3 stars
Captive Bride by Bonnie Dee is a short and sweet historical romance set in San Fransisco in 1870. Huiann was given away by her parents in China, with the expectation that she would be taken to America and marry a wealthy Chinese-American businessman. But after a long steamship trip, she quickly realises their naivety. She is not to be a wife, but a whore. When Huiann escapes from the luxurious brothel where is imprisoned, she is taken in by Alan, a local shopkeeper. Despite their lack of a common language, he offers her a position as his housekeeper and they build a relationship.
I did enjoy Captive Bride, but I couldn't help but feel that it never really achieved its potential. It was largely memorable for its setting. Having the two protagonists not being able to communicate in a shared language is always tricky, but I felt like the relationship between Alan and Huiann was rushed, and neither's characterisation was as strong as I would have liked. To me, this kept it in the realm of 'good' rather than 'excellent'. I also have some doubts about Huiann's protrayal, which I can't really put into words.
While I may have my doubts about the central relationship, the setting of the novel was deftly drawn and made for fascinating reading; I found the author's note that outlined the context of Chinese-American relations in this time to be one of the book's most interesting parts.
5 stars
Sarina Bowen's The Shameless Hour popped up on my Amazon in the 'New for You' section, and I was instantly drawn in by the beautiful cover:
Even more intriguing was the fact that, out of 16 reviews, there was only one person who hadn't given it 5 stars. I bought it to find out what kind of super-book could manage that, and stayed up waaay too late to finish it. The madness continued when I mass-downloaded the rest of the Ivy Years series, which I devoured during Sydney's so-called Storm of the Century. (Coincidentally, a century is also the estimated time before my teleco gets my internet working again. I think they must be using hairdryers to get the water out of the cables or something.)
But moving away from my #firstworldproblems and back the the topic at hand, I think it's fair to say that I was very impressed with The Shameless Hour. The last time I remember being this engrossed in a New Adult book was Trade Me, which was the not only the first review I posted on this blog, but also the impetus for starting it. As with Trade Me, it was the layers of the characters - and the way these embodied the struggle of the modern, diverse world - that I really loved.
The protagonists, Rafe and Bella, live in the same building at the prestigious (but fictional) Harkness College. The night they meet properly, Bella invites Rafe - devastated and drunk after finding out his girlfriend has been cheating on him with some Rolex-wearing jerk - into her room. One one-night stand later, Rafe's lost his virginity. Bella, not understanding why he's so awkward after their encounter, decides to avoid him. And she does a pretty good job, until Rafe's the person who discovers her at the lowest point in her life. She's been drugged by a frat and had profanities written across every inch of her skin in permanent marker. Even worse, it's all across the internet. Realising Bella has no-one else, Rafe steps up, refusing to let her live out the rest of the semester from beneath her duvet cover.
As that brief rundown of the plot suggests, The Shameless Hour was refreshingly different from the bulk of romances, New Adult or otherwise. For one, Bella's no shrinking violet of a heroine. She goes after what she wants and her transformation from sex-positive feminist to reclusive hermit and back again is supremely affecting. Rafe is such a caring and thoughtful hero, there's a jaded part of me that wonders if he's more closely related to leprechauns and unicorns than your average college-aged guy.
Rafe is not actually descended from little green men; he's of Dominican extraction, and no one ever heard of a Dominican leprechaun. But his ethnic background isn't just a sop thrown in to appeal to a wider market. It's integral to his character, the reason he's still a virgin at twenty. His mother, having being knocked up and then abandoned by Rafe's dad at the tender age of nineteen, brought him up with the old tenet of if-you-don't-want-children-don't-have-sex, as well as a healthy respect for women. It is partly Rafe's experience of what happens to good Catholic girls who fall on hard times that makes him so compassionate toward Bella. The result is an interesting reversal of one of romance's most long-standing and pervasive tropes: the sexually experienced man and virginal woman.
