I turn on my Kindle and there you are. Waiting for me. Teasing me with youYou can find this review and more at Novel Notions.
Actual rating: 3.5 stars
I turn on my Kindle and there you are. Waiting for me. Teasing me with your lovely cover and interesting premise. Taunting me.
“I’m a show on Netflix now,” you say. “I’ll understand if you just want to watch me instead of reading me first.”
But you know I won’t do that. You read me as clearly as you know I’ll be reading you. You tease me because you know I can’t help but give into you.
Dirty, compelling, popular
You.
So I do what you knew I would. I give into you. I put aside my fantasy novels and classics and well worn Nora Roberts collection for a fling. And I wallow in the difference. From the start, you drew me in with your unusual prose style, with your use of second person narration from a first person perspective and your stream of consciousness meandering. I’m intrigued, and you know it. You’re wild and dark and something I’ve never read before. I’m inside the mind of a crazy person, and I don’t hate it. You’re insane, but in a sexy way. I love criminal psychology and you, my darling, are a poster child for a wide array of issues. You fascinate me.
But the honeymoon phase doesn’t last forever.
The inside of Joe’s mind is a buffet of narcissistic tendencies and erratic emotions. You give me such a unique view into that mind, and it’s incredible how I as a reader can see how messed up Joe is when he can’t see that for himself, especially since we are getting the story entirely from his internal monologue. His hypocrisy and self-delusion are both immense in a way I’ve never experienced elsewhere. But after a while, even this riveting insight into one of the most unstable and delusional minds I’ve ever come across started to feel stale. Because, even though Joe’s mind was a captivating train wreck of a place, you had one major pitfall.
You were so predictable.
I mean, a book this crazy should give me shock after shock as I frantically read. But you didn’t do that. You meandered toward “twists” that I could see coming from chapters away. I predicted your climax before the end of chapter seven. There was no depth to you. While you were fun, you were definitely superficial, which was disappointing. I can’t think of a single time I was actually surprised by you. Except in regards to vulgarity. Sweet baby chickens, are you vulgar. I mean, I am totally fine with foul language. They’re just words, after all, and some genres and stories seem to almost call for the strongest wording possible. But you threw vulgarity around like confetti. And your obsession with sex and seeming need to describe every body part and secretion was just gross.
Seriously, you were a hot, filthy mess. While I had fun with you, I also felt the need to scrub my brain out with a toothbrush. Eew.
Even though you were shallow and, let’s be honest, nasty, I wouldn’t unread you. I’ve had way worse popular fiction experiences. (Looking at you, Girl on the Train.) You were a fun fling while you lasted, but I’m ready to make my way back to my deep and abiding literary loves. Be well, You. May your audience be vast and appreciative. And they will be, as long as you keep being
Books are supposed to educate and enlighten and broaden the mind. They are supposed to help us understand ourselves and those wFull review now posted!
Books are supposed to educate and enlighten and broaden the mind. They are supposed to help us understand ourselves and those who have nothing in common with us except our humanity. Books let us travel to distant lands, help us remember the past and envision the future, and they remind us to appreciate our present.
But dang it, they’re also here to entertain us. We don’t belittle television shows for amusing us and allowing us to escape from reality and forget out troubles of hour and half hour increments of time. While we can be music snobs, I think everyone can admit to singing along with catchy popular songs when you can’t escape them, even if we rolls our eyes while belting out the words. So why do we as readers label some books or series or entire genres of fiction as completely unworthy of our time? We call them trash because we see nothing of literary merit in them. But why does every book ever written have to hold some nebulous literary merit?
I deeply believe that reading should be fun, and that some books are meant to be that and only that: fun. There doesn’t have to be a life lesson or deep theme or social commentary. Yes, I believe that we should read books that contain those things as well, just as we should mix our sitcoms with news coverage and our boy bands with Bach and Beethoven. But there is nothing wrong with reading for fun and only fun, and we shouldn’t look down on those who read for fun and fun alone. And for those of us who try to read meaty literature with depth and a message and that “merit” we’re so proud of, we shouldn’t be embarrassed to take a break from that depth when we need to and consume something mindlessly addictive. Steak is great, but consuming too much red meat can give a person gout. Sometimes, you just need a big bowl of popcorn, right?
