who’s still acting like a wishy-washy teenager when they’re, as Ava so often says about herself, “pushing thirty.”
I don’t think story knows what it wants to be, because Ava is trying to deal with a budding romance, an unrequited love for her best friend/bandmate, the lack of approval for her life from her parents, her grandmother’s impending move to assisted living and a revelation about a long-held secret, and also her cousin is always around for some reason, but he’s just a bland substitute for her actual best friend because her actual best friend is still across the country.
This story is so unfocused that I’m having a hard time wrangling my review of it into focus. There were parts of it I liked–the author did have a way of slowing down the pace and putting a lot of deep thoughts on the page, and sometimes those did resonate with me. But that just made it all the more jarring that in the rest of the book, all this craziness was going on in such a small space, and without a lot of direction.
Beat the Backlist Bingo: Recommended by a friend/trusted reviewer
Rating: 5/5 stars
If I were to host a personal awards show for the books I read, this novel would be nominated for:
Best use of the fake dating trope Best anxiety representation Best bisexual representation Sweetest “grumpy” male lead Most authentic academic/nerd female lead
And honestly, it might not win all of them if I really dig back into my romance history and say, “Well, is Dani better nerd rep than X or Y or Z from these other books?” for example. But I’m pretty confident it would still make a respectable showing and take home several trophies at least.
These two lovebirds were so convincingly perfect for each other (despite both having deep personal flaws on display basically at all times) that when things were still going swimmingly at 75%, I actually wondered, “Is whatever conflict we’re barrelling towards, that breaks them up before the ending where they get back together, actually going to seem natural and not horribly forced?” Because yes, they were that perfect together, with their banter and their nicknames and the small ways they showed each other they cared even when they really weren’t supposed to, per their fake dating/friends with benefits agreement.
Then it happened, and I wanted to smack myself on the forehead because OF COURSE it happened that way, I honestly can’t believe I didn’t predict exactly what went wrong. But they got their happy ending, and it was lovely, and though my taste doesn’t run to giant muscled ex-rugby players, Zafir is now just as much a treasured book boyfriend as his predecessor in the series was when I read the first book. (Bonus: though Chloe and Red only made brief appearances, they were still cute as buttons.) (Double bonus: as I’m bi, and so is Dani, I’m not at all opposed to the idea of starting a collection of book girlfriends, and she seems like an excellent first entry.)
What really hit me right in the feels, though, even more than the obvious-but-impossible romance between them, was how Zafir’s anxiety disorder was handled. Bad anxiety rep is one of the first things that will turn me off a book, because (with the caveat that no two people experience it exactly the same and no one story can cover the whole of it) it’s so often disastrously wrong to me that I can’t stomach it. Some characters have panic attacks at the drop of a hat and claim that it interferes with their life, but somehow recover instantly and never have any consequences. Others say they’re crippled by anxiety, except it only happens when the plot needs it to happen and the rest of the time they seem joyously neurotypical. But Zaf…well, in some ways, he seemed much more like me. And honestly it was so nice to see a character who had been living with their issues for years and was mostly handling it, but slipped up sometimes, because that’s where I am.
As far as that aspect of the book goes, the biggest compliment I can give it was that when I was done reading (and sniffling, I didn’t quite full-cry but I definitely sniffled) I sat with my knitting for a while to collect myself, then started looking up anxiety help apps and installed one on my phone. Because seeing Zaf slipping and recovering made me face the fact that I haven’t been caring for myself lately the way I should, and no matter what the reasons are or how valid they are, I need to change it, and this was a baby step I could do right away.
It is a romance and not a self-help book, but since romance-as-self-help is kind of a thing in the story anyway, I feel like I fit right in, that these characters would get me. It’s been a while since I’ve connected with the story like this, and I’m grateful for it.
DNF @ 16%. You know how I always say humor is personal? I did not jive with this style of humor at all, I found the characters uniformly juvenile, crude, and irritating. Obviously tons of other readers think this is the bee’s knees, though, so just as obviously, this is a complaint only relevant to me.