The Shameless Hour was a truly 21st century novel. It tackles some serious social issues, but does so in a way that is remarkably un-judgemental and keeps the reader engaged. Even as the slut-shaming Bella was put through made my heart break, another part of me was going 'yes, finally someone's talking about this stuff, making it clear that we don't bring it on ourselves, that it's a problem and not just our cross to bear'. I honestly can't stress enough how much it meant to me to read about a heroine who was as sure of herself and her beliefs, and in a stunning example of why we need these characters who challenge the assumption that women who are not 'pure' have no worth, the very day I read this book Avengers actors Jeremy Renner and Chris Evans called another (female) character in the movie a 'slut' and a 'whore'. They were, of course, called out and both issued 'apologies' which basically told everyone offended that they needed to learn to take a joke.
Such is life, but maybe one day - if we have more great books like The Shameless Hour - things will be different.
5 stars
"I know you think you've heard this story before, but you're wrong. Some would have it that this story begins with a virtuous virgin, a young woman of honesty and integrity sucker punched by cruel fortune and forced to sleep among the cinders while her moral inferiors lived the which was meant to be hers. Bullshit. This is no fairytale."
That's the first paragraph of Ember by Bettie Sharpe, and it's certainly not the last time the heroine, Ember, breaks the fourth wall to warn the reader not to glorify her. For all it has the same first-person narration and fantastic setting as the fairytale retellings of my childhood, it's no starry-eyed Ella Enchanted. In fact, it's completely different from anything I've ever read before.
The main character, Ember, is a witch. Not a sanitised bubbles-and-rainbows type of witch (I'm looking at you, Glinda the Good), but a legitimate witch, the kind that makes blood sacrifices and gets her revenge on those who've wronged her. Her love interest is equally unconventional. At birth, Prince Adrian Juste was blessed with the universal regard of his subjects; men respect him, women want him, and neither can deny him anything. As much as he craves a life where he's not surrounded by sycophants, he's not above using his curse to get what he wants. And he wants Ember, the one woman who isn't affected by his unnatural charm.
Ember is unburdened by conventional morality, and it makes her an unpredictable and memorable character. As a snarky anti-heroine, she's eminently relatable. Sharpe treads the tightrope between amorality and likability well, keeping the reader onside through Ember's loyalty to her step-mother and -sisters. In this adaptation, Ember's step-family are whores, forced to escape their homeland and make a new life with Ember and her father. Once again, Sharpe deals with this sensitively, and provides the reader with a raft of great secondary characters at the same time. One of the things I really loved about this novel was that all of its characters were well-developed, independent of gendered stereotypes. There was no cookie-cutter hero, or same-same good-girl heroine; each and every character was unique and interesting. This in-depth characterisation was countered by a realtively simple plot, but this too was well-executed.
Potenital readers should be aware that there are a few more swearwords thrown around than usual. I didn't feel like they were gratuitous - Ember's character wouldn't have been half as bad-ass without them, that's for sure - but we each have differing levels of tolerance for these things. Ditto the level of sexuality. While Ember doesn't have any more sex scenes than your average romance novel, Ember and those around her are all overtly sexual beings. Frankly, it would have been weird if this hadn't been the case, given her stepfamily's profession and the Prince's curse!
If I had to critique one thing about Ember, it would be that it was sometimes scarce on details. This occasionally drew me out of the narrative, as I'd have to flick back a page or two to remember where a particular conversation was taking place or some other such thing that had been mentioned, but not reinforced through detailed description. However, I don't feel like this came at the expense of the characterisation or plot, and it didn't really detract from my enjoyment of the book.
Ember was a great read and, at the moment, it's $0.79 on kindle. THAT'S SEVENTY-NINE CENTS, GUYS. You can't even buy a Ghost Drop for 79 cents these days. And unlike many cheap reads on Kindle, there's not a spelling or formatting mistake in sight, in addition to a good plot and excellent characterisation. It's the mythical needle in a haystack, the hen's tooth, the black cat in the coal cellar. I'm getting overly poetic now so I'll stop, but if it sounds like your thing, go get it!
