Julia London: Extreme Bachelor

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• Author's website

Extreme Bachelor is full of empty-headed gender stereotypes, a tough guy who talks like a soap opera, a heroine who's too stupid to live, a bad guy who's too stupid to live, a large cast of extra women who are too stupid ... you get the picture.

Prologue: Leah Klein (actress) loves Michael Raney (secret agent man). Michael might love Leah. Michael breaks up with Leah when the CIA sends for him. Leah has a breakdown and passes up the movie role of a lifetime.

Rest of story: Leah's next big chance is a minor part in War of the Soccer Moms. (This is where I should have stopped reading.) Michael, meanwhile, retires from the CIA and joins his friends' company, Thrillseekers Anonymous. Leah and Michael are reunited when T.A. is hired to teach the soccer moms to do warlike tuck and rolls.

Michael's boffed every actress in Hollywood, so naturally the cast of Soccer Moms includes Leah and several of his recent conquests. Michael thinks the boffees are irrelevant: all he wants is Leah. Leah says no way, maybe, yes please, you broke my heart, no, yes, you unfaithful liar, yes, I don't trust you, yes baby yes. Michael's confused. He pouts and goes on quasi-dates with other women--women who invariably turn up in Leah's vicinity and stir trouble. (By this point I'm rooting against the romance. Leah and Michael only deserve each other in the punitive sense of the phrase.)

Trying hard, but...

Extreme Bachelor was praised by Publishers Weekly and others for its "wit" and "humor". Apparently I got a defective humor gene. I get bored with self-absorbed characters who whine and try to convince the world that that's cute. Sex and the City is not for me.

Also, why is repetitious shallowness funny? Most of the humor seems to involve women forgetting everything as soon as anyone mentions shoes. Literally: Leah derails a woman's train of thought by looking at her shoes. Now, I like shoes, but this wore thin.

EVERYone is stupid

It's not only the soccer moms. Everyone in Extreme Bachelor is on the ditzy side. Michael forgets every woman he's dated since Leah. As several of them appear on-set, and they're all desperate to get him back, this forgetting is quite a feat.

Leah forgets everything else whenever she gets a chance to talk about herself. This is good and bad. The book briefly perks up near the climax, when it looks like Leah will take "too stupid to live" to its Darwinian extreme. Surely if she pulls this ditzy act on the Bad Guy, she'll get herself whacked?

Sadly not. The Bad Guy's a ditz too, which makes the climax the slowest scene in the book. Drawn-out, labored dialog--mostly Leah and the Bad Guy exchanging Dr. Phil-like advice. When Leah and Michael are tied up, awaiting execution:

"I think," said [the Bad Guy], his eyes getting all squinty as he thought hard about it, "that you have been hurt in this life, Leah. Your heart has been broken, and it is not so easy to mend."

Leah forgot the rope a moment. "That's true."

Oh. God. Michael was now in danger of vomiting.

She FORGOT the ROPE?

And in the denouement, a group of women "almost killed each other over a pair of shoes." Surprise!

Inconsistent characters

By halfway through the book, I didn't believe a word of London's characterizations. Leah veers from shallow to tragic with no middle ground. We're told that after dating Michael for a few months, she was so in love that she went through AGONY, just AGONY, when he left. Does she ever show this kind of emotion? No... just a recurring freak-out when his exes appear in the wings.

Michael, in contrast, is a hero with a painful past, vulnerable and loving and heart-on-his-sleeve... no, he's a cynical, physical, secretive CIA agent. (There's no attempt to make this combination credible.) He declares his love in purple prose straight from a soap opera. He's never forgotten her look, her smell, the feel of her. She's everything to him. Nothing and no one else matters. Be still my heart. But in practice he seems to fare just fine without Leah. Cancel that membership in Codeps. Anon.

In principle, I love the idea of a man of parts. Not all tough guy, not all poetry, but a character who's real and layered. But there's well-rounded, and there's characterization that gives you whiplash. Michael's a victim of the latter.

So. In Extreme Bachelor, men are hot, skirt-chasing bastards who care deeply (albeit intermittently) when they're resting between skirts. The women are shallow, needy cats who compete viciously for men but can be distracted by shoes or talking about themselves. Inconsistent and not very interesting.

Read instead

This kind of writing is so not my cuppa, that I have trouble coming up with a better-written substitute of the same kind. If you like the shoe angle, try Jennifer Crusie's Bet Me--Min has great shoes (Cal even loves them), but mentioning footwear doesn't suck her brain out through her eyes. If you like humorous romance with mild suspense, I enjoyed Marianna Jameson's Big Trouble. If you like Extreme Bachelor's humor, I can't help you.