There were plenty of problems I had that didn’t involve the humor at all, however.
First, I was not expecting the inciting incident for a rom-com to be the heroine’s mother dying. Way to bring the room down, and to make the humor (whether I liked it or not) seem wildly off tone.
Second, the narrative style is overwritten. Not every line has to be a joke or a snappy remark. Not every noun needs an adjective. Not every thought that passes through the heroine’s head needs to be put on the page. Not every character needs to be a stereotype.
Third, the characters–there are too many. While this is the fourth book in one romance series (of which I haven’t read the first three, this is my first and likely only Reid novel attempt) it’s also the 0.5 intro to the Winston Brothers series, and boy, does the story spend a lot of time on the six of them, to the point where I stopped at 16%, there’s no real hint of a romance starting between the leads aside from the heroine flip-flopping mentally between admiring his looks or voice, and hating him for being around as a part of the family when she wasn’t (essentially, as far as I can tell with what I read.) Because I found the brothers all irritating, I’m not interested in setting up their future romances or even getting to know them, and their constant invasive presence is getting in the way of the romance plot, which is the reason I wanted to read the book at all.
Fourth–yeah, we’re still going on the list of issues–what plot there is so far makes no sense. Heroine peaces out of her family for eight years. Why? Dunno. Comes back because her mom has a medical emergency and refuses to see anyone else in the family. Why? Dunno, and she doesn’t say when the heroine meets with her at the hospital. The hero is apparently dear momma’s go-to guy for everything, since it’s quickly revealed that he gets to make all the decisions because he’s got her power of attorney and is also the executor of her will. Why? Because they’re friends, apparently. But why are they friends? Dunno, and that’s a really big set of responsibilities to set on a non-family member’s shoulders, not to mention the potential for abusing that power. There are other, smaller things about the story that also don’t make sense–like the running gag about six grown men living in the same house having a schedule for using the bathroom for masturbation purposes: do they not have bedrooms? Because if had been established that there wasn’t enough space and they were sharing rooms, okay, maybe, but that’s simply never addressed.
Fifth, I don’t care for everything in the story combining to make the hero a mysterious weird loner whose place in the story relies on all the nonsensical things I just listed. Also, his first title, so to speak, in the story is actually nothing I’ve mentioned so far–he’s also the oldest brother’s boss! Because being Mom’s bestie and having all her decision-making power wasn’t enough. But instead of that defining him better, it just muddies the waters and keeps him hanging around in this situation of creepy enforced intimacy with the heroine. Not long before I stopped, he kisses her on the forehead for some not-obvious-to-me reason and I honestly shuddered, it made me so uncomfortable. And this is the hero! I’m supposed to swoon over him, not wish he’d leave the heroine alone!
Sixth, I put the book down where I did because one of the brothers made a racist joke. Last straw.
An okay start that eventually muddled its way along to a weak ending. I mean, this is a Beauty and the Beast retelling, so we knew the heroine was going to break the curse and get her happily ever after, of course we did.
But the twist in this one, if you can even call it that, is that the curse has farther-reaching effects than just having turned the hero into an immortal dragon. The heroine is affected by it too, after a time, as are the castle’s staff, too, under certain circumstances that we’re told about when everything is eventually revealed. The problem with this is, it’s not apparent until far too late in the story that that’s what’s happening, so Rhianne’s extended period of sickness in the middle doesn’t seem magical, mystical, or cursed–she just seems depressed, and given her situation, fair enough. But a lot of page space was devoted to it, and since it wasn’t obvious it was plot relevant, it felt like a lot of treading water without going anywhere, just when things should have been building to the climax of the story. Then at the end, hindsight and the hero’s knowledge explain everything and it’s all just so perfectly arranged.
I also think that we spend so much time with Rhianne alone–she is the sole POV narrator–that we don’t spend enough time with the hero in order for her to “see who he really is.” The magical plot workaround for that feels cheap, honestly, and gets in the way of actually developing the hero as a character.
It’s not a terrible reimagining–I’ve certainly read worse–but the new elements it tried to incorporate don’t really work for the story, so it’s certainly not good, either.