A few weeks ago, second-wave feminist Gloria Steinem made the news for a interview in which she spoke about the importance of early black feminists, saying:
I thought they invented the feminist movement. I’ve learned feminism disproportionately from black women. I realize that things being what they are, the white middle-class part of the movement got reported more, but if you look at the numbers and the very first poll of women responding to feminist issues, African American women were twice as likely to support feminism and feminist issues than white women.
I've had Gloria Steinem: The Kindle Singles Interview sitting on my Kindle for several months now, but this statement pushed it back up to the top of my TBR pile. It's a transcription of an interview with Steinem, in which she recounts her experiences growing up and her increasing consciousness of gender inequality, as well as touching on a range of modern-day social, cultural and political issues. It's a quick and easy read, but none the less thought-provoking for it.
For me, a real lightbulb moment was her assertion that the fights for racial and gender equality are inherently linked, and treating them as entirely separate discourses is a conscious move of those with power to maintain the status quo. It's something that I've never considered before, but now notice a lot. If you are interested in feminist thought, or identify as a feminist, or even if you are on the fence, it's definitely worth the hour or so it takes to read it.
And for anyone who hasn't come across Kindle Singles, they are short pieces of writing (both fiction and non-fiction) that you can buy pretty cheap on Amazon. I find them really useful when I don't have the will, brain power or time to invest in something book-length but still want to read something meaty. It's much easier than trying to learn about a particular topic by reading an in-depth, full-length non-fiction book cover to cover, and there is something there for everyone.
I have a big German examination at university this week and I need to master adjective endings before I sit it. Unfortunately, adjectives in German are notoriously tricky. Mark Twain, in his essay The Awful German Language, wrote:
"Now observe the Adjective. Here was a case where simplicity would have been an advantage; therefore, for no other reason, the inventor of this language complicated it all he could. When we wish to speak of our "good friend or friends," in our enlightened tongue, we stick to the one form....When a German gets his hands on an adjective, he declines it, and keeps on declining it until the common sense is all declined out of it....He says, for instance:
SINGULAR
Nominative -- Mein guter Freund, my good friend.
Genitive -- Meines guten Freundes, of my good friend.
Dative -- Meinem guten Freund, to my good friend.
Accusative -- Meinen guten Freund, my good friend.
PLURAL
N. -- Meine guten Freunde, my good friends.
G. -- Meiner guten Freunde, of my good friends.
D. -- Meinen guten Freunden, to my good friends.
A. -- Meine guten Freunde, my good friends.
Now let the candidate for the asylum try to memorize those variations, and see how soon he will be elected....I have shown what a bother it is to decline a good (male) friend; well this is only a third of the work, for there is a variety of new distortions of the adjective to be learned when the object is feminine, and still another when the object is neuter....Difficult? -- troublesome? -- these words cannot describe it. I heard a Californian student in Heidelberg say, in one of his calmest moods, that he would rather decline two drinks than one German adjective."
You can imagine how long my German practice lasted before I turned to a romance novel for solace, especially since it was Easter and if there is one thing you should not be doing over a holiday, it is German declensions. I'm pretty sure that was of of the prescriptions of Lent, right up there with not eating red meat. So I read Bed of Spices by Barbara Samuel instead and it was one of the best books I've read in ages. As you can see from the cover below, Bed of Spices is an old school romance. When readers express nostalgia for the 'classic' romances of the 8os and 90s, I feel like this book is exactly what they are pining for. It has all the epicness we expect from historical romances from that era, but also avoids most of their pitfalls. (Except costume anachronisms on the cover, because we all know the most important thing in old school romance covers is that the model's biceps/chest are shown off the the greatest advantage possible. And if that means having your medieval Jewish doctor wearing a torque that belongs on a Roman-era Celt, then that's okay.)
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When the Black Death wipes out his university town in France, Solomon ben Jacob returns home to German-speaking Strasbourg and furthers his physican's training by helping out Helga, the local midwife and healer. Rica, the daughter of a knight, also comes to Helga for instruction, and for help with her duties as her father's hostess and chaletaine. The two are attracted to each other from their first meeting, but they both know there can be no future for them. Rica's father has betrothed her to one of his men, and even if he had not, Solomon is Jewish. To marry outside his community would cause trouble with the bigoted townsfolk, who are already looking for a scapegoat for the enroaching pestilence. Rica and Solomon's story is the kind of sweeping and poignant narrative you just don't see enough, where time passes, loved ones die, continents are traversed and characters mature before the final Happily Ever After.
