Jul 04 2007
The Week in Books VIII
I promised you I wouldn’t read seventeen books in a week again, and I didn’t. I read fourteen. Luckily for your poor old eyes, ten of them make up one series and will be treated as such.
And yes, this update is a little late, but two things were going on: 1. Real life got in the way and 2. I got a copy of the new Jennifer Crusie to review. I wouldn’t want to put just anything up here, would I? “Gosh, it rocked!” just isn’t enough to justify being sent a copy. (Now I have two copies, which is starting to be a trend here.) So I had to put a lot of thought into it, right?
Well…okay, I didn’t quite have time for that, but at least I waited until everything was quiet and settled so that I COULD put some thought into it. As I type. Right now, this morning. Okay, very little thought at all but lots of HEART. Heart counts, right?
Let’s get to my week.
The first thing I read was Vacant Possession by Hilary Mantel. Ever since I read Wonder Boys and wondered why it was so great, then saw the movie and realized why, I’ve been quite aware of my ability to only catch sarcasm when it’s hitting me in the head–such as “…she said, sarcastically.” I feel like I’m missing something from Mantel’s work. That it’s probably twice as funny as I give it credit for, and twice as clever, but all I could see was that the father was quite funny, another main character was quite ill (but WHY? Was it her upbringing or just HER?), and things connected more than a–oh, please stop me from making a Southern incest joke–uh…a celebrity nepotism chart. (Did you know that the guy from Snow Patrol is related to the lady from Rocky Horror?) When things are just too coincidental, I tune out. But for those who enjoyed Wonder Boys without Robert Downey Jr–that is, the printed word–this book could be for you. Maybe.
Ah, then it was J-Day, that is, Jenny-Day, the day of the next Jennifer Crusie release. And as we all know from having read this blog before–hello, newbies!–Catspaw II was the first Harlequin I ever read, remembered, and loved, so I was VERY excited for this collaboration.
The Unfortunate Miss Fortunes is not a collection of novellas, as is common in the romance world, but one novel by three authors: Jennifer Crusie, Anne Stuart, and Eileen Dreyer.* Each heroine has her own story, and each heroine is distinctive to the author–or rather, it’s clear which author has which sister’s storyline. Mare, the youngest, is obviously a Crusie heroine: she’s fun and, dare I say it after the whole Scarlett Thomas thing, hip. With Dee and Lizzie, it was a little less clear at first–my Anne Stuart reading having so far been limited to Catspaw, its sequel, and two of those Ice books–until Lizzie’s man shows up, and then it’s “Oh, hello, Ms. Stuart.” Anne Stuart loves her some arrogant men. Since he’s a sorcerer, though, and older, I’ll give him some leeway, because otherwise he might have come off a bit ’80s-chairman-of-the-board. If I’ve come away from reading Stuart’s books with one thing, it’s that the men won’t want the women at first. That’s why it was so easy to tell that Elric was Stuart’s.
The story itself blends together quite well, after a shaky first scene that I didn’t really get into. Lizzie especially came off as ditzy to the point of uninteresting. They’re there to put something to a vote, which comes off as very high school, but as the book goes on it becomes clear that the women are all hindered by their magical powers to the point where they’re girls–Misses, if you will–not women. The way they interact makes sense then. But for the first couple pages, it didn’t draw me in. It’s only when Dee’s power manifests–she’s a shapeshifter–that I started to become wrapped up in the story. And, of course, anything with Mare.
Usually, I have a problem with “They fell in love over the course of a weekend” books, but this one works. Also what works? The sisters’ evil aunt, Xan, who is evil and fabulous. By the end, I’d laughed myself silly, had a really good time, and felt like making frog jokes for the rest of the week. Oh, and one more thing: I was left with a burning question. Does Dreyer read Sars? Because I counted two expressions I’m used to reading on Tomato Nation during the course of the book.
So then, the pendulum swing. We’re going to pretend I didn’t finish a book and instead say that in a collection of three novellas by the same author, Lori Foster, that I CHOSE to read two. Not that I had to force myself to get through the second because I wanted to vomit the whole time.
Yes, it definitely hurt to read this after the flawed but strong and interesting heroines in The Unfortunate Miss Fortunes. I once read on the back of one of Foster’s works (I think) that Foster writes books that are sexy yet support family values, or something. If “family values” means “get back in the kitchen, woman!”, then Foster’s the poster child. Her heroines are wishy-washy and pathetic. Her men, unfortunately, are domineering jackasses.
Take Dane Carter, for example, the “hero” of Beguiled. Dane’s twin brother was murdered. Dane’s going to figure out who did it–he’s a PI, after all. Turns out that in Foster’s world, a “PI” is a guy who orders another “PI” around the whole time and doesn’t put any connections together himself. So really, he’s the chairman of the board, but without any of the class that Stuart’s heroes display. In fact, Dane Carter is SO CLASSY that he SCREWS HIS BROTHER’S EX-GIRLFRIEND WITHOUT BOTHERING TO MENTION HIS BROTHER’S DEAD.