I finished this solely because it was a constant train wreck and I wanted to see how the love triangle/menage crashed out in the end. It was not a good book, it did not have a good plot or good characters, and while I have no objection to indulging in a smut-fest for its own sake, honestly, the copious sex scenes weren’t great either.
First, it can’t decide if it’s a menage romance or a love triangle, and in trying to split the difference, you end up with a lot of really awkward dynamics. Our heroine comes off as being a selfish, indecisive idiot who doesn’t mind hurting these two men with her dithering, while Heroes #1 and #2, who were best friends before this woman entered their lives, are reduced to constant fighting (both with words and physical violence) about which one of them is going to “win” her. It’s gross all around.
Second, it utterly fails at being a love triangle if that’s what it really means to be, because Heroes #1 and #2 are basically indistinguishable from each other. Sure, they have different names, and are introduced with different hair colors on the heads that top their identical muscle-bound bodies. Okay, fine, they’re both super hot, but they talk the same way, they both bond with the heroine in basically the same way–lots and lots of sex, and very little talking–and they’re both immature jerks trying to one-up the other until the heroine finally decides on one of them. (To be slightly more fair, one of them is supposed to be a little more sweet, while the other is supposed to be a little more “caveman,” but the difference between them only matters briefly at the beginning, then dissolves into no real difference at all when they both decide to be idiots about the whole situation.)
Third, the heroine’s backstory is over-the-top tragic but doesn’t actually matter, because the story isn’t at all about any trauma she’s suffered. I guess it’s supposed to be a reason to pity her and let her get away with this awful behavior? But I don’t buy that, and on a larger scale, it’s Problematique (TM) to have your young heroine be traumatized and abused and a sex worker, and then make her a complete nympho in her personal life, because that says to me that, as a character, she’s so damaged that the only way she can connect with someone is through sex, as a substitute for love, and that’s not at all what this story is about! The narrative claims she’s falling in love with both dudes, and the plot doesn’t deal with her past in any significant way or show her growing as a person.
Fourth, the dudes are also pretty problematic, because one is a cop who meets the heroine when he responds to her car accident, and he immediately goes full-pervert and nearly drools on her while he’s supposed to be doing his job. And then hits on her and asks her out while he’s giving her a ride in his squad car. NO NO NO. Second dude is a little better when he first meets her, except they’re at a bar (where she’s supposed to be meeting dude #1, but he’s late) and when she admits to being twenty, so she can’t drink, he buys her a drink! Illegal! And then it’s not entirely clear at first how drunk or sober she is when she bangs him later that night, until afterward when she’s puking her guts up in his bathroom…so she definitely wasn’t sober enough to consent to sex. Hero #2 got an underage woman drunk and took her home to bang her, and that’s not what I want to see in my romantic leads.
Fifth, the plot makes no sense. There’s very little of it, because this is smut, so I didn’t expect much to string together the many sex scenes, but this plot? Makes no sense. There’s actual cheating going on before the three of them enter the menage stage of the relationship, but instead of that being a deal-breaker for the cheated-upon party, they go for a shared-custody sort of situation and the shenanigans begin. Nobody acts in a way that makes any sense, except, notably, late in the story when the heroine is pissed that her men paid off her school tuition without asking her first, and they were boggled that she was angry. That was just about the only set of emotional reactions to anything in the whole story that felt genuine, because yes, they were being controlling when they thought they were being helpful, so of course they were confused by her anger.
Sixth–I won’t spoil what the ending actually is, just in case anyone who gets this far in my review does honestly still want to read this book, but I will say that I was not satisfied by it.
I’m glad this was a freebie, I’m sorry I wasted a few hours reading it, and I won’t be reading anything else by this author.
Humor is intensely personal, and what makes one person double over with laughter can leave another absolutely indifferent, or even disgusted. I always go into rom-coms knowing I may be disappointed.
But here, I was head over heels for the hero by the end of chapter two, and laughing my ass off constantly. While I didn’t end up loving every minute of the plot–there were a few elements I could have done without–the humor and the characters more than made up for any small quibbles.