There are books that I consider “popcorn fiction.” These are books with no nutritional (literary) value, but they’re addictive and a pleasure to consume. They’re books (usually series) that are almost impossible to put down until you read the final page. The prose might not be the best, and there are generally eye-rolling plot devices sprinkled liberally throughout the book, but the characters are fun to read about even when they’re obnoxious and the plot is immersive and compelling. These are the soap operas of the fiction world, and sometimes they’re just exactly what you need to help you escape reality for a while.
I consider Twilight to be one of the ultimate popcorn series. I actually think of it more as sitting down with a five-pound bag of Lucky Charms marshmallows and just eating until you make yourself sick. These books have a bad reputation, and it’s at least partially earned. I’ve never met a main character more problematic than Bella Swan. She has no sense of self-preservation, she has a severe martyr complex, she has a horridly low opinion of herself, and she blames herself for literally everything, even those things over which she has absolutely no control. Her view of herself is quite possibly the worst I’ve ever come across. She has her strengths, of course. Bella is loyal and self-sacrificing and incredibly loving. She finds her true self and a core of strength she didn’t know existed in the final installment of the series. She even becomes a bit of a Mary Sue in terms of strength and gifts. But she absolutely should not be a role model for young girls.
Does that mean I don’t think said girls should be allowed to read the series? It does not. I think Twilight provides great fodder for discussions of self-worth and self-image when properly approached. If I was the mother of a tween or teenage girl, I would of course gauge their maturity level and provide a disclaimer before allowing her to read these, but allow it I would. My parents always let me read anything, just giving me warnings before I dug it. Because of those warnings, I knew what to be on the lookout for, and I was able to protect my mind while still thoroughly enjoying the story.
Twilight is full of things that usually would cause me to put a book down. I despise love triangles, but for some reason am completely entranced by Bella’s relationships with both Edward and Jacob. Both male characters also have their issues, but they’re super engaging to read about. I loathe Wuthering Heights and am not a fan of Romeo and Juliet, but Twilight echoes both and I still enjoy it. There’s something about this series that just lets me turn my brain off and revel in the ride.
I honestly can’t explain why I am so entertained by this series, but I am. This is my third time reading it, and it was still just as much fun as the first time. All I can say is that, when I’m in the mood for mental popcorn, this is one of my go to series, and it appears that it shall remain so.
5 incredibly subjective “It’s Nora Roberts and I just love her” stars. (This rating is for the trilogy in its entirety.)
I’ve been reading a lot of epi5 incredibly subjective “It’s Nora Roberts and I just love her” stars. (This rating is for the trilogy in its entirety.)
I’ve been reading a lot of epic fantasy lately. And I love it. But fantasy tends to be the steak of my literary diet. (Vegetarian friends, please forgive me for this extended meat metaphor.) Steak provides protein and iron, and is obviously delicious, but when it your diet consists of all red meat all the time, you risk getting gout. Fantasy keeps me on the edge of my seat and makes me think, but too much of a good thing can lead to burnout. Sometimes, you just need to break up your diet. Which is what Nora Roberts’ books do for me. Her books are my popcorn, and the change was wonderful.
Something you need to know about Nora’s books. They’re predictable. Like, Nora-has-a-formula-that-she-applies-to-all-of-her-books predictable. When I pick up one of her books, I know that good is going to win out, that love will conquer all, and that all of the main characters will not only live, but live happily ever after. And that’s exactly why I love them. Sometimes I need a story that is safe and comfortable and, well, predictable. Like popcorn! And Nora is the best in the business at delivering comfort brain-food.
Onto this series specifically. This is soft fantasy, the story of a group of six radically different individuals, drawn together to find three fallen stars and save the world from an insane goddess. All six individuals are mythical in some sense, and the three women each fall in love with one of the three men over the course of their own book. Like I said, predictable. But so much fun. My favorite character in the trilogy was Annika. She was gorgeous and kind and funny and so incredibly different. Her story, Bay of Sighs, was my favorite in the trilogy. But this was a very nice, cosy ending. Everyone lived happily ever after, just as I knew they would. Which was just exactly what I needed. *contented sigh*
For more of reviews, as well as my own fiction and thoughts on life, check out my blog, Celestial Musings...more
Or, why I love pretty much everything Nora Roberts writes under any name.
As some of you know, Nora Roberts is my comfort read. Full review now posted!
Or, why I love pretty much everything Nora Roberts writes under any name.
As some of you know, Nora Roberts is my comfort read. I would almost label her a guilty pleasure read because her books are so outside my norm, but I can’t feel any guilt for loving her books. Here’s why.