--Update! I found the perfect substitute! Jennifer Crusie is back in the game with a romantic comedy--romantic suspense--sexy screwball comedy--tender mob story--well, I don't know what to call it, but it's good. London tries to get romance and humor out of unlikely characters, unlikely jobs, and a suspense plot. Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer combine the same elements, very successfully, in Agnes and the Hitman.

---

Grade for Bachelor: D
I can't give an "F" to a book that uses language this well. But I can't give a C to a book that bored and annoyed me. This is exactly the sort of book Ds are made for.

Tags: books, reviews, fiction, romance, chicklit

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Cait London: At the Edge

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Author's website

At the Edge feels strangely dated. Remember all the 1980s red-cover Silhouette romances with these themes?

Disturbingly tortured hero and heroine?
Neil Olafson whose baby son was kidnapped; Claire Brown who's psychic, was kidnapped by Evil Scientist Fiends as a child, lost a baby, AND can't be near her beloved family because their psychicness makes hers hard to manage.

In an isolated place (often in the American West)?
The wheat fields of Montana

They never talk about anything in particular, but somehow they're mysteriously bonded?
Yes, but this time there's an explanation. It's something magical in their shared Viking ancestry. Unfortunately, explaining the bond isn't an adequate substitute for showing the reader a real relationship.

His protective/possessive instincts prevent him from understanding the Truth about her?
To give a little credit: in this case he's protective, not possessive, and the truth about Claire is pretty weird. (Though honestly, the truth about Neil looks weirder by the end. Maybe the shoe is on the other foot.)

Manymanymany pages of overwrought discussion of emotions and fears?
Yes, yes, yes.

(optional)
Acquaintance who wishes one or both protagonists harm?
Ohhhhh my, yes. This book ODs on the forces of evil. Seriously, if I were Claire I'd think twice about getting involved with a guy whose brother is practically Voldemort, whose so-called friends would do such appalling things to him, whose business acquaintances hate him with seething yuckiness, whose ex-girlfriend is embittered and delusional.... Really, the picture is bleak, and Neil's judgment is questionable. (Though perhaps Claire's is too: you'd think an empath would drive into town, feel all the eeeeevil running rampant, and step on the gas pedal.)

And then there's Neil's side. Why on earth doesn't he run screaming when he realizes some evil fog/water/spirit wants to have its foggy way with him, Claire, or both? Though I'm willing to suspend disbelief over his actions, because once we start talking psychic fogs, all rationality is out the window. Really it's Claire's unquestioning support for Neil that disturbs me. This guy has a way of attracting creeps. Run, Claire, run!

The updated version

To be fair, I should note the familiar story's been updated since its heyday.

No coerced sex for her own good!
Why am I celebrating this? Because the '80s flashback is that strong in this book. But seriously, At the Edge is an upgrade in several ways: at no point does Neil think Claire's a tramp, lusting after his brother, or caused a loved one's suicide. Nor does he force her to confront her own sexuality (a.k.a. "You hate me for this, but in the end you'll like it"). Both Claire and Neil are pretty modern romance characters on that front.

Paranormal premise!
Though I'm not sure that's so new after all. Paranormals with vampires were rare in the '80s romances I'm thinking of, but ESP did crop up occasionally. In this case the ESP theme is a natural extension of an old premise: "Special woman with extraordinary talent needs isolation from the cold, cruel world... and much gentle coaxing into healthy relationship." All that's required for this setup is a heroine (or hero) with Grave Psychic Wounds.

Heroine has family!
Claire isn't totally isolated with Neil. He's not controlling, and she's not remotely in his power. She has frequent phone conversations with her sisters, and she lets Neil know that she'll always be close to her family. For every time he takes care of her, she does the same for him. Again, a more modern-romance style of relationship than was presented in some of those '80s novels.

The isolated, powerless heroine is sometimes (even now) taken to such extremes that it seems to set up female dependence and long-suffering as the basis for a relationship. I think Jane on DearAuthor is right that the isolated heroine emphasizes a strange dichotomy of "Alone and Miserable or Together and Happy". Fortunately, in At the Edge London puts her characters in isolation but doesn't follow up with the rest of the trope.

Sexy cover!
Way, way deceptive. This was NOT a sexy read. In fact, London lingers so intimately over the gory details of the soulmate connection that when the bedroom door slams shut, it's a shock. I guess Claire and Neil have no modesty about thinking and talking about their inmost needs and fears, but sex? Ew, no, that's private!