What makes it exceptional, though, is that this saga is combined with with unusually progressive depictions of gender. Many of the heroes of classic romances are Tarzanesque, both in their speech and their treatment of women. Solomon, by contrast is eloquent and erudite, as well as being respectful of Rica's autonomy. Although there is no outright villian, even those who mistreat or attempt to control the female characters are three-dimensional characters, who exhibit remorse and depth of feeling. Rica herself is a self-possessed heroine who doesn't need to be saved over and over again, but isn't adverse to asking for help when she needs it. And it wasn't just gender that Samuel dealt with compassionately, but religion as well, and from this sprung some of the book's most interesting insights.
Overall, Bed of Spices was a definite keeper, the kind of book that absorbs you so thoroughly that your mind keeps wandering back to it after you've finished. Previously, when people told me that romance novels are plotless drivel with no literary value and asked why I waste my time on them when I'm "really otherwise quite intelligent" (yes, somebody said that to me), I've asked them to come back and finish the discussion after they've read a book by the likes of Joanna Bourne, Meredith Duran, Courtney Milan or Judith James. Nobody's ever actually sought to overturn their preconceptions, of course, but I will now add Bed of Spices to my mental list of reading required before people are allowed to badmouth the genre.
And now, meine gute Freundinnen (that's nominative feminine plural, in case you were wondering, and if there are any guys reading this then that's just tough luck), I'm off to memorise three tables worth of adjective endings. Wish me Viel Glück!
4 stars
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a book in possession of a Princess Bride reference within the first two sentences is going to be an excellent read. And Suleikha Snyder's Opening Act starts strong with a band called 'The Brute Squad' . For those of you who have forgotten the line that comes from, or (heaven forbid) haven't seen the movie, here's a little reminder:
But back to Opening Act. Journalist Saroj Shah has been in love with her friend, Adam Harper - guitar player of the aforementioned band - for years. Adam's been burying his head in the sand for just as long. But when Adam finally wakes up and decides he wants her too, Saroj isn't sure he's serious. After all:
He was big, doofy all-American Adam. She was Saroj "where are the twenty gold wedding sarees" Shah...No one looked at the two of them and thought, Yes, they should be together. That makes sense.
Most of the novel's conflict is internal, stemming from the hero and heroine's beliefs about themselves and others. When I first finished the book, I felt vaguely disappointed with this. I kept thinking there would be some big denouement, but there never was and then suddenly it was over. When I sat down to write this review, it was beccause I needed to vent about reaching the end before I was mentally prepared for it. But this is not Snyder's fault; it often happens when I read books on Kindle. The little percentage in the bottom right corner misleads me because it often includes 10%-20% samples of other titles.
Anyway, once I got over my trauma at being abruptly ripped out of bookland, I re-evaluted and realised that Opening Act was actually a really wonderful novella. Too often authors try to squeeze too much into a novella, or they use the format to avoid characterisation all together. Sometimes, they manage both simultaneously. But Snyder developed her characters and their attitudes well (I especially like the sidekick, Johnny Ray). To have introduced an external conflict late in the piece would have spoiled the burgeoning relationship between Adam and Saroj, and overshadow Saroj's self-realisation, in which she de-colonised her mind to the point where she went "damn straight, I'm good enough for Adam and stuff what anyone else thinks". (That's not a direct quote, guys, I promise. Snyder's writing is heaps better than that. See actual quote above about doofiness and sarees.)