I loved that this is a sports romance lite: so many that I’ve read are somehow aspirational, like the women “catching” a sports star is guaranteed to make them happy for life, or that the lifestyle is what matters, not the relationship. That’s not the case here–with some minor changes, this story would have worked just fine if the hero had basically any other job that kept him fit and active. It’s a part of his character that he’s a hockey star, and that informs the plot only as much as necessary to reflect his life–the plot doesn’t revolve around his hockey career, and I like that.
I also like that he’s a crafter, and so is our heroine, and crocheting is basically as important to the story as hockey is. Bonus: the author demonstrated she knows the difference between knitting and crocheting, which you wouldn’t think would be a high bar to clear, and yet it is. As someone who’s known how to do both since childhood, I appreciate anyone who gets it right, because so many people get it wrong, and when I’ve called people out on it (in person, not me haranguing authors in reviews) I usually get dismissed with “it’s all basically the same thing, right?”
But I’m getting diverted, back to the book. Best friends romance! Friends with benefits mashed up with “I’m clueless about sex, please help me!” It’s all a delicious stew of tropes that interlock neatly, with that humor mixed throughout. I nearly finished this in one day, but I fell asleep just before I got to the end and had to finish it in the morning. I knew there was more to this series, of course, but when I flipped through the end matter I almost squealed when I saw how deep the author’s back catalog is. It’s too early to say she’s a new favorite–this is only one book, after all–but there are a lot of first-in-series freebies for me to grab, as well as going on to book two in this one, which I did read the sneak peek of (I don’t usually, I like to be surprised, or I’m not planning to read it anyway when I didn’t like the first book) and I’m honestly tempted to buy it right now.
It’s genuinely been a long time since a rom-com made me laugh this much. I can recommend this to romance fans almost wholeheartedly–there’s a lot of swearing, to the point where it’s a joke about a few characters near the end having to not swear in front of someone’s kid; it’s also stuffed full with dirty talk, even outside of the sex scenes themselves, if that’s a thing that you don’t care for. (I found both aspects to my taste, and also hilarious, but again, humor, and also kinks, are personal, so your mileage may vary.)
While this had decent character development and an okay beginning, it really got muddled in the middle and trite towards the end.
I’m not a fan of blatant miscommunication as a romantic conflict, but this story actually handled it in a new-to-me way: a somewhat disastrous and disjointed conversation at a party between the couple and another woman who was after the male lead. No one was on the same page about what was going on, and you could practically see everything crumbling away as everyone dug themselves a pit. But that interesting point of conflict lead to a lot of “now neither of us knows what we are, and we’re both putting off doing anything about it” that got really boring.
And resolving it all by putting the two leads together at another party (a big fancy fundraiser) that neither knew the other would be attending… (yawn.) On top of it being one of the most overdone things I’ve seen in contemporary romance, the end of the book relies on putting both leads back in touch with their families, neither of which had been all that important to the story beforehand, so the entire thing feels very fish-out-of-water, very forced. It might have helped if the book were actually a little longer, and there was more time to gradually transition from “we’re both in Aspen” to “we’re both in Chicago.” Especially since when the hero goes to Chicago, it’s not immediately clear why, and I spent most of a page wondering if he had followed the heroine there to resolve their conflict; no, he was actually there because his father ordered him to be, but hopefully while he’s in town he can sort out his love life. Again, it was abrupt to the point where it felt forced, rather than natural.
Everything about their interactions from that point until the epilogue felt awkward to the point of being out of character, so it was hard to keep my investment going for these two floundering fools who had started out as characters I found charming enough to get attached to.
On top of that, I had enough minor issues to not be excited about reading more of this series, or this author–especially the worn-out Stan Lee joke about Stanley/Stan/Lee’s name, because why name your hero one thing when the heroine could call him three? The waffling between Stan and Lee was actually a little confusing at the beginning, and “confused” is rarely what I want to be when I’m reading, especially what promised to be a cute, fluffy romance.