Read instead

When I was a teenager I loved this setup. Damaged heroine; initially assholish hero sees the light and coaxes her back to happiness. Wahh! Tissue, please! Sometimes it still works for me. But these days I expect a modicum of character development beyond the Wahh!, and a plot that isn't driven by adding a random psycho whenever the relationship wears thin.

If you want a good wallow, better written but in a similar vein, Elizabeth Lowell wrote some of the best '80s novels of this type. Chain Lightning (1988) had a tortured heroine and a nice emotional range of funny/hot/pathos. Love Song for a Raven (1987) wasn't my favorite but my friends loved the tortured hero. In those books Lowell did the tortured hero/heroine, melodrama and Soul! Deep! Pain!, but also good dialog and good writing in general.

Grade for Edge: D.
Done before, done better.

Tags: books, reviews, fiction, romance, paranormal

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Jane Feather: A Wicked Gentleman

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A Wicked Gentleman is dull. It's too bad, because the main characters have potential. Nell seems intelligent at the start, and Lord Harry Bonham sounds delish: man-about-town and codemaster for the War Office. But the plot is seriously tired.

Prologue: A Bad Man hides a Secret Spy Thingy in a London home. Naturally, Harry must retrieve it.

Cut to the countryside, and start counting chestnuts.

Lady Cornelia (Nell) Dagenham is a young widow (1) who's never experienced true passion (2) but has two children and an overbearing father-in-law who exists to give Nell an excuse to go all drama queen whenever the story's starting to move.

Nell and her friends Aurelia and Livia plan a trip to London, only to be stymied by Nell's father-in-law. (He's a horribly unconvincing offstage villain.) In the nick of time, a great-aunt dies. Great-Auntie's will is full of ludicrous codicils (3), but leaves Livia that very same London house (4) that holds the Secret Spy Thingy. So the three young women take possession of the London house, unaware of the Thingy. Harry knows, though, and for a smart guy he makes a total hash of retrieving the Thingy.

Nothing. happens.

Nell isn't the most interesting character, but she shines at instantaneous dislike (5) and lying for no good reason (6). She and Harry keep up the empty hostilities, and for 100 pages nothing new happens. There's some posturing about society, being feisty (7), and illustrating the women's friendships. But no one does anything.

Eventually Harry makes his move on the Secret Spy Thingy and the Untapped Well of Lurve. Nell's all for some lurving, until she remembers her father-in-law. She won't explain her situation, but she's sufficiently woebegone to worry Harry. Not to be outdone, Harry then recalls that he too has a secret sorrow (8).

The hero who drips

I like that Harry's a liar who screws Nell for his spying mission. I imagine most readers would agree more with Jane on this, but to me Harry's a better character because he sticks to his mission and doesn't get all emotional. Unfortunately, as soon as they hit the sheets, Harry starts acting gooey. He even does the Best Sex Ever routine (9): "You have unmanned me, sweetheart.... I had expected to enjoy myself, but not to be so transported." Ah well. Another case of glittery hooha.

Harry also wins points with me later in the book by giving his men permission to kill Nell's cousin Nigel if necessary. It's not a "nice guy" move, but I like it. A lot. I like Harry's jerkiness because (a) Nigel's a twerp, and (b) Harry needs to show some spine. (My enjoyment of Harry's behavior is partly a measure of my boredom with these mealymouthed characters.)

I hate a hero who loses sight of his personal beliefs and goals because he's met a woman who may be The One. There goes everything that made him interesting and unique; now he's just another Fabio doll. Harry's a spy for the War Office; Nigel is helping out the bad guys. I'm glad Harry didn't second-guess himself because of Nell.

Almost as bad as the hero who folds is the hero who drips. He tries to cover up what he's doing, gets caught, and makes excuses. "I changed my mind the moment we met! But I still had to do it! I felt bad though, I swear!" Harry muddled through this scene OK, but I still wished he'd say, "Oh, get over yourself."

Proof positive

The ending is atrocious. Early in the book I'd wondered if I were being overly critical, but the dénouement proved me right and then some. There's a lot to sort out, but it's dead easy: Harry has a lightbulb moment. Both his Secret Sorrow and Nell's father-in-law can be nullified by getting married! I can't be the only reader who thought, Doh, this is great! If only they'd thought to get married... you know, back when they were thinking of getting married! *headdesk*

The pity is, I love Regencies; I love spies (brainy man of action, rowr). I should have been an easy sell. But this was the most boring 474 pages I've read in a long time. And seriously, 474 pages for this? It should have been tightened up to half the length, and published as a Harlequin Regency.

