Read for Pleasure: Romance: Erotic

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Emma Holly: Prince of Ice

• On Amazon
• Author's website

Prince of Ice is my favorite of Emma Holly's erotic fantasy novels. Set in a steampunk universe, it has all the fairytale ingredients of youthful romance, duty, cultural mores, and hidden identity. Holly's writing is strong as always, and the strange world is integral to the story.

In Holly's world, demon (yama) culture is like a hybrid of imperial China and Planet Vulcan: ceremonious, stratified, stern... and horny. (Think Mr Spock with a nonstop sex drive and pretty clothes.) Yama society prizes emotional control above all.

Prince Corum and Xishi were raised together until age 8. Reunited at 20, they show signs of emotions that appall Cor's royal parents. The yama are conformists, and both Xishi and Corum are already marked as outsiders: she by parentage, he by a subtler taint. Xishi and Cor face legal, familial, and cultural strictures, but their childhood bond and new adult connection are incredibly strong.

Fairytales on their heads

Prince of Ice is layered with cultural references. A pay-per-view screening of Pride and Prejudice is highly controversial: to the sexually free but emotionally uptight yama, Jane Austen is freaky porn. The resolution of P&P, with love overcoming duty and class, is exactly what Cor's family fears most.

Ice is also very much a fairytale. (The deliberate fairytale elements and anachronisms remind me a little of Robin McKinley’s Beauty.) It's Cor who's labeled the "Sleeping beauty", and Holly plays with other romance traditions too. I count 3 virgins, 2 secret babies, and a One True Love theme... but not in their usual guises. Of the 3 virgins, one seduces a man in an elaborate revenge plot, one's a trained concubine, and one's a man. Xishi and Cor have a surprisingly egalitarian dynamic, absent the usual inequalities of experience. (Xishi is slightly more knowledgeable, as her training included a, ahem, hands-on lab on male physiology.)

The nonstop sex drive

We learn a startling amount about royal yama physiology and reproduction. The story centers on a clever piece of biology: yama royal males don’t mature sexually until they find their genetic match. Even at maturity, they can only ejaculate for one week a month, and only with their perfect mate. (And by “for one week", I do mean without stopping.) Holly portrays this genetic element as in part a choice--and not only a lip-service to choice; partially-matched couples are prominent in the story.

The royal sex drive makes me guffaw when Xishi and Corum first meet again. Unawakened, oblivious Corum goes from zero to Ron Jeremy in a nanosecond. Before he even sees Xishi, he feels “as if a heated poker had lodged between his legs, and his balls were pulsing and hot.” He can smell her (!) from outside the building. Xishi is more restrained: her moisture doesn’t run down her thigh until he looks at her.

And then there's the royal male anatomy. The crazy sexual adaptations remind me of another recent read: Dr. Tatiana's Sex Advice to All Creation: The Definitive Guide to the Evolutionary Biology of Sex. Corum’s penile peculiarities fit right in with the stick insect (stamina), the Argentine lake duck (my god, the size), and the golden potto (penis like a hairbrush).

As you might imagine, the sex is strange and frequent. And if you think the ass is something to be gingerly patted after sex is over, I don’t recommend this book.

There's one bout of sex where I must, simply must, point out a moment of cheese and a trope. I've hidden the spoiler:
1. The actual moment of conception.... The little balls of light? Chiming and giggling? So much cheese there, I was totally jolted out of the story. I can go along with a fairytale of a sweet young couple, but they're 20, yes? Not 5? When did this become a Disney flick?
2. Why is it so common to wrap up a story with the couple having twins? And not just twins, but boy-girl twins? I see it everywhere. In fact, Kelley Armstrong just did it with Clay & Elena in No Humans Involved. It always feels eye-rollingly tidy to me. As one friend put it, that's the writer saying "I have nothing more to say. Life is perfect. They're having their cake and eating it too. And besides, they're busy raising twins. Don't ask to hear more of their story because you wouldn't enjoy it. They don't have time for adventures."

The ending

Others (Jane and Bam) hated the deus ex machina ending. I can understand that, but in Prince of Ice I think the ending fits the fairytale. Coach turns into pumpkin, princess is immured in castle, fairy godmother to the rescue... then a sting in the tail: losing magical powers, banishment, etc. Xishi's fairy godmother (so to speak) also helps unravel the mystery of how a commoner could be Cor's perfect mate.

The other Demon books

Holly's other Demon books are set in Victorian/steampunk border towns where humans coexist uneasily with yama. (See this post on steampunk visuals for some yama-looking technologies!) Those towns are too complicated for such short books. Take a stratified Dickensian society of xenophobic Victorians; muddle it up with steampunk technological anachronisms. Then take a stratified imperial Chinese society of xenophobic, genetically-modified… Vulcans? and muddle that up with futuristic technology. Finally, take from each culture the rejects and opportunists one expects in border towns. Too, too, too many layers.

