Two for Two or Third Time’s the Charm

It has been a long while since I have honoured the name of my blog with books. I know. I’ve had so many bad experiences with romance novels in recent years, I needed a break. The break, ladies and gentlemen, is over, and I’m proud (and more than happy) to give you, not one, but two hearty recommendations. For all of you who care about historical romance and spicy stuff, that is.

But first, an unnecessary introduction and superfluous information!

At the start of this year, in part to assuage the horrible disregard mentioned in the first sentence, my friend and I formed a book club: 2Neurons or Less, which was soon joined by another friend, also of the female persuasion. The name of the book club attempts to illustrate that the books to be read are to be simple, fun, and, if possible, hot as hell, with little mental effort required during and after reading. So, basically, zero Personal Edification.

The first two books were mediocre to bad, and both were of my choosing. Christina Lauren’s Love and Other Words was ok, in the yeah-whatever-ok sense. Nazri Noor’s Prince of Flowers is possibly the worst book I have ever read. Glad I read it because I did not know that a book can fail on every single level.

Desperate and distraught, the third to join our club was tasked with selecting the third book, because the book club had already been down in the doldrums. And boy, did she get it right with Heartbreaker by Sarah MacLean. I’ve previously read only one book by MacLean and I remember it was decent. But Heartbreaker is definitely more than decent. Yes, there are some awkward moments in the book, things I did not like, but  they fade when the story really gets going.

I recommend Heartbreaker because:

1. The two protagonists are hard not to love and care about.
2. There are other characters with actual personalities who are likeable, some more some less,
3. The romance develops marvelously, no big misunderstanding.
4. Neither of the protagonists suddenly turns into a halfwit to prolong suspense and excitement.
5. The chemistry between the characters is perfect and believable (not just the protagonists, mind you).
6. The spice is decent to very good, not cringeworthy and, for most part, you don’t have to skip it in frustration.
7. There’s a story in here, people. Yes, it serves to get our two protagonists together, but at the same time it is actually interesting, exciting and worth the while.  

Now, at the very start of Heartbeaker, I felt a bit disappointed that the love interest of the story is a Duke. Adelaide is the daughter of a crime boss, and I taught it would make for a good story if she were to get entangled with a man of dubious repute. Then my mind was filled with thoughts of Thomas Shelby, as it is more often than I care to admit. Literally immediately after finishing Heartbreaker (at around 00:30 this morning) I ventured to find a book that would help me scratch that itch. I did not expect much, what with my recent success rate. But I’m no quitter.

So, this morning, at around 00:45 I started reading The Devil of Downtown by Joanna Shupe. I expected to relinquish it by 01:30, but instead it’s now on the list of books which I have read this year. Pretty much everything I have written about Heartbreaker can be applied to The Devil of Downtown. It is nearly as good (less layered and complex), and the biggest difference is that it is set in New York and that this time the criminal element is male.

Damn, I forgot how much I enjoy a good Guilty Pleasure book.

The Warrior’s Apprentice

Time. It has nothing on Miles Naismith Vorkosigan. 

I’ve read The Warrior’s Apprentice more times than I can count, and the only thing that changes is how I relate to Miles. Once I wanted to be like Miles. I wanted to have someone like Miles as a boyfriend. Then I thought it would have been so cool to be his friend. Now I wish I could raise my kid to be more like Miles (well, some of his facets, I’d definitely want her to have a better sense of self-preservation).

And that’s what I think makes a great piece of literary fiction. You can enjoy is at 15, at 28, as well as nearing forty – and not only for the nostalgia’s sake. You can always find something for yourself. Something or someone you enjoy, relate to, draw inspiration from or simply enjoy spending time with.

Reading (listening to) this book, I could hardly keep the smile off my face. I grinned, I laughed. A warm, fuzzy feeling never left me. Contentment clung to me after having to abandon it, with a sense of thrilled anticipation because I knew all of the above was just behind the corner. And there’s more of these books. More of this feeling. And that makes the very start of this series a special thrill.

I’m sure there are many reviews and reflections that will tell you all about the quality of worldbuilding, the amazing characterization and writing of Lois McMaster Bujold. Some will indicate what might be seen as plot holes and some might point out that Miles is convincing as admiral Naismith, but not THAT convincing. Some probably reflected on convenience and coincidence. However, for me, it’s all about the feeling, the immersion, the intermingling of this amazing world with my own.

