Recently I started reading actual literature again. Things other than the Sudoku puzzle book we keep in the bathroom, the Lands End catalogs that come in the mail and blogs. (Not that blogs aren't real literature, but you can't take a bound copy to the beach with you, is what I am saying.)
I was so up to my neck in sewing for Project Tudor and reading about Tudors, and buying Tudor fabric and eating Junior Mints that for awhile there everything revolved around Henry and his Crazy Dysfunctional Family. I do think that poor El Jefe was having Tudor nightmares at one point. It was a bit extreme, is the point.
And then October rolled around and I did as little as possible, because I was so very tired from the non-stop craziness that had been my existence for 18 months. The heaviest thing I lifted was the laptop onto the bed so I could read the news/Fark/watch The Guild/list dresses for sale to pay for the Very Expensive Dog Surgery. And it took about a full month to get to the point where I felt well again. And where I didn't want to throw something Tudor related into the fire.
When November arrived I started sewing again, working on Steampunk Stuff and wedding stuff and other little bits and pieces of crafty things. But I realized that Sudoku alone was not stimulating my brain, so I started reading some of the piles of books on my Only Bookshelf. Awhile back I came to the conclusion that I didn't like dusting so much, and there were really very few books I wanted to keep indefinitely, so I have had a revolving bookshelf. When a book goes in, one goes out, all the way to Half-Price Books. It is a tidy system, and keeps my bedroom somewhat neat and organized.
I had been reading mostly mysteries when I went to the Chick's house for a Wench Posse gathering and looked at her massive amounts of books on her wall of bookshelves and noticed an entire shelf devoted to Rosamunde Pilcher. Whilst Librarian and the Chick gushed over her fabulousness, I admitted that I had never read her. Shocked, they told me that I MUST, and sent me home with "Snow in April," published in 1972, the year after I was born. I figured I would give it a go since the Chick was such a fan, and I was not averse to romance novels.
I should back up and state that I have read A LOT of romance novels in my time. I read pretty much the entire oeuvre of Barbara Cartland in junior high, I was a big fan of the "The Girl and the Cowboy" or "Millionaire's Baby" type novels from Harlequin, and was a devoted Betty Neals fan as well. And the basic Betty Neals (RIP Betty) went like this: Virginal plus sized mousy haired girl in school/caring for horrid family member/caretaker of numerous children/nursing assistant/debutante with no desire for furthering her mind intellectually as she is satisfied with her "simple mind" and "lot in life" meets dashing/brooding/bold/graying older Dutch man who is a surgeon/other doctor/high powered businessman/entrepreneur/rich old bastard who is in need of her help as an assistant/caregiver/fake wife/running his household, etc. He always has a minimum of 3 servants and 2 homes and a very expensive car. She is usually poor, or from a genteel family who does not appreciate her. She constantly does not understand why he wants to help her/have her around/need her for anything. She believes him to be engaged/married/a confirmed bachelor because she never actually asks him anything about himself. There is always a Baroness Von Schraeder type who wants the Dutch guy and lies to the country girl causing her to flee somewhere and requiring him to go in his fancy car and fetch her back, only after revealing that all this time? He was an ass because he loved her. And her whole life is suddenly fulfilled by the love of this Mr. Rochester wannabe and she agrees to essentially be his toy forever.
There were a lot of paperbacks flung against the wall in disgust, and yet I KEPT READING THEM. They were like crack, those little books. They may have colored my perception of romance and love. A little.
And so I read "Snow in April." And I have to say, it met my expectations of a romance novel, but I appear to have lost the ability to tolerate the older books these days. My beefs with this particular book:
1. She is willingly marrying her stepmother's brother because she believes she should because her stepmother is essentially forcing her to, in a kind way, if that is at all possible. Even though the guy is not her type and she is still mourning her lost love from theater school.
2. They state several times that she is unsuitable for actual employment, having "convinced" her stepmother to send her to theater school, falling for another actor and falling into devastating despair when he dumps her, and screwing up her only other job. Oh, and she's only like 22 or something.
3. She wears caftans.
4. Her brother, Angus, is allowed to roam the world and do crazy things because he is a man.
5. She allows her stepmother to run her life. Her new stepfather is a pushover.
6. She flees to Scotland with her brother, not bothering to pack properly for the weather.
7. Upon arriving on foot at the closest house, she willingly allows a strange man to draw her a bath and allows him to take her 11 year old brother off into another bathroom in the house and draw him a bath as well.
8. The male owner of the house feels it is ok to hang out in the bathroom with the 11 year old and chat with him, and then towel him off.
9. When the girl refuses to eat because she is ill, the male owner of the house decides she is merely petulant and forces her to eat, and she tearfully decides he is nice and that she might be starting to care for him.
10. After 3 days of hanging out in the country, making poor decisions, almost having her appendix burst, she kisses the guy and then has surgery.
11. He announces that he will be marrying her, and that her brother will be living with them. He also tells this to her Stepmother, who while not knowing this guy at ALL, decides this is a good plan and that her brother will likely get over his heartache.
12. Her stoner brother never has to be held accountable for anything.
13. There is a Baroness von Schraeder type who puts in motion the whole "Betty Neals Plan" that leads him to realize he loves the girl, despite her idiocy and unsuitableness.
14. For children who grew up "essentially wild" in Greece, they certainly seem to be very traditional British elite.
I would like to apologize to The Cheap Chick for essentially crapping on her book, but I just can't take these books anymore. I want to tell the girl to stand up for herself! What the hell are you doing packing nothing for Scotland when everyone knows the weather is unpredictable and can suck at any time of the year? What is she doing allowing her brother to go off with some perv while lounging in a bath by herself? Why is she allowing some jackass to force feed her? GAH. I almost feel I need to go read Helen Gurley Brown now.
And yet, I am willing to read another book by Rosamunde Pilcher. I am willing to give it another shot. Because everyone can have one bad book. And because, like I said, the stuff is like crack, and I feel a need to read more. Sadly.
So from one Betty Neals fan to all those Rosamunde Pilcher fans out there - its all the same crack, just different covers. And we all need a 12 step program. And I really need to write a book. Because I can't believe the stuff that sells these days.... (cough*Twilight*cough)
I am off to start my first Janet Evanovich novel. I'll let you know how it goes.
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