It’s not terrible, but it’s not that great, either.
Let’s be generous and say 1.5 stars, because it’s better than one of my recent one-star reads, but definitely worse than another recent two-star read.
I am not a dog person, but I’m not not a dog person either, so I thought I could still enjoy it. I didn’t realize going into this that being a dog person is a requirement. Dogs are arguably more important to the hero than the heroine (which is an issue I’ll revisit) so I felt mildly alienated the whole time that I don’t love dogs as much as anyone in this book.
I dislike romance series that front-load the premise and set-up in the first book to the detriment of the story of the first book, and this was a prime example of that. The prologue is a heavy-handed and maudlin backstory that set a depressing tone for what is supposed to be a happy romance, and throughout the story this history is brought up repeatedly, to the point where I don’t believe the prologue was necessary at all; everything in it could have been revealed organically as the plot unfolded, and it would have been far better that way. In addition, every sibling in this huge family had to be shoehorned into the plot somehow so that we could meet them all, which took away time from the romance but didn’t really add much otherwise. I think the “family” bits could have been limited to Garrett (the lead) and Molly (the former best friend of the other lead) as the primary focus, with Dad and Gramma Finnie being the stronger supporting roles. Everyone else was completely extraneous.
Now let me gripe about the actual story, because Garrett is garbage. He got burned badly once by a woman, so now all women are untrustworthy liars, and he got burned badly once by the media, so all journalists are untrustworthy liars. Our heroine is both of those things. They spent most of the book doing this weird (and at times, questionably ethical) half-interview-half-romance thing, and then when something goes wrong near the end, Garrett one-eighties from “I love you” to “I’m completely unwilling to hear your side of the story because obviously you’re an untrustworthy liar,” and I get that in most romances, it’s the hero who makes the mistake and the heroine who forgives him, because that’s how the genre works, but man, Garrett really effed up, and his apology fits with the theme of the book (dogs are better than people, which is maybe not actually supposed to be the theme but that’s what I got out of it) but doesn’t actually address in any depth how he screwed up, or the magnitude of the hurt he inflicted both by abandoning the heroine over a betrayal she didn’t actually do, and by refusing to listen to her because she’s clearly a no-good lying journalist.
Like, seriously, Garrett, get the fuck over yourself. If you really have trust issues that deep, get counseling, don’t expect the woman in your life to fix you, or yeah, maybe just be alone for the rest of your days with the dogs you like better than people because you’re a bitter mistrustful person, and our heroine could probably (and maybe should) do better.
I’ve read two other novels by this author, also first-in-series freebies I picked up over my years of scrounging romance deals, and since (looking back) I gave those two reads three and four stars, I’m genuinely surprised I thought this was so bad. I certainly won’t be continuing this series, because I’m not dog-person enough to connect with them; I haven’t felt any great need to go back to either series I’d started before, either, so maybe it’s time to scratch this author off my reading lists.
But Elena, I hear you say. If you were that close, why not finish it?
Listen, I was putting up with the fact that this plot didn’t justify a 400+ page novel and a good 40% of the narrative was excessive stage direction. Both lead characters had to describe their every action in detail, right down to clicking through a screensaver to wake up a computer to type up a report. Just say you typed up the report! Or, actually, don’t, because it’s not at all important to the plot, sum up that you end your ER shifts by doing your paperwork and sometimes that means you end up staying late, which is (or at least could be) an important aspect of your life!
I stuck it through despite this being a best-friends-to-lovers story where the leads hardly seemed like friends at all, because the sex question comes up in the very first chapter and we never get to see what they’re like as friends, we only get to see them awkward and at odds with each other until they finally start banging. For most of what I read, they actually don’t seem to even like each other.
Still, that wasn’t bad enough to make me abandon it. I was skimming past paragraphs of pointless description or everyday minutiae, but I still wanted to find out the plot, so I tried.
I gave up at the beginning of chapter 28, because it should have been chapter 27. And I mean that quite literally. The two chapters are clearly reversed, and this book never should have been released with a mistake that large.