I am grateful for the existence of Lois McMaster Bujold, for her craft and talent and for her willingness to share it with the world. She made it a better place for generations and generations of readers.

*The title image is the cover of the Croatian (Algoritam) edition of The Warrior’s Apprentice (Pripravnik za ratnika) by Esad Ribić.

Augustus by John Williams

As soon as I finished Stoner (2020), I wanted to jump on Augustus, but the epistolary form deterred me. I’m not a fan because, in my mind, the form does not allow for much excitement or creativity, or rather it allows for as much excitement and creativity as a (mediocre) tennis match. However, Augustus is not really an epistolary novel (as I see it), there is no back-and-forth, no passing of the ball. Augustus is a collection of letters, correspondences, excerpts, and journal entries by a myriad of people who were, in one way or another, a part of the life of Augustus. They are not put in chronological order. They follow the logic of the story of the man, friend, politician, father, lover… the story of Rome at her best (and worst).

The genius of Mr. Williams is shown first in that. The seemingly random ordering of correspondences that makes perfect sense and paints a picture that you need to see. We have “contemporary” recounts of the events, and same events are recounted decades after they took place. Deeply personal reflections are interspersed with historical ones. Feeling is intermingled with fact. For most part, it took effort to regard Augustus as a work of fiction, which is what makes it the best historical fiction I have read to date.

The second proof of genius is the fact that each of those myriad people who voice their thoughts in this book is singular. At no point do you confuse one “author” with the other. The tone, the language, the turn of phrase, clear relation to Augustus and other “authors” make sure that you always know who is telling the story.

The third proof is, for me, the most important one. Williams tells nothing, but he shows everything (maybe even too much). I think this level of not telling is possible exactly because of the form he chose (and because he was a genius). You end up inferring so much from these letters and entries, at times it’s even too much. Octavius is barely present for most of the book, but at the same time he permeates each and every sentence. Yes, sometimes people who like him and dislike him express their feeling directly, but mostly you have to read between the lines and there’s so much to find there it is sometimes overwhelming.

The fifth proof is that this epistolary novel is full of action, intrigue, sex, and love. It is never boring. It somehow manages to be exciting and suspenseful, while showing you all the glory and grime of Rome, power, and responsibility. Maybe this would not amaze a more experienced reader of such prose, but to me it came as quite a surprise.

Enter Octavius.

I cannot tell you what this does to the book, what this does to the heart and the mind. The ending of Augustus is one of the most exquisite pieces of literature I have ever had the privilege to read. And, if all the previous sentences did not break my heart, the last one surely did.

“Mankind in the aggregate I have found to be brutish, ignorant, and unkind, whether those qualities were covered by the coarse tunic of the peasant or the white and purple toga of a senator. And yet in the weakest of men, in moments when they are alone and themselves, I have found veins of strength like gold in decaying rock; in the crudest of men flashes of tenderness and compassion; and in the vainest of men moments of simplicity and grace.”

Now, to be true to the name of my blog, I have to touch upon one seemingly trivial piece of information, which could be considered a spoiler, insomuch that a piece of history can be considered a spoiler. The relationship of Julia, Octavius’ only biological child, and Julius Antonius, son to Marcus Antonius, is one of the best written romances I have ever read.

Goodbye

I don’t know what Shadowfever is, but I would not categorize it as a book. It’s one MC’s egotrip, And that MC is certifiable and should be kept under close watch at all times. I cannot even say that MacKayla irritates me, because I feel compassion for her – she is a sex-crazed, self-obsessed maniac with illusions of grandeur and some serious identity issues.

Darkfever, Bloodfever and Faefever are as good as I remember, but, come Dreamfever, it all goes belly up. I do stand by my previous claim about it being the ultimate guilty pleasure, due to Jericho Barrons. He manages to keep things afloat even in book 4. But come Shadowfever…

SPOILER ALERT (I guess)

I’m not a particularly touchy reader and it’s difficult to offend me. I’m mostly offended by bad writing and stupid plot twists. I treat fiction as fiction and am ready to suspend my disbelief as far as I can. But the treatment of rape in this series is just unacceptable. The fact that it seems to me that the main character spiraled into some form of madness after the rape might be my attempt to make some sense of it. I now realize that, after all, I am simply unable to overlook the fact that the rape is glossed over. That the person raped interacts and spends time with her rapists without any difficulty and that she has no issue with other characters reminding her of being raped repeatedly. Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever read this again.

