Review: Don't You Forget About Me

Don't You Forget About Me by Mhairi McFarlane
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I like everything I’ve read in the past by Mhairi McFarlane, and I like Don't You Forget About Me as well. Her writing is always strong, the blend of character, poignancy and humor skillful. But I found it a wee bit unsatisfying in two distinct ways. One, it was too familiar, an entertaining but unremarkable second chance at love, with a protagonist who resembles many romantic heroines before her: adorable yet insecure, lovable yet love-starved.

The main thing that got in the way of me really getting immersed in the narrative though, was not the sameness, but rather the unusual and, for me, unbelievable premise about a first love that is both indelible and life changing for our heroine and yet somehow literally forgotten (she believes) by her former boyfriend. I like her and he's great. But given what happens in the flashbacks, nothing about how their reacquaintance plays out makes sense to me. Could you forget your first love? Would you think your first love had forgotten you and say nothing? Even one long left behind if you're thirty, and not seventy years old? ? The suspension of disbelief required kept taking me out of the narrative, which, in the end, was still a lovely, sweet story about a woman coming to terms with her past and a second chance at love, but felt a bit like a draft with some of the rough spots still yet to be smoothed.

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Review: Headliners

Headliners by Lucy Parker
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Having read the earlier books in the London Celebrities series, I was already convinced Lucy Parker was one of the best authors of contemporary romantic comedy writing today. Headliners more than affirms that. Take the opening paragraph:

A dark day in October.
There were scenes in life so gut-punchingly beautiful, they were impossible to do justice with words. Like the final rays of the falling sun, glittering across the Thames as the river turned dark and impenetrable, a silken blanket of shadows. The infinite wonder of the night sky, a stretch of potentially endless stars, the scope beyond human comprehension. Or the video footage of the biggest wanker on British television single-handedly cannonballing his career in less than three minutes.

Genius. This is classic Parker. She’s got the skills to both pull off and mock elegant, descriptive observation and an impeccable, irreverent sense of comic timing.

In Headliners the story centers on Nick Davenport (the wanker in question) and Sabrina Carlton, longtime journalistic rivals, who are forced into sustained close proximity as cohosts on a morning chat show neither one of them really wants. Sabrina and Nick are popular news anchors who used to have their own shows on rival networks but have cocked up their careers a bit with scandal. Cohosting the morning show is the network’s way of combining penance and a second chance following a merger.

Sabrina and Nick are adults, ambitious, driven and a little bit knocked around from past experience. Their primary obstacle is trust. Or distrust, rather. They have history. They’ve been professional competitors and Nick reported a story that did major damage to people Sabrina loves. There’s no big misunderstanding between them or major tricks and gimmicks. But there is a lot of banter, intelligent conversation and heat. While it isn't my favorite book in the series, Headliners is still a strong romantic comedy and better than the vast majority of its peers. The writing and character development are as sharp as they were in the previous three, and the relationship progresses at a believable pace. Parker is adept at balancing emotional depth and laughs, and I enjoy everything she writes, Headliners included.

Tropes: Enemies to lovers (big time!); Forced proximity (in multiple ways).

I received an advance review copy of this book courtesy of Carina Press via NetGalley. My opinions are candid and solely my own.

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Review: The Worst Best Man

The Worst Best Man by Mia Sosa
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I requested, read and reviewed an advance copy of this book within a few days. First I was eager, one might even say thirsty for it. Then I was hooked. Mia Sosa's The Worst Best Man is a fun multicultural romantic comedy with an opening that grabs you, an authentic voice, and a compelling enemies to lovers plot that hinges on the main characters’ forced close proximity.

Three years ago, Carolina Santos (Lina) was all but left at the altar by a runaway groom so cowardly that he left word with his little brother instead of breaking things off himself. Now though, life is looking up for our heroine. She's got a growing business, and the opportunity of a lifetime appears to be within reach. Lina’s work as a wedding planner has attracted the notice of the new CEO of one of D.C.’s best hotels who invites her to pitch/compete for a dream job as their new director of weddings. It’s an enticing prospect— lucrative compensation, creative flexibility and access to resources— but there is one catch. Going for it will force her into a close working relationship with her ex-fiancé’s brother Max, whose consulting firm is the company’s primary marketing partner. Lina is a professional, and she’s over her ex, but she’s not quite comfortable working with the brother she thinks played an influential role in their breakup.