Prince of Ice takes place entirely in the yama's homeland, which gives Holly more space to develop the caste system, the genetic mutations among the royals, the sexual characteristics and mating, the protagonists' relationships with family and friends. In the other Demon books, the protagonists are outcasts from their native cultures, so we see little of their past or character except what Holly tells us. The characters are shallower as a result. In Prince of Ice, Xishi and Corum are fleshed out through family histories.

I like the idea of the Demon steampunk settings, but the books lack sufficient development to convince me the couple have really connected across all those barriers, let alone enough to cement a happily ever after. I'd actually enjoy the Demon books more if Holly ditched the rush-to-the-altar happy endings and just let the characters explore the freedom to mate across cultural boundaries. The setting and plots have huge potential for characters to grow and get outside the conventions they were raised in. That would be a satisfying story in itself, though possibly not a genre romance.

Up till now, I’ve only enjoyed Holly's contemporary erotic romances. In a whole different way, I enjoyed Prince of Ice. It's great to find something new from her.

Grade: B+, maybe even A-

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Lora Leigh: Harmony's Way

• On Amazon
• Author's website

Harmony's Way is the 11th book in the Breeds series, so you know what to expect. A well written, very sexed-up erotic romance, with lots of plot and psychodrama. And characters who fall in love superduper fast, aided by paranormal body chemistry. Unfortunately this series has fallen flat. The Breeds' biological imperatives tend to overwhelm the romance, and character development can be rather sketchy.

The Breed books are set in an interesting world. The Breeds are a bioengineered race with both human and animal traits. The crux of the series is a phenomenon called Mating Heat. Snort for the name, but it's apt: when a Breed finds a mate, they rut like goats until conception. (Cue sex: much, much sex.)

Harmony is a Lion Breed. She escaped from the breeding labs as a child, and became a vigilante, isolated from Breeds and humans alike. In Harmony's Way she's working as a sheriff's deputy and hiding from militant human supremacists. Lance is a macho small-town New Mexico sheriff with a talent for listening to the winds. The winds send him for a one-nighter with Harmony, but they don't warn him she's a Breed whose bite will change his body chemistry forever.

I hadn't read the Breeds series for a while, which gave Harmony's Way extra freshness. Even so, it's not my favorite of the series by a long shot. Harmony isn't a strong enough character to breathe fresh air into a book so late in the series, and Lance is a great character but underdeveloped. Nonetheless, Leigh creates a lot of heat and intensity between the two--even given crazy time constraints, the insatiable rut, a long-lost asshole brother, and enemies galore. After 11 books, I'm surprised that the story isn't worn out. But the Breeds are a survive-by-seat-of-pants group, the drama is overwrought but not purple, and Leigh's voice is exceptionally strong.

I rarely believe in love that's induced by metaphysical freakery. In the Breed books it bothers me less, largely because I suspend disbelief pretty severely to read erotic romance. Breeds don't get a lot of choice in their mating: it's Wham, bam, ogod what's happening, I suddenly can't live without your semen, seriously, it hurts, oh noooo, wham-bam-bambambam.

In the series' favor, both partners are out of their depth with the mating; both are coerced by hormones and Fate, and they can only find a solution together. (In contrast, in Christine Feehan's Carpathian books the [male] vampire recognizes his lifemate, and often forces the mating on her. He is far older and more experienced than she, and his needs and decisions are shrouded in mysteries and ceremonies that she can't penetrate. Both Fate and the man coerce the woman into a relationship that's dangerous and permanent. It doesn't matter how heartfelt the scene is--that level of coercion still has a ring of the old "I vant you, you haff no choice, you vill die vithout me now.")

The Beef

It also helps that there are Breed females. We don't meet many, just enough to change the dynamic now and then. Book 2 (Jacob's Faith) features both male and female Breeds. Books 3 (Kiss of Heat) and 13 (Dawn's Awakening) feature female Breeds. Harmony's no alpha-kitty though, and that's my biggest beef.

In most of the series, the male/animal connection is strong. The hero is the Breed; he does all the growling, biting during sex, marking territory. Harmony is possessive, she purrs, she growls, but it's "cute", not threatening. Also absent is the alpha-kitty drive. Lance, though human, is larger and stronger, and his winds level the playing field against Harmony's superkitty senses.