Now, forgive me for spoiling this for you, but really, it was spoiled before you got to it. I just have to ask: If you’ve reached emotionally involved, do you not…say…TELL the person? There’s this whole he-wouldn’t-sleep-with-her-if-he-didn’t-trust-her thing going on…except he STILL doesn’t tell her. Oh, and by the way? There’s only ONE suspect in the murder, so gosh golly, I dunno how I EVER could’ve guessed who it was.
Oh wait, I know! It’s OKAY that he lied to her even though he “trusted” and “cared” enough to sleep with her…because he has money, and set up her poor single parent self.
Oh, and the baby cries on cue–not while they’re having sex, but to interrupt Important Conversations.
So if I wasn’t sick enough, I moved on to Wanton because I hate how many books I haven’t finished this year. Can I help it that there have been some truly sucky things? I took some more chances, and they didn’t all pan out, right? But I was determined to finish all three books in this horribly-named “Fallen Angel” collection. I thought, okay, how bad could it be?
Bad. So bad. Bad bad bad bad bad. Celia Carter–that’d be Dane’s sister, for those following along at home–has decided to be a “PI.” Again, we’re not really sure what this means, except that she got the only person who seems to do any PI work shot, and she’s superattracted to him. Celia Carter is TSTL (Too Stupid To Live). For some reason that we don’t really understand, except that she’s TSTL, she’s decided to follow in her brother’s footsteps, except we’re consistently shown that she’s a wimpy little thing who can’t hack it as a “PI.” Can you imagine what this story would be like in the hands of someone who could write? “Girl quits day job to be a PI and sucks at it.” It’d be funny, and sexy. I bet that the mother, who’s in the first book, would ACTUALLY SHOW UP IN THE SECOND to help aid the heroine’s growth. See, because Celia Carter doesn’t really grow–although I can see how Foster tricked herself into believing she does. See, Celia’s ex-fiance–the obvious murderer from the other book–has told Celia that because she LIKES sex, she’s a BAD PERSON. Celia, despite being published in the aughties, has never heard of women’s lib, or owning your orgasm, or Cosmo or…I dunno, a book. Television. Xtina. So Alec Sharpe is going to take on her case for her, in exchange that she…be his fucktoy. Yes, I’m not kidding. And here I was, prepared to like Alec because he was the only person in the two books that actually did something that sounded like a job. Unfortunately, when Alec hears that Celia’s got all sorts of a screwed-up outlook on sex, he thinks he can fix it himself. No therapy, no–I dunno–KINDNESS. Just “I’m going to come back here and I want to find you naked.” Oh. Really? Wait…no, REALLY? Maybe I’m getting my timeline a little messed up, but if he DOES find out later about her bad headspace, he still thinks that because he’s a Manly Man he can fix everything with his Penis of Healing.
Oh, Lori Foster. Poor, sad Lori Foster. I forgive you. I do. Maybe you’ll meet a woman one day, and a man, and they won’t be from 1985. And she’ll feel okay about sleeping with more than two men in their lives. And then you’ll update your hair (I’m not being a catty GIRL; you can tell a lot about a person from their hair, like which decade they’re stuck in) and maybe then I’ll read you again.
MOVING ON.
Oh thank God, more gushing. Then I read every Starman trade there is, that’s ten of them altogether. There’s something awesome about comics that, I dunno, END. Sandman, for example. You feel like you read a story. You feel…good. You don’t have to worry about the Chuck Austens of the world fucking everything up later.
Starman, this incarnation of Starman, has a beginning and an ending. Jack Knight is the son of Ted Knight, Starman, and reluctantly takes on his father’s mantle.
First off, I have to say that there’s one thing I REALLY love about this series: the interaction between Jack and his father. Jack desperately wants his father’s love, and unlike many male characters out there, doesn’t mind asking for it or questioning why he doesn’t have it. James Robinson does a fantastic job of creating a very real sort of guy into this very unreal world. But then again, James Robinson can have my babies. Wait, no he can’t. He fucked up The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. I’m going to pretend that never happened. You know who can have my babies? David Goyer. He co-plotted part of Starman AND didn’t rape Batman to write Batman Begins. So there.
Jack Knight takes us through family feuds, outer space, and true love before he’s done. I can’t suggest this book enough, even to non-comic readers. It does a great job of putting itself into continuity without confusing someone like me, who doesn’t have much experience with the Golden Age (old school) characters like Starman and Dr. Mid-Nite and those other people our grandparents remembered while we were growing up on Adam West and Linda Carter.
And then I finished the week by giving up on The Essential Silver Surfer Volume 1. It’s great…as a sleep aid. Sorry, Stan.
Next week: Jude Deveraux reminds me of why I read so much of her as a kid, and detective porn, heavy on the porn.
*I’m not familiar with Dreyer’s work, but she’ll be on next week’s list if I ever finish this Fannie Flagg thing.