As one might expect, tension and shenanigans follow. It’s immediately clear that Max and Lina have great chemistry both in and outside of the office, but their relationship is further complicated by cultural difference. Max is the kind of guy who has always known privilege—straight, white, good-looking and from a well-off family. Apart from living in the shadow of his older sibling, the world, for the most part, is Max's oyster. Lina’s situation is not that. She’s well-educated and has a wonderful family, but as a child of immigrants and an Afro-Latinx woman, she’s used to having her behavior and emotional expression policed. As a result, Lina has trained herself to keep her feelings on a tight leash:

My tone of voice is exactly as it should be: calm and even. In truth, I regularly monitor my daily emotional output the way some people track their daily caloric intake, and since my mother and I just shared a few teary-eyed minutes together, I’m either fresh out of feelings or close to exceeding today’s quota.

Part of this self-scrutiny is in Lina’s individual DNA, but we can also tell from what’s floating around in her head that this is learned behavior-- that it's about how she'll be judged in light of her race, class and gender. Max doesn’t understand, but readers like myself can probably relate.

Since Max doesn't quite grasp how these things have shaped Lina's experience, choices and her reticence to jump into a relationship with him, that adds to their challenge. It’s bad for them (at first), but it does make for an entertaining love story. Max, unlike his brother, has both the good taste to appreciate Lina and the strength of character to navigate a difficult situation. Both main characters are multi-dimensional, the forced proximity context makes sense, and the result is compelling and original.

Mia Sosa is a skilled social observer and she pays close attention to Lina’s family and cultural background, which enriches the story a great deal. She also has a great sense of humor as an author, and she does a good job of balancing the angst with the laughs. The bits where we observe Lina in her element are hilarious. For example:

Many a wedding has been destroyed by the effects of an open bar. My skin still crawls when I remember the groom who removed his new partner’s underwear instead of her garter. Gah.

Stories that hinge on forced proximity don’t always work for me. They can feel overly contrived and the closeness unnecessary. But this scenario and Lina and Max's collaboration made sense to me. I’d go through a lot for a life-changing opportunity in my field.

The one thing I struggled with was how Lina’s conflicting feelings negatively affected her professional conduct at times whereas Max seemed to find a constructive balance. Lina is at cross purposes for much of the book. She wants to shut Max out of the pitch development process, but clearly that won’t help her get the job. She wants to make him suffer for possibly thinking she wasn't good enough for his brother. Overall, she’s just in a more precarious situation, and yet I wanted her to be more of a hero of the story. I wanted her eyes on the prize. I wanted her to shine. And I wanted her to be emotionally open to this risky relationship. There's a double bind for you! That might be unfair. I’m still struggling with that and the question of whether I’m expecting too much of her because she's a female protagonist (as readers often do) given the structural constraints I've already acknowledged. Either way, the fact that this book caused me to ask those questions and think about them at length is a triumph, and reading The Worst Best Man was a pleasure.


Tropes and themes: Interracial romance; Forced proximity; Enemies to lovers.

I was lucky and very grateful to receive an advance review copy of this book through Edelweiss+. My opinions are my own.

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Review: An Unseen Attraction

An Unseen Attraction by K.J. Charles
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

An Unseen Attraction is the first installment in the fantastic, engrossing Sins of the Cities series by K.J. Charles. Though these three closely interconnected books center on a deadly interfamilial feud over succession to an earldom and one of England’s greatest fortunes, this novel centers two working-class heroes who are wonderfully sweet and loveably flawed.

In addition to an engrossing central mystery, which unfolds over the course of the series, each book focuses on a different relationship. The intrigue is compelling even though the build-up and middle installments of the trilogy are stronger than the finale, which seems a little forced/rushed. In An Unseen Attraction, however, the action and romance are perfectly paced. Charles deftly introduces the family and other key players, but she primarily focuses on Clem, a bastard, biracial second son of an Earl and an upper servant of Indian heritage. After growing up mostly on the margins of this illustrious family, when the story opens, Clem is running a boarding house in London owned by his half brother, the Earl of Moreton. The arrangement suits the handsome, Anglo-Indian Clement just fine. Clem is sweet and good and intelligent, but has what we would now recognize as information processing issues, and that undermines his confidence. Those challenges give many people, his family especially, an excuse to underestimate and abuse him even more than they already would because of his ethnicity and illegitimacy. Running the boardinghouse allows Clem to use his strengths, his fastidiousness, patience, sensitivity and emotional intelligence, and maintain some semblance of independence. It also puts Clem in a position to meet and cultivate a slow burning but steamy relationship with a boarder, Rowley Green, a man who understands and fully appreciates him.