END OF SPOILER

Now I must go reexamine my life, because the fact that at some point of it I thought this book was awesome proves that I cannot be trusted. I thought this was the best book of the series.

Ultimate Guilty Pleasure

I don’t know have you ever come upon one of those crazy, CAPSLOCK reviews on Goodreads where a person of female persuasion gushes about a male character. I have. Many times. Most of those make me slightly concerned for the mental health of their authors. However, I do get where they come from because there is one such character that I’ve been crazy about for years. Regardless of the faux pas Karen Marie Moning made later on in the series, Jericho Barrons remains my only serious book crush.

I was a bit apprehensive, going back to the Fever series after being terribly disappointed in it, but the apprehension proved unwarranted. Jericho Barrons still rocks.

Let me tell you how much he rocks.

I’ve decided to listen Darkfever, having discovered that audio books are a perfect tool for someone who wants to read all the time. In it, Jericho Barrons sounds like an 80-year-old grandma. And guess what. He’s still hot.

As his first appearance in the book neared, I was giddy as a schoolgirl (yes, I could have used all caps to illustrate my anticipation). And then he spoke, and my body clenched. It was horrible. But guess what. Karen knows how to write and she has written him perfectly. Yes, it is a bit disturbing, finding a character that sounds like an octogenarian woman sexually appealing. But hey….

The cramped room was suddenly stuffed to overflowing with Jericho Barrons. If a normal person filled one hundred percent of the molecules they occupied, he somehow managed to cram his to two hundred percent capacity.

Halfway down the block was a denser spot in the darkness that I took to be him. It was impossible to make out his shape, but that patch of darkness seemed to hold more substance, more potency than the shadows around it. It also made me shiver a little. Yes, that would be him.

You can feel the energy sizzling and crackling in the air as the lines flop and twist on the ground, and you know you’re standing next to raw power that could turn your way with killing force at any second.

Now don’t get me wrong. It’s not all about Barrons (although it mostly is). Darkfever is a good book and Karen Marie Moning brings suspense and dread while at the same time creating a safe haven within the ever-changing world. MacKayla Lane, a superficial, self-absorbed character grows and grows up. At first I disliked her, then I kind of liked her. Then (as the series progresses) I started loving her.

The difference between Karen Marie Moning and, let’s say, Sarah J. Mass, is that Karen controls her story and she directs the feelings of the reader, carefully but without duress. She doesn’t force you to go along, she nudges you gingerly, gives you options and allows you to choose. And she is in no hurry.

Yes, this is fairy fantasy for girls, but this is well-written fairy fantasy for girls. The best I have come across and the only reason why I decided to read Holly Black (Folk of The Air is very good) and Sarah J. Maas (nope).

And now I will continue with the Fever series with apprehension. Because I know that Karen Marie Moning fucks it up. And she fucks it up real good.

!My Body Clenched!

Having in mind that there are a billion reviews of this book, instead of another one I bring you – my notes.

• detailed description of clothes – don’t care, also your hair – don’t care
• pure torture, lifeless, artificial
• I’m so fucking bored right now

• I think I’m going to vomit
• hahahahahahahhahaha
• STOP DESCRIBING EVERYTHING, YOU’RE NO GOOD AT IT
• so, Tamlin is a completely different character now? what
• I hate you so much, please shut up FEYHRHEHEHE, STOP DESCRIBING EVERYTHING, IT’S BORIIIIIIIIIIING
• waterboarding? nah, just play this shit to somebody and they’ll sell out their mother and their country
• hahahaha, this is so ridiculous, it’s kind of fun
• ARGH nobody cares, when is this dinner going to end
• interminable this dinner
• much characterization, wow
• I’m going to cry if this dinner doesn’t end
• the. dinner. is. still. on.