How can I tell? Chapter 27 is from Mia’s POV, after a significant family event (which I won’t spoil because it’s not relevant to my complaint what the event is, only that it happens.) The emotional fallout leads to an important conversation, practically an intervention, for Mia about the state of her love life, and it seems to come out of nowhere, because it references a “talk” with Jay, the love interest, that we don’t see happen. I thought it was a weird narrative choice to not actually show the big family event and that talk between our leads, because if the author is detailing screensavers and every sip of a beverage someone takes, why leave out something so big and plot-relevant?
Then Chapter 28 is headed with “Three Weeks Later,” and shows Jay showing up to the family event.
…what? Oh, that was supposed to happen first. The event didn’t take place three weeks after Mia dealt with the consequences of it, because this isn’t a time travel novel and it has to obey the laws of physics. The time skip is between Chapter 26 and “now,” except 27 + 28 are in the wrong order, so I didn’t know that at first.
This is clearly supposed to be the beginning of the end, the road to the emotional climax that gets our lovebirds back together after the big split that ruined everything…so why publish it in this state? How do two chapters get reversed, and it goes to print this way?
In my wilder years of snagging up romance freebies, I somehow ended up with a lot of examples of the “escaped from a cult” genre, and I honestly thought I’d read and discarded all of them already. The differences here are that a) those were invariably about a lone young woman running away, and this is about two young men; b) that lone young woman inevitably falls into the first bed she finds with some protective older (but not usually “old”) man, whereas these two guys are only interested in each other; and c) those other novels only rarely attempted to deal with both the trauma and the day-to-day shortcomings that a cult life stamps on a person raised there.
This novel absolutely tries, and maybe doesn’t do as great a job as I wanted–for all the talk of sex in general and specifically homosexuality being a sin, it goes from a serious issue to a gentle joke pretty fast, after Josh and Caleb start getting each other off. And the story does far more to deal with the practical concerns of being a former cult child–not having a birth certificate, not having proper schooling, and so on–than the emotional scars.
As a romance, though, it’s on fire. These two are clearly made for each other, I believed right away that they’ve known each other their whole lives (unlike many friends-to-lovers pairs I’ve read, who hardly seem like friends at all) and the sex scenes are both hot and emotionally relevant to the story.
Now this means I have another Sarina Bowen series on my list–I’m two books into True North–and for a minute there, I was like, wait, isn’t the next book in that series also about a runaway from a cult? Yes, yes it is, and it turns out he’s even mentioned in this story as being from the same cult. So that’s a nice touch, and I can go into it (whenever I do get to it) with a reasonable amount of confidence that his backstory will be handled well. Because even if part of me is griping “but these men weren’t traumatized enough!” the story here was still really good.
Finally got around to reading this, years after the hype. I actually own the whole trilogy, thanks to the ebooks going on sale for 99 cents a piece, but I’m not inclined to go on with the series.
Let’s start with the most obvious: why bestow upon your main character the title of “Falconer” when there are no birds of any kind in the entire book? This just goes unremarked upon for half the book until Mr. Dark and Broody Fae finally explains what the title means and why Aileana is one. Even if she doesn’t have a falcon.
It’s meaningless. And no, at the moment, I don’t care if she gets a bird in the second or third book. It’s the damn title of this one.
So it’s a well-established fact that I hate love triangles as a trope, it’s one in a million if I can even tolerate one in a story. But here, I finally have a new experience–I actually prefer the losing man. I like Gavin 1000% better than Kiaran. I’m not an angsty teenager anymore, I don’t want the many-hundreds-of-years-old supernatural love interest who’s damaged and mysterious but loves the naive young heroine because she’s just so damn plucky. I want the good, solid dude who’s right there in front of me, being a friend, being considerate as much as possible, doing the right thing, the one who’s loyal and steadfast rather than capricious or downright evil.
As much as anyone gets to have a personality in the midst of this action-action-action fest that barely slows down to think, Gavin comes out on top, and I’d marry him pretty willingly in our heroine’s shoes. When it’s first announced to her, I thought, “Cool, she’s going to marry someone who knows her secret, they could work something out about her quest for vengeance and fae-killing, etc, while still maintaining a veneer of respectability in the human world.”