The one catch is that the house comes with a permanent and difficult tenant, who is somehow connected to and protected by his older brother. Clem has orders to see that the reverend always has a place there rent free and feels satisfied about it. Not long into the book, however, bad things start to happen around the dissolute reverend. His room is ransacked and though no valuables seem to be missing, he’s in a real upset over it. Not long after that things get far worse. These events threaten the stability that Clem has worked so hard to establish in his precarious position. His tenant is hiding something, and Clem’s brother also seems to be hiding something as well. It may be obvious to Clem’s new friend Rowley (and possibly to readers as well) that there is more to the relationship between the Earl and the clergyman than the brother is disclosing, but the secret is not easily guessed.

Beyond the bare bones of the narrative, what really matters here is the specificity and care Charles takes with setting--the finely drawn detail around Victorian culture and the natural and built environment of London-- and, above all, character. Clem and Rowley are indelible and vivid protagonists. They aren't aristocrats or hyper-masculine heroes, and that is a relief. They are ordinary, kind, fallible men made extraordinary in their connection, care and commitment to each other in the face of societal sanction. For Rowley it's simple: '“I’d like to make you happy,” Rowley said softly. “However that might be done.”' That is no small thing to Clem, a man used to either being overlooked or appreciated for his looks and little else: “Rowley, there are lots of people who think I’m worth looking at. Not so many who think I’m worth listening to. Not like you.”
Their love isn't showy. It can't be given their context. But in K. J. Charles's hands, it's undeniable and, in its own quiet way, profound:
I love you. Such small words to make such a huge change. Not the kind of change other people had, with a wedding in fine clothes and people cheering, but a change that would do very nicely for the two of them. Mr. Talleyfer and his lodger, privately and unobtrusively domestic, left to themselves. It was very close to Rowley’s idea of paradise.

Well, it's almost paradise. For the remainder of the series, we learn more and more about what the connection is between Clem's brother and the troublesome former reverend, and why it’s worth blackmailing and murdering people over. The underlying conflict spawns a sprawling but cohesive and mostly comprehensible mystery involving murder, legitimacy, inheritance and class and racial conflict. It’s really very good. An Unseen Attraction is an excellent introduction to a trio of books that I believe constitute a minor masterpiece (I'm not sure I've used that word before)— thoughtful and convincing both on the romantic and suspense elements.

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Review: Get a Life, Chloe Brown

Get a Life, Chloe Brown by Talia Hibbert
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

It was clear the minute I started to read. Get a Life Chloe Brown is a different romance novel. And I was thirsty for it—I’ve read a lot of disappointing books of late.

The premise is original; the main character, a wealthy and sheltered young Black British woman who is intelligent, genuinely witty and is living with chronic health problems, has a not so near death experience and decides to radically change her life for the better. Chloe Brown doesn't look or sound like any I've seen before. Her challenges go way beyond the typical negative self talk and stubborn miscommunication I’m used to; and the writing stands out too. It’s vivid, full of rich, specific detail, crisp, and quotable. I found myself frequently nodding and highlighting passages in appreciation. Like this one:
“Slowly, slowly, she sank to the ground. Put her clammy palms against the cool tiles. Breathed in. Breathed out. Breathed in.

Breathed out, her whisper like cracking glass, “If I had died today, what would my eulogy say?” This mind-blowing bore had zero friends, hadn’t traveled in a decade despite plenty of opportunity, liked to code on the weekends, and never did anything that wasn’t scheduled in her planner. Don’t cry for her; she’s in a better place now. Even Heaven can’t be that dull.”

It got better from there. The thing I admire the most is that this book doesn’t just tell the reader how special Chloe is; it shows you. As in the passage above, Chloe’s interior monologue is funny, her voice unique. Another example, from a pivotal point early on:
“Her moment of communion with the universe rudely interrupted, Chloe hauled herself into a sitting position. Strangely, she was now feeling much better. Perhaps because she had recognized and accepted the universe’s message. It was time, clearly, to get a life.”

That sold me. Definitely recommend.