Anything Nora writes, whether under her own name or under the pseudonym of J.D. Robb, is a romance at its core. Is it a contemporary standalone? Definitely a romance. Is it a fantasy trilogy, where are group of friends become family and have to save the world from destruction? It might be, but it’s a love story, first and foremost. Is it a futuristic saga, detailing the life and career of a Homicide cop in the last half of the 21st century? Be that as it may, trust me when I tell you that romance is still the backbone of the story, even 44 books later. But while Nora writes romance, what makes that romance so successful is her emphasis on all relationships. The romance isn’t what draws me back to her books again and again, though I like a good romance as much as the next girl. What brings me back to Nora on such a frequent basis is her take on family. Family doesn’t end in blood, as one of my fandoms put it. Friends are just the family you choose. The relationships in her books, whether romantic or platonic, whether between mother and child or man and dog or childhood best friends or business partners turned buddies, are so well fleshed-out and realistic to me.
Now we come to the book I’m supposed to be reviewing. Nora, as J.D. Robb, did a wonderful job with this 44th book following the life of New York murder cop Even Dallas in the year 2061. As always, the content was a bit hard to stomach because, you know, murder. But this book was especially hard for me to read, as it was an attack on happily married couples, and I happen to be half of one of those. Also, rape and sexual abuse in any form are just really hard for me to read about, as I know they are for most people. But it’s handled very well here by our protagonist. Without giving much away, Eve has a history of such abuse in her past that she still struggles with. But, throughout the almost four dozen books chronicling her life, she has grown tremendously. Where she once suppressed her memories and refused to let anyone in, now she has a tremendous support system of friends and adopted family and, of course, Roarke. She no longer bottles everything up, but has learned to share her pain and grow past it. It’s this growth that shown brightly in the midst of the dark subject matter. Nora makes the victims so real, but she also does a fantastic job showing that life is about light, and that good wins out in the end. That good might be battered and bruised by that end, but it still wins.
I can’t rate any book in this series, or even most by Nora outside of this series, very objectively. I’m attached to the characters, to Eve and Roarke, Peabody and McNab, Mira and Mr. Mira, Mavis and Leonardo and Bella, and so many more. After 44 books, they feel like family. And I’m also attached to Nora’s writing style and her ability to craft stories where relationships are always the focus. Because relationships should be the focus of life, right?
For more of reviews, as well as my own fiction and thoughts on life, check out my blog, Celestial Musings...more
I don’t believe in guilty pleasures. If I enjoy something, I see absolutely reason to be embarrassed of that enjoyment. Years ago4 entertaining stars.
I don’t believe in guilty pleasures. If I enjoy something, I see absolutely reason to be embarrassed of that enjoyment. Years ago, before I came to that conclusion, Urban Fantasy was one of my guilty pleasures. Now it’s simply a genre I enjoy spending time in, especially when I need something lighter. How is it that urban fantasy is “lighter,” you might ask. Many series in the genre, such as the Dresden Files and the Hollows and the Mercy Thompson series, of which this book is one, follow the misadventures of one particular individual over the span of multiple small books. So going in, I am almost certain that the main character is going to be okay, no matter what happens. It’s like visiting an old friend, hearing about terrible situations they had found themselves in some time past, but because they’re here now, telling you the story, you know everything must’ve worked out alright. So, compared to epic fantasy where even central characters are fair game, visiting the urban fantasy genre is fairly relaxing.
Mercy, our coyote shapeshifter and VW mechanic who pals around with werewolves and vampires and all manner of other paranormal creatures, is always getting into trouble. In her defense, it’s often through no fault of her own. And Mercy is not some hapless, helpless damsel, waiting for some man to come to her rescue. This little coyote can save herself, thank you. In this book, the tenth in the series, she finds herself in Europe, cut off from her wolfpack and, worst of all, her husband. This installment was a bit different from its predecessors, providing both Mercy and Adam’s perspectives, instead of staying focused on Mercy. Seeing the different sides of the story was a fun change.
All in all, this was an entertaining and comfortable read. There weren’t many surprises, but that’s exactly what draws me back to the story; knowing that everything is going to turn out alright is a good thing sometimes. Also, there was a recurring Doctor Who reference as well as a brief Star Wars reference, which made my little nerd heart happy. Now, excuse me while I go prowl the internet for news of Mercy’s next adventure.
For more of my reviews, as well as my own fiction and thoughts on life, check out my blog, Celestial Musings....more
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