…but no, that would actually be interesting, so she’s got to end the book kissing Kiaran and being all sad that she has to lock him in the mystical prison in order to save the world. You know, just like Buffy had to kill Angel to close the portal to Hell…wait, was I not supposed to notice that?
I’m not the first reviewer to notice similarities to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, in tone and overall plot concepts more than actual details, but Kiaran is early-seasons Angel down to his bones, and Aileana wishes she had as much personality or depth as Buffy. She doesn’t. As for whether this is near-plagiarism-similar to another particular fae YA series, well, I’ve never heard of that one before and thus haven’t read it, so I can’t say. I can say that aside from moving the standard Fae Dark Romance concept to a steampunk historical Scotland, it’s wildly unoriginal. I’ve seen all this before many, many times, and by not giving me my damn falcon companion to bond with, and ignoring a wealth of potential in making Gavin the winner of the love triangle, it’s repeatedly choosing the safe, well-tread path.
Also, even though I knew there was a cliffhanger so I wasn’t shocked by it, that doesn’t mean I wasn’t disappointed with how clumsy and abrupt it was. That ending is just bad.
In this case, I want to make it clear that my rating is not a reflection of how “good” the book was, but how much I got out of it. I’m not trying to trash a classic of philosophy and political thought. But I also don’t read much about philosophy or political thought, and this work reminded me why.
It’s dry as hell.
I admit to skimming, past a certain point, because especially in “The Prince,” which leads the collection, Machiavelli follows an incredibly clear formula: open a chapter with his thesis statement, explain it a little in generalities, mention a few applicable real-world examples, and then go in-depth on one or more of those examples, before summing his point up at the end. I was able to skip most of the in-depth assessments, because they were basically meaningless to me, as I am not a student of Italian history and had no idea who most of the figures he mentioned were. Some of them continue to loom large in historical perspective today, but many don’t.
What did I actually take away from this? Well, mostly, a rebuttal of the reason I read it in the first place. This is well outside my comfort zone, but I’ve been hearing the descriptor “Machiavellian” thrown around idly for years, and like many, I’d come to understand that it meant cruel or even flat-out evil. I thought, if this is such a foundational work that the author gets his own adjective, I should probably read it at some point, yes?
But I didn’t get a sense of cruelty or evil from his philosophizing at all. Sure, he’s definitely espousing “the ends justify the means” as an overall theme, and he advises duplicity in leaders, to project an image of what he considers “good” while sometimes doing bad behind the scenes in order to promote stability. So from a broadly modern perspective, he’s less than perfectly moral. But he does spend a chapter pointing out that acquiring power through criminal activities isn’t a strong foundation for power. And I discovered that the famous “better to be feared than loved” tidbit is a misquote.
He’s not evil, or promoting evil. He’s just a realist and a pragmatist, from a time in history and political structure incredibly different from ours. No, I personally don’t agree with the idea that the only way for a prince to be a strong leader is to have a kick-ass military. But in context, I do understand why Machiavelli thought that, and advised his own patron thus. I don’t think most of this is applicable to modern day life, but it’s still useful to understand how Machiavelli changed political thought with his writing.
So I’m glad I read it, even if I didn’t really enjoy it. I’m glad I have a more accurate understanding (even if it’s still a basic one, because politics is Not My Thing) of what this famous person really said, versus what common knowledge claims he said. And while I don’t think I was ever using it that much, I’m going to stop throwing around the term “Machiavellian,” because it doesn’t mean what I thought it meant, but I alone can’t stop the tide of people using it incorrectly. (Or, if you want to be really pedantic, using it correctly because that’s what the term has come to mean, even if that meaning is now divorced from its source. Because I can’t in good descriptive faith argue that “Machiavellian” doesn’t carry connotations of evil and cruelty–it does. What I am arguing is that it shouldn’t, but that’s not a fight linguistics will ever win.)