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Review: They're Strictly Friends

They're Strictly Friends by Chloe Liese
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is possibly the best book yet from author contemporary romance author Chloe Liese. They're Strictly Friends revolves around Lucas and Elodie, true friends, who share a powerful attraction that extends beyond the physical, but are also experiencing setbacks that make them reluctant to get romantically involved. They have a lot in common: a history of playing professional soccer, wealthy upbringings, and a head for math and business, plus their two best friends are married to each other, and they both adore their godson Jamie. Though imperfect, these are two very good, substantive and lovely people, and that's incredibly refreshing.

While Lucas comes from a loving supportive family, however, Elodie is all but estranged from her controlling and emotionally abusive family from the start. When that family finally cuts her off financially and Elodie suddenly finds herself without a job or a place to live, Lucas takes her in without hesitation. That puts them in close proximity, and, inevitably, that shaky reticence quickly crumbles. It's a great set-up, and it is easy to see how the relationship grows and deepens organically from there.

Elodie and Lucas still face important obstacles, however. Even after Lucas and Elodie give in to temptation, the health issue Lucas is facing complicates their relationship in a very credible way. I was easily drawn in and quickly invested in their love story. It's funny, touching and original and compels you to keep going. I recommend.

I am thankful to have received an advanced review copy through Netgalley.

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Review: An Unseen Attraction

An Unseen Attraction by K.J. Charles
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

An Unseen Attraction is the first installment in the Sins of the Cities series by K.J. Charles, three closely interconnected books centered on a messy, deadly interfamilial feud over succession to an earldom and one of England’s greatest fortunes. In addition to an engrossing central mystery, which unfolds slowly over the course of the three books, there are three central love stories -- one in each book. The intrigue is compelling even though the build up and middle are stronger than the ending which still seems just a bit rushed.

In An Unseen Attraction, however, the action and romance are perfectly paced. Charles deftly introduces the family and other key players, but she primarily focuses on Clem, a bastard, biracial second son of an Earl and an upper servant of Indian heritage. After growing up mostly on the margins of this illustrious family, when the story opens, Clem is running a boarding house in London owned by his half brother, the Earl of Moreton. The arrangement suits the handsome, Anglo-Indian Clement just fine. Clem is sweet and good and intelligent, but has what we would now recognize as information processing issues, and that undermines his confidence. Those challenges give many people, his family especially, an excuse to underestimate and abuse him even more than they already would because of his ethnicity and illegitimacy. Running the boardinghouse allows Clem to use his strengths, his fastidiousness, patience, sensitivity and emotional intelligence, and maintain some semblance of independence. It also puts Clem in a position to meet and cultivate a slow burning but steamy relationship with a boarder, Rowley Green, a man who understands and fully appreciates him.

The one catch is that the house comes with a permanent and difficult tenant, who is somehow connected to and protected by his older brother. Clem has orders to see that the reverend always has a place there rent free and feels satisfied about it. Not long into the book, however, bad things start to happen around the dissolute reverend. His room is ransacked and though no valuables seem to be missing, he’s in a real upset over it. Not long after that things get far worse. These events threaten the stability that Clem has worked so hard to establish in his precarious position. His tenant is hiding something, and Clem’s brother also seems to be hiding something as well. It may be obvious to Clem’s new friend Rowley (and possibly to readers as well) that there is more to the relationship between the Earl and the clergyman than the brother is disclosing, but the secret is not easily guessed.

Beyond the bare bones of the narrative, what really matters here is the specificity and care Charles takes with setting--the finely drawn detail around Victorian culture and the natural and built environment of London-- and, above all, character. Clem and Rowley are indelible and vivid protagonists. They aren't aristocrats or hyper-masculine heroes, and that is a relief. They are ordinary, kind, fallible men made extraordinary in their connection, care and commitment to each other in the face of societal sanction. For Rowley it's simple: '“I’d like to make you happy,” Rowley said softly. “However that might be done.”' That is no small thing to Clem, a man used to either being overlooked or appreciated for his looks and little else: “Rowley, there are lots of people who think I’m worth looking at. Not so many who think I’m worth listening to. Not like you.”
Their love isn't showy. It can't be given their context. But in K. J. Charles's hands, it's undeniable and, in its own quiet way, profound:
I love you. Such small words to make such a huge change. Not the kind of change other people had, with a wedding in fine clothes and people cheering, but a change that would do very nicely for the two of them. Mr. Talleyfer and his lodger, privately and unobtrusively domestic, left to themselves. It was very close to Rowley’s idea of paradise.