“and I went to the prison – whatever that was”

“she yielded her dinner”

• all the vomiting is awesome, really
• ah yes, everyone has a mama-san story, of course
• this is pathetic, this rushed explanation about why she abandoned Tamlin

“I remembered him, and not from memory”

• so, so ,sooooo much talking
• I really don’t like Feyre, she’s full of herself

“Some part of me reminded myself”

• characterization – just let a character talk about something that has happened to another character, that should do it

“My body clenched”

• did she forget about Tamlin, Lucien and the Spring Court?
• why is this book?
• STOP TALKING PLEASE
• it’s like Maas decided to change the first part of the book, but instead of going back and actually changing it, she just EXPLAINED what REALLY happened
• hahahahhaha, this is ridiculous
• NO. Please. Stop with all the talking, it’s not how books work. Please.

• oh. now she paints.
• how does something this bad becomes so big (twss)
• is something going to happen in this book? anything? please?
• if you have an eating disorder you should not listen to this

“glittering ebony power”

• please PLEASE, I’m crying

• the grunting and moaning, skipping this with glee
• unable. to. can.
• I really need to read the Fever Series again
• there’s a billion chapters and I think three of them contain actual plot

Your inconstancy doth strike my heart / With ire, that doth make me sick

I was so angry when I finished If We Were Villains, I was ready to angry-rate it. But I won’t. It wouldn’t be fair to disregard the initial elation I felt, the enjoyment the book gave me until it became a major irritant. I loved a third of it, two thirds irritated me, and the last third (or so) I downright hated.

The thing is, the biggest fault of this book is that it did not turn out as good as I wanted it to be. As good as it could have been.

Shakespeare. Elite university. Life on campus. A group of close friends. A Crime.

One third in and I was crazy about it. I loved it. Couldn’t put it down. Was even ready to use that horrible word unputdownable when describing it. But then it happened. Inconsistencies. In everything. Story. Characters. Relationships. Everything.

As inconsistencies kept piling up, I kept hoping they will be miraculously resolved. But they were not. You cannot resolve inconsistent characterization. You cannot resolve the fact that important things are glossed over and a leaf fluttering in a crisp autumn breeze gets a full page.

Shakespeare was awesome for most of the book, as he usually is. The way his work was connected with what was going on, with what the characters were feeling was great. But it grew tedious, because the stuff it was connected to was no longer worthy. So to speak.

The writing was really good and, for the most part, it kept me going. It is the reason I’ll keep an eye out on books by M. L. Rio. I especially loved the fact that the colour red is at one point described as being arterial. One of my favourite syntagms. (Which is also used in The Last Action Hero).

The thing I hated the most, and which made me knock off a star is Oliver Marks, the MC and narrator.

At first I felt he was too perceptive for a male. Yes, yes, I know. But what I don’t know are men who notice the shade of make-up a women is wearing (dark plum purple), or a man who would say “fifteen-inch heels” instead of “high-heels”. But that wore off soon enough and I came to accept it as a me-problem, not a book-problem. However, it was soon replaced by a bigger problem.

THE FOLLOWING IS SPOILERISH, ALTHOUGH NOT REALLY.

Oliver is portrayed as a nice-guy.

“You know, everyone calls you nice,” she said slowly, expression drawn and thoughtful. “But that’s not the word. You’re good. So good you have no idea how good you are.”

But he is not nice, not really. For example, when he goes home he finds out his sister has an eating disorder which is so severe to warrant hospitalization. His parents inform him that this means they will no longer be able to pay his tuition. His reaction is to get really really angry at his parents, and at no point in the book does he express concern for his sister.

Ok, I’m not being fair. The master of words does react with: “Right. That’s … awful.” But that’s before he finds out about the tuition: “You’re telling me I have to drop out of Dellecher because Caroline needs some celebrity doctor to spoon-feed her?” That’s nice, Oliver.

Additionally, here we found out that his parents are paying 20.000 dollars (per annum, I guess) for him to become an actor. Which came like a huge surprise to me, because at the very start of the book Oliver tells us the following:

“Seems like just yesterday my dad was shouting at me for throwing my life away.” ….

My father, even more staunchly opposed than most, refused to accept my decision to waste my university years.

“Art school” alone was enough to provoke my rigidly practical father.

Apparently, it provoked him into supporting his son in pursuing his dream, even though he thought it was not the best choice. That asshole. How dares he.

And then that father goes on to point out that “your sister’s health is more important than us paying twenty thousand dollars for you to play pretend”. Horrible person. Atrocious. And other synonyms.