So, overall, I really liked Opening Act, and I probably would have loved it if I'd had a better conception of its length and content starting out. But I do feel a bit weird about making it one of my #WNDB reads (or having them at all). I've been reading the author's blog and she's understandably disillusioned by white people hijacking conversations that should be for POC. I would hate to think that, in trying to broaden my horizons, I am being like those men who appear in the comments section of anything ever written about feminism. Not the 'what about teh menz' ones, but the ones that think that my manslpaining feminism and talking over other people's lived experience, they are actually helping the cause. It usually ends up with something like this:
“I’ve read one author of color, so I’m done now” is a real thing. We feel it when we put books out there, when we pitch to editors and agents...Can you imagine saying, “Well, I read Sarah MacLean, so I’m full up. I don’t need to read Tessa Dare or Lisa Kleypas or Nora Roberts!”?"
My first thought on reading this was 'what would I do if I had to choose Sarah MacLean or Tessa Dare?' and it made me feel a bit panicky. Back on topic, maybe fetishising diversity and patting ourselves on the back for reading something different isn't the best way to go about things. But, then, maybe you can only fight fire with fire. So, after talking that through and resolving absolutely nothing, I leave you with these two tweets to think about:
Not being American, I've never known much about the Underground Railroad, which smuggled slaves from the South into the free states of the North and onto Canada in the 19th century. As a child, I had a book entitled Life Stories of 100 Famous Women that had a chapter on Harriet Tubman, and I can sing that earworm of a song about Dinah blowing her horn as well as the next gal, but I've never had any grasp of the finer details. But I didn't realise quite how much I didn't know until I read Indigo by Beverly Jenkins as the first diverse read of my #WNDBResolution.
Smuggled out of slavery as a child, Hester Wyatt now runs a 'station' in Whittaker, Michigan, where conductors and runaways using the Railroad can rest, eat and receive care before moving on. When an infamous conductor, The Black Daniel, is brought badly beaten to her doorstep, she takes him in and nurses him back to health. He's surly and forward, and she's half inclined to give up on him. Meanwhile, Galen Vachon - as the Black Daniel is really called - is becoming increasingly fascinated by his earnest hostess as his wounds heal and his mood picks up. But there's a price on his head, unscrupulous slave-catchers in the area, a traitor leaking details about the Road and, like a thundercloud hovering over everything, a war brewing over the South's use of slavery.
The plot was really well-developed, but I'll admit that it took me quite a while to embrace Jenkins' writing style. In the first few chapters I found the writing abrupt and didactic, but somewhere along the way I ceased to notice it as much, probably around the same time that I became engaged in the story and its level of historical detail.
I found it darkly fascinating that, in the North where all African-Americans were free and slaves from the South were declared free on arrival, a law was passed whereby a judge was paid 10 dollars if the found in a slave-owner's favour, but only 5 dollars if he backed the African-American accused of being a runaway. Though I knew that societal racism must have continued after the fall of slavery, I naively assumed that kind of institutionalised discrimination would have been largely confined to the South. But I suppose - and this is a really stupid white girl realisation - that's the whole thing about being discriminated against; the system is stacked against you everywhere, not simply where it is most apparent. Just because you don't live in Ferguson, where almost 90% of police violence is used against African-Americans, despite the fact they make up only 67% of the local population, doesn't mean you are not facing racial disadvantage and discrimination on a daily basis.
I did really enjoy Hester as a character. She has the courage of her convictions, only consuming products made by free workers, helping others to freedom as she herself was helped and being a loyal friend and neighbour. She doesn't pay any mind to those who say that, as a single woman, she should not be involved in the Road and refuses to give into some pretty malicious slut-shaming. Galen, raised by his mother's prominent Louisianan Creole family, is also charming and - with one notable exception - respects Hester's equality and ability to make her own decisions. As often occurs in romance novels set during adverse times, it was the minor characters who brought home the horror and difficulty of Black life in the mid-1800s, giving the story a realistic poignancy it would have lacked if it had had a comprehensive happily-ever-after.
Overall, I really enjoyed this book and I'm very glad to have had the chance to discover it. Hopefully, the other 19 diverse novels I read this year will be just as enlightening. Because, as Jenkins wrote in the Author's Note of Indigo, "knowledge is power, but shared knowledge empowers us all".
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