Disappointingly, it's not much of a contest: Harmony's not the ass-kicker she's made out to be. Despite being a stone-cold killer feared by all, she's pretty passive when it comes down to it. She also folds in a crisis. While she's no virgin, she's been so isolated that she's unaware of the Mating Heat; Lance is far more knowledgeable than she, and she turns helpless in a hurry as the hormones take hold. In all the books the Heat hits the female hard, but in light of Harmony's putative ass-kickiosity, it's inconsistent. Was her reputation exaggerated? Was she already tired of fighting? Did the mating change her? The male Breeds don't fall apart after mating, so some explanation is in order.

The Oops

The main story is well crafted as always, but there were a couple of clunkers.

Big wince for the subplot: Harmony is the secret sister of Jonas, a.k.a. Chief Prick and Manipulator for the Breeds. Jonas hates her, no he loves her, no he must hate her because he sets her up for a forced pregnancy. Harmony makes hissing kitty noises over his behavior, but it's all sound and fury, signifying nothing. I was disappointed not to see her exercise her steely cold assassin skills on the men running her life. Particularly Jonas, who should be a lonely-at-the-top, scary-impressive figure. Unfortunately, he overcomplicates everything. It's as if he can't plan a simple hit without running over 3 dogs and bringing the cops to his door. His part in the plot is way over the top.

There's also an eye-rolling scene in Lance's office, when he pulls a wrapped! brand new! gag gift! what a riot! ball-gag out of a cabinet so he can do Harmony on the desk without her "animalistic little growls" letting his men know he's a kitty-smurfer. On the clock, too.

There's plenty of sex in the story, and that's as it should be. But it feels like this scene exists only to ratchet up the kink. Erotic romance should at least pretend there's a plot and a romance driving the action. For the most part, Leigh walks the line well. This book just had a couple of scenes that came out of left field.

The Head-scratchers

Lora Leigh writes these crazy plots, extreme characters, melodrama and futuristic soap opera... and often she makes me like it. When I haven't read her books for a while, I tend to remember only the over-the-top aspects, and I start to downgrade her writing in my mind. But then I decide to read one last book... and she sucks me in through sheer power of voice.

The sex is explicit. Semen fetishists will be pleased, and Lance is an ass man. (Aren't they all?) And yet again, ass play is depicted as the ultimate form of domination. I never understand this, but Lora Leigh and Sarah McCarty (author of many ass-obsessed cowboys) assure us it's so. Man+ass = hot sexy domination scene? Granted there's a "bottom" involved, but... what am I missing here? Something to ponder during books 12 and up, as apparently Leigh isn't stopping any time soon.

Read instead

The earlier books in the Breeds series are safer bets. (Don't be fooled by Berkley's new numbering system, which calls Harmony's Way book 2. Leigh's site lists the books by publication date.)

Grade: B+ for storytelling, C- for Harmony's and Jonas' inconsistent characters

Friday, June 15, 2007

Margrett Dawson: Secret Services

• On Amazon
• Author's website

Secret Services is a light read, but stylized and charming, like a Daisy Dalrymple mystery with explicit sex. The 1920s setting is unusual for a romance, and the writing is solid.

Secret Services is set in 1929 England during the buildup to World War II. Much of the book takes place at a "gentry at play" country house party, but the focus is on an espionage plot, and on the heroine's wake-up call to begin her adult life. Outside the bedroom, Secret Services has the feel of a period film: an attractive couple in a series of gentle high jinks, all in the service of catching a rather inept group of spies.

Lady Gillian Christie is neither a social butterfly nor a downtrodden working girl. She's defied her mother to take a job at a newspaper, but her class and sex confine her to the society pages. When she's sent to cover a house party, never slow to go after what she wants, she hatches plans with a characteristic mix of pragmatism and naïveté:

Bed hopping was a feature of most week-end parties and this invitation to Somerton House was perhaps my chance. I could do my assignment, rid myself of my annoying virginity, take my place among the worldly-wise females around me and maybe, just maybe, liven up an otherwise dull weekend. Of course, I had to find a partner, but that shouldn't be too difficult. I'd just pick the one with the best body and who seemed a bit experienced. I didn't fancy any amateur groping and fumbling. . . .

I packed a filmy nightie that was pretty enough, but not new. I'd read about men ripping off a woman's clothes in a passionate frenzy. I was all for the frenzy, but didn't want to spoil a brand new item.

But this is no ordinary house party: the usual discreet dalliances are formalized into an elaborate sex game. Gillian is shocked to be paired up with Johnny Westmarland, a friend of her brother's. Johnny, however, is not there to party; he's a War Office spy.

Gillian promptly offers a bargain: De-virginize me, and I'll translate German documents for you. Johnny, no dummy, seals the deal. (One assumes he'd planned to find another woman to, ah, infiltrate.)