I was going to get into the characterizations of Richard and James, Fillipa, Meredith, and Wren. But I won’t. It would take ages, and would boil down to them all being either inconsistent or sketchy, or both.

In the end, I didn’t angry-rate the book. I just angry-reviewed it.

A Feel-Good Murder Mystery

I am glad to report that the TV show has honoured the book(s) on which it was based. The wit and charm are there, as is Brother Cadfael’s realistic outlook, sparkled with a dash of cynicism.

It might sound improbable, but it is not impossible to imagine if you have seen Cadfael on TV, that a medieval murder mystery titled A Morbid Taste for Bones would fall into the Maximum Coze category. The mystery is, in fact, the weakest part of this book, which is beautifully written, subtle and unassuming, with a cast of characters who irk, entertain and please.

I am not surprised that I enjoyed it as much as I did, because I still remember how much I enjoyed Cadfael on TV. I am, however, a bit taken aback by the fact that I teared up two times at the end of the book because I was touched.

I will most definitely revisit Cadfael in his written abode. I’ll leave you with two quotes which give a rather good insight into Cadfael.

Good Enough is Still Good

Since I’ve read Madeline Miller’s The Song of Achilles, I’ve been on the lookout for anything that is related to Greek mythology. Not actively searching, but keeping an eye out. What drew my attention to Lore was the cover which I really, really, really liked. So, I ended up buying it and (which is not always the case) reading it.

After almost a third of the book, it seemed like Lore might become a cautionary tale confirming the old adage “don’t judge the book by its cover” – in the literal sense. However, it turned out to be the opposite.

Greek gods and descendants of ancient heroes fighting each other in modern-day New York proved to be thrilling and fun. The story is a bit out there, and it took me a while to suspend my disbelief, but once I accepted the premise, the only thing that put a damper on the experience was the writing. Luckily, only occasionally.

It’s not bad, it’s ridiculously inconsistent. There are instances when Alexandra Bracken gives too many unnecessary information, and then there are instances when she practices the art of subtlety and writes something that’s worth highlighting and writing down.

For example, when Lore pulled out a dagger, we know that is the dead hunter’s dagger which she’d tied to her thigh with a strip of fabric. Instead “the back of her neck” we get “the hollow where the base of her skull met the ridge of her spine.” Then, when you least expect it, Ms Bracken gives you the bare minimum – just the right amount: “…he drew her closer, until she felt his blatant need for her, and a heaviness settled low in her stomach in response.” And that’s it. Thank gods, that’s it. That’s all the “spice” we get in this book and it’s one of the best things about Lore.

I’ll end on a positive note, with two quotes I liked.

Oops, I did it again

I did. I took my sweet time and I finally got to the beloved ACOTAR. I was running away from it for a long time, but I knew I was going to get to it eventually. Like I got to watching Breaking Bad and the Wire, once the craziness died down. I am the type, the type that needs to see what’s the hype all about.

Surprisingly so, I get it. I get it because I read it and I enjoyed it. It’s easy, it’s simple. Unlike life.

The characters are ok, generic and unoriginal, but ok. The plot is ok. Kept me interested enough to wade through the initial irritation and start enjoying myself. There’s a lot of telling, but not much showing which made both characterization and worldbuilding seem blurry and undefined. Worldbuilding being by far the worst aspect of the book.

Occasionally, the writing gets in the way of the good parts of the book. I cannot get over things such as “the words caressing my bones”, “I/he/she/it loosed a breath”, and I really don’t need more than one “thick column of his neck”. Actually, I could do with zero of thick neck-columns.

I really hate when clumsy writing pulls me out of the story and bring me back into the real world, she bared her teeth and growled inwardly.

There were also some poor editing choices (or that’s what I’d call them). Not many, but unnecessary repetition makes it seem like the author thinks I am Guy Pearce’s character from Memento. Yes, I remember what has already been mentioned 200 times and how it might emotionally affect the character.

I don’t get two things. I don’t get the people who are obsessed with ACOTAR (or Colleen Hoover) and I don’t get what’s all the fuss about Tamlin and Rhysand. There’s a million of Tamlins and Rhysands, and at least a quarter of million of those are way more deserving of the attention Tamlin and Rhysand get. Jerricho Barrons, to name one of them. Now him… Well…

So yeah, A Court of Thorns and Roses is ok.