willaful

I bought this with a Kobo 90% off coupon, and I think I want my $.42 back.

After enjoying the first two books in this series, I was really curious about how the slimy character Nathaniel was going to be reformed into a hero. That issue was resolved in an unusual way: after being attacked and having a near-death experience, Nate is no longer the callous, obnoxious person he once was.  But he was very nasty to heroine Marty in high school, and she has trouble believing in his reform.

What bothered me was the very classist way in which Nate's change is expressed: he used to be a good ole boy, but now women in tight clothes and heavy make-up aren't classy enough for him. I think there's an attempt to create some balance between the depiction of all bad, "trashy" characters and all good "classy" characters, but it felt pretty feeble.

The plot was also heavily melodramatic and then dwindled away into nothing at the end. If you're going to do melodrama, you need to have some follow-through and payoff.

Most of the reviews I've read of this say it's really good but goes downhill at the end. I thought it was just bearable and then got so bad, I was tempted to stop listening with just an hour left. It's cliched and obvious and the lack of any kind of moral center is simply appalling. Thorn thinks nothing of having sex with the unmarried woman he is setting up with his closest friend. India also gives no thought at all that the man she's considering marrying might be legitimately bothered by her having been with his best friend, like, a day previously. And neither of them consider how Thorn's intended wife would feel if she ever found out her entire home had been designed and decorated by her husband's lover.

Thorn's intended Lala is constantly described as sweet and warm and simple, yet there's no real sign of this in her depiction -- it's as if the narrative is saying, well, she can't just be shy and boring, so we have to give her some kind of positive quality. She's actually perhaps the most interesting character in the book, since her so-called simplicity is due to being learning disabled and consequently thinking she's stupid.

If I want to read about people having indiscriminate sex without any thought for others or possible consequences, I'll read a contemporary. No wait. That doesn't work either.

London's usual format: innocent heroine, cynical rakish hero, mysterious villains, and a cast of fun secondary characters. This is sort of a gothic romance parody, with the heroine frequently commenting on what an idiot she's been. The first-person narrative is sometimes funny, but despite her self-awareness, her idiocy got on my nerves. The Bad Baron's Daughter is still my favorite of their historicals, after The Windflower.

I think the goal here was to write an NA book with all the emotional power, but none of the cringy sexist/insane themes that permeate the genre. It succeeded very well.

There was just so much weirdness in this one. One secondary character talks about how her mom cared more about her career than her family, adding "It was almost a relief for Dad, and us, when she died." Wow. Later she mentions casually that she's prone to migraines, as if she'd said, "Oh yeah, an elephant sometimes sits on my face, no biggie."

But the stuff with the hero was the weirdest of all. He tells the heroine that she's putty in his hands and he could have her whenever he wants, but at the end explains that he'd been waiting for her to grow up and be able to physically respond to him. Wha...? I'm so confused...

Oh, and after being warned that he must let the concussed amnesiac heroine regain her memory naturally, and dealing with all kinds of complications to protect her from discovering she's forgotten five years of her life, he decides to just up and tell her, "You're actually 22, not 17" so that it's not as gross when he makes out with her.

Even with all that, I enjoyed it. Sometimes I'm just in the mood for a really nasty Palmer hero and this one was super nasty. And the heroine was pretty tough, not just a doormat.

My mother always says, never make sacrifices for your husband or children; they hold it against you forever.

Then I stare into the mirror as the shower heats up, analyzing every inch of my decidely average and plain face; the big eyes that are just a bit too far apart, the nose that's kind of cute and buttony and makes me look like a little girl, which can't be attractive; the full and pouty mouth which I'm sure make people think of waterbeds and pus-weeping sores.

book trigger warning: heroine was raped

This was one of the first Harlequin Presents I read when I started up again after a 30 year hiatus. I hated it, but recently felt like rereading it and seeing what I think now.
 
Joel: [Is typical sexist horrible HP hero.]
Darcy: "I hate you I hate you I hate you."
[forced marriage, followed by forced seduction sexytimes]
Darcy: "That was awesome! TOO awesome. Get away from me you disgusting pervert!"
Joel: "I feel terrible about having been a typical sexist horrible HP hero, so will now respect your oft-stated desire to have nothing to do with me."
Darcy, to self: "He loves someone else! He was just using me for sex!"
Joel: "Please spend platonic time with me because I'm so crazy about you."
Darcy: "Get away from me you disgusting pervert!"
[initiated by Darcy sexytimes]
Joel: "I love you I love you I love you."
Darcy: "He loves someone else! He was just using me for sex! Get away from me you disgusting pervert!"
Joel: "I was only a typical sexist horrible HP hero because I fell in love with you at first sight."
Me: "Oh fuck off, the both of you!"

These collections are generally fairly crappy, but the fairy-tale theme seems to have been unusually inspiring. I skipped the inevitable Mary Blaney "magic coin" story, because I never find them very interesting, and R.C. Ryan's take on Cinderella was too corny for words, but the others used paranormal elements well and had some sweet romances. I'm interested in reading more from Elaine Fox and Mary Kay McComas now.

This is a good example of trying to reuse an old romance plot that doesn't age well. The young woman traumatized by an early brush with sex is a Penny Jordan standard, and it made some sense in more restrictive times. But this was published in 1992; moreover, the heroine's parents are present, and are obviously nice, sensible people, not religious fanatics. Yet we're supposed to believe that because of one drunken one-night stand at 18, she think she's a fallen woman whom no good man could ever love. I'm not exaggerating.

It was a moderately interesting story for awhile, but by the end it was a giant snoozefest.  Very little happens other than her trembling. She trembles with fear, she trembles with attraction, finally it all works out and she trembles with joy. I'm giving it 2 stars because I was surprised and pleased that the heroine -- sorry, I've already forgotten everyone's name, that's how exciting they were -- actually blames the hero for taking advantage of her while she was drunk. (Though in fact, he didn't really.) An older skool Jordan heroine would only blame herself.

This is well written and I enjoy the author's voice -- the dialogue has a nice give and take, and the sex scenes are strong.  But the plot was just gross! I really dislike books that play around with incest, especially when it's done very deliberately to titillate. This isn't the worst I've encountered, but bad enough.

Other things that bugged me:

-- James finds Leah asleep in his bed and calls her his "birthday present." He's aggressive when she rejects him, but then gets all horrified when he realizes she was almost raped the night before. Because what he was just considering isn't rape, of course. She was in his bed, ergo she belongs to him.

-- Neither of them even mention the possibility of having the rapist arrested. James's advice: "Don't dwell on this, Leah. Just chalk it up as one of life's brutally educational experiences." I'm sure the next woman the guy successfully rapes will be comforted by that advice.

-- James later goes and beats the rapist up. That makes it okay.

I'll read Burford again, but hope for less ick.