The sex is explicit but sweet. There's nothing extreme; Gillian doesn't go from virgin to "Bring along your six best friends" like some Ellora's Cave heroines. Johnny knows the ropes, but his kinks are relatively sedate: nothing to jar me out of believing in these characters, in this period. I appreciated that Gillian's discovery of sex didn't hijack the plot (there's nothing worse for plot than a 100-page pause while the heroine explores her newfound need to be dominated). In short, it's not the hottest erotic romance I've read, but it's appropriately hot for the storyline.

Secret Services has elements of a coming-of-age story. Gillian fancies herself a modern young sophisticate, but soon recognizes her own naïveté about sex and about the every-man-for-himself behavior of her fellow guests, and her blithe lack of knowledge about the coming war. Her naïve dreams early in the book are supplanted by a wish to know more about the world.

I enjoyed the almost Gothic feel. Much is known but not seen, creating an atmosphere of shared secrets. The sex games at the house party are not out-and-out orgies, but couplings behind closed doors; the only action we see is Gillian's experiments with Johnny. The key is a public round-robin of selecting partners. Everyone is complicit; everyone knows what's happening behind all those closed doors; everyone risks social ruin.

Secret Services is no feminist manifesto. It's written as a period piece, and for the most part I found it internally consistent. I give the setting points for originality. And... I like the cover.

Not deep, but fluffy and refreshing. Grade: B

Monday, June 11, 2007

Mary Gordon: Spending; A Utopian Divertimento

Spending is a fascinating book. Art, sex, love, and money are inextricably woven together in the protagonist's mid-life struggles.

Monica Szabo is in her 50s, divorced, with grown children, and responsible only to herself. For years she's taught art and taken care of a family rather than full-time creating art. What would it take to truly throw herself into the artist's life?

A sugar daddy.

It's a great premise, and Gordon explores it thoughtfully. At the start of the book Monica gives a talk at a friend's gallery. Mid-talk, she takes an unplanned detour. This quote gives a sense of her ironic voice:

Sometimes, when I'm in the middle of going for the big laugh, or the next big laugh, the wave crashes and I look around me and see only flotsam and jetsam: old condoms, Tampax holders, empty bags saying Cheetos or Made in Taiwan. But that wasn't happening. The wave wasn't even beginning to crash. So I said, "You know, folks, there's a tradition that male painters get to take advantage of: the woman who's a combination model, housekeeper, cook, secretary. And of course she earns money. And provides inspiration. All over the world, girls are growing up dreaming of being the Muse for some kind of artist. Looking at their bodies in mirrors thinking, 'Maybe some man would like to paint that.' Reading French cookbooks that tell them how to make really succulent little dishes out of horsemeat with a lot of bay leaves and wine. Preparing physically and spiritually to carry his canvases to a hard-hearted gallery owner, their muscles straining, their eyes brimming with shed or unshed tears. Now I ask you, mothers and fathers of America, are your boys dreaming of these things? Where, I ask you, lovers of the arts, where are the male Muses?"

And he stood up, just there, in front of everyone, and said, "Right here."

The man who volunteers is a cipher known only as "B". His life apart from Monica is vague. His explicit purpose is to be her foil, her support, her lover, her inspiration, her concierge; he's extraordinarily perfect in the role. (Remember, this is Utopia.)

So the story is all Monica: how she takes advantage of B's offer, her guilt over "taking advantage", her sense of obligation to achieve great art now she's thrown down the gauntlet, her qualms over accepting money and pleasure from B. (On that front, Monica's daughter suggests she stop angsting and think of herself as a sex worker.)

The sex is explicit, but not at all gratuitous. Monica's physical relationship with B is inspiring, quite literally: her artistic flowering is strongly shaped by their shared pleasure.

The pace flags in the middle, but by the end, Monica has struck out in a new artistic direction and reaped some professional acclaim. To do so, she's taken advantage of money on a scale she never expected to have. Did she sell out? I would say no, but I'm sure some readers feel differently. And that is in some ways the crux of the book. When there's a clear choice, as Gordon draws it, whether to reject "the system" (the money, the patronage, the affirmative action, the favors from friends) or take advantage of it, which path is going along with the status quo, and which is subverting it? It's a timely question with resonance beyond the art world.

Spending is a departure for Gordon. In a 1998 interview, she discusses the book's place in fiction:

While many reviewers have noted this book about sex and pleasure is a departure from the dark themes of her former bestsellers... the work does reflect Gordon’s commitments to feminism and risk-taking....

"I think I’m doing something quite radical, but people won’t get it. My radical act is that a woman has good sex and nobody dies. And that, in fact, is something you don’t see much in fiction. Nobody dies. Nobody’s punished. Good sex for a woman without punishment is rare. So that’s my radical act, but nobody’s going to get much up in arms about it. I don’t think people care that much about fiction about women unless it involves mutilation of the body."

Grade: A-