Grade: D+

Tags: books, reviews, romance, historical, spy, espionage, Regency, England

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Mary Balogh: The Gilded Web

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The Gilded Web is sadly not up to Balogh's standard. Turns out it's a re-release of a 1989 Signet. Dell is reprinting the whole trilogy, so don't be fooled as I was: Web of Love and Devil's Web are also 1980s vintage.

In The Gilded Web, a prank goes awry. Lord Eden arranges the kidnapping of the wrong young woman and the wrong brother finds her tied to a bed, terrified. The situation is all the worse because the victim is Alexandra Purnell, daughter of a notoriously self-righteous ass. Edmund, Earl of Amberley, is appalled at the trouble his younger brother has caused, and offers marriage to avert scandal. Alexandra refuses, scorning him and society in the first of many self-righteous denunciations. (She's a real chip off the old block).

Edmund is the only rational character in The Gilded Web. Unfortunately he's a thinker not a doer. Most of his action consists of apologies for being an oppressor (i.e. male), exhorting Alexandra to do the right thing and like it, and acting like Hamlet. (To be or not to be? That's Edmund all over.) He's a great guy though: he does his best to thaw out Alexandra, muzzle her father, and hold his ridiculous younger brother at bay. (Young Lord Eden inexplicably thinks he has the solution to the problem; if successful, he will utterly embarrass them all.)

There are some nice themes in the book. Alexandra's father has managed to thoroughly suppress her personality; she appears anxious, perhaps even resentful, at Edmund's attempts to draw her out of her shell. Edmund is a thoroughly nice, intelligent, admirable man. For a Regency hero he's practically a feminazi, but why bother debating anachronisms when there's so much else wrong.

1. The common plot-starter of mistaken identity, kidnapping, scandal, and forced engagement can make for a fun read. Balogh doesn't pull it off this time. The entire population of England would have to be drunk and stupid for things to go down as they do.

2. Alexandra and Edmund aren't convincing as a happily-ever-after. They have zero rapport, and there's little development of their relationship. Her lack of "give" allows him to speechify a lot. In one page he spits out:

Do you say so just because I am the man? I refuse to win your compliance on such nonsensical grounds.... You must never give in to me just because I am your betrothed or later because I am your husband. Give in to me because you agree with me. Or else disagree with me and argue and fight to win your point if necessary....

It seems to me that woman was created to be man's equal. Adam was bored, was he not, because Eve was created? It was not because he needed someone to lord it over.... What he needed was a companion, someone against whose wits he could sharpen his own, someone to discuss with, argue with, fight with, laugh with. Someone to love, no less....

I suppose you were coerced.... But by circumstances more than by the will of men, surely. Did your father exert undue pressure on you? You said 'men,' not 'a man.' Am I the other? Or Dominic? Perhaps there is some truth in that. Undoubtedly there is. We are weak creatures, I will admit. Sometimes the problem is that it is impossible to know which course of action is right and which wrong.

That's just a small sample of Edmund's endearing feminist rhetoric. Dog love him for it, but you can practically see Alexandra's eyes rolling back in her head.

It's admirable of Edmund to try to let Alexandra make the decisions; I appreciate that he sees the years of damage inflicted by her father. Unfortunately, she's far from being able to overcome her prior training, and her flat unresponsiveness makes her a boring main character.

It's a strange hole in the book: Balogh shows how downtrodden Alexandra is, and provides Edmund as catalyst... but doesn't leave room for the pair to credibly work out that key issue of self-will. As it is, there's a tight schedule for change: the end of the book draws closer and closer, and Alexandra's not making progress. I feel bad for wishing Alexandra would change on cue--it's uncomfortably like telling an abused woman to get over it already. Given that undercurrent, the last-minute revelation feels trite.

3. I usually like Balogh's dialogue, but in this early book it's flat and stilted.

4. A too-stupid-to-live secondary character occupies far too many pages of the book. Lord Eden is self-centered and immature, and it's beyond me why no one puts a stop to his ridiculous connivings. And he's the hero in the next Web book? Ugh. Avoid. His sister's none too bright either; I'd skip that one too.

Balogh acknowledges in a "Dear Reader" letter that

The Gilded Web was first published in 1989 -- a long time ago. I was surprised when I read it again recently to discover how much my writing has changed in the intervening years.

Grade: C-/D+

Tags: books, reviews, fiction, romance, historical, regency

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