Well, it's almost paradise. For the remainder of the series, we learn more and more about what the connection is between Clem's brother and the troublesome former reverend, and why it’s worth blackmailing and murdering people over. The underlying conflict spawns a sprawling but cohesive and mostly comprehensible mystery involving murder, legitimacy, inheritance and class and racial conflict. It’s really very good. An Unseen Attraction is an excellent introduction to a trio of books that I believe constitute a minor masterpiece (I'm not sure I've used that word before)— thoughtful and convincing both on the romantic and suspense elements.

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Review: The Bromance Book Club

The Bromance Book Club by Lyssa Kay Adams
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I loved the idea of this book. I liked its execution. The Bromance Book Club is a second chance love story with a twist. Gavin and Thea, the couple at the center of this story, love each other, but they met and married young, had twin girls and never took the time necessary to get to know each other, work through their own baggage and make their marriage work. The twist is that Gavin’s friends and colleagues on his professional baseball team have offered to coach him on how to get his wife back. Their secret weapon/guidebook? The traditional bodice ripper romance novels one would assume these traditional, hypermasculine men wouldn’t be caught dead reading under normal circumstances.

The setup reminds me of the refrain me of a Sheryl crow song: “are you strong enough to be my man?” because the story really does revolve around a specific type of strength, the internal fortitude it takes to push aside pride in the name of love and become a good partner. As the book shows, that kind of strength sometimes goes against the typical conventions of masculinity.

The logic of the book club is straightforward: if romance novels reflect women’s fantasies, then couldn’t a man use them to learn what women really want and adjust his wayward behavior accordingly? It’s a kind of social learning experiment—the men learn by observing and then emulating or avoiding the behaviors that work for or against the men in these stories.

The action mainly involves Gavin gaining insights from these novels and his friends coaching to work through a lot of mistrust, misunderstanding and misplaced pride that led to the separation in the first place. It’s a light and gimmicky but original premise and it’s fairly well executed. The everyday complications and hurdles the couple faces are recognizable and down to earth. Overall, the Bromance Book Club is a fun, engaging escape with a few original touches and sweet, engaging characters. It doesn’t stay with you long after you close the book, but it’s a nice ride while it lasts.

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Review: Muffin Top

Muffin Top by Avery Flynn
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Fat Heroines don't necessarily herald fat acceptance. This lesson was reinforced for me in spades with a spate of reading I did recently including Muffin Top by Avery Flynn. This is a story of Lucy, a fiercely smart but secretly insecure fat young woman (that's the language she uses) and Frankie, a hunky fireman, who’s tiring of being thought of as nothing more than a man whore. At the start, the two know each other through family connections, but they aren't really friends. When Frankie comes to Lucy's rescue in an ugly encounter at a bar, he offers to help her once more by accompanying her as her fake date/boyfriend for an upcoming high school reunion. Although Lucy's a high-profile crisis communication consultant and has a vibrant social life and she sort of wants to go, she's loathe to put herself back into a setting which was far from happy one as a single woman.

I had a hard time with this book even though I’m intentionally seeking stories with heroines who are characterized as plus-size or fat. The story is well told and engaging. But as in Take Me by Bella Andre and Never Sweeter by Charlotte Stein, the central conflict revolves around the fat heroine’s fragile sense of self and her inability to believe that a beautiful man could ever be attracted to let alone love her. Muffin Top is less brutal than Never Sweeter in which the hero used to be the heroine’s high school tormenter. But here, as in Misadventures of A Curvy Girl and Take Me, the outside world is loathe to accept the idea of a romantic relationship between a “curvy girl” and a handsome guy. Of course the guys are always not only handsome and attractive in an average way; they’re exceptional physical specimens, the kind of men who attract attention and resentment. Their attractiveness provides motivation for onlookers to object to the relationship and for other women to be rude to the heroine out of jealousy. A man's good looks, in other words, are the flame that lures angry moths to a fat woman who's just trying to get by in the world without too much attention. In Muffin Top for example, Lucy’s high school rival loudly and publicly proclaims there must be something wrong with Frankie for being with Lucy. This is not mere acknowledgment of lingering social stigma. There are multiple scenes like this of Lucy suffering personal insult and public humiliation.

Public humiliation and punishment are also a recurring theme in other books with larger women as heroines as well. In Sierra Simone’s Misadventures of a Curvy Girl, the heroine’s ex-boyfriend and a host of other people say terrible things about the two men the heroine is involved with. Though their relationship is passionate and fulfilling, the comments are so hateful she runs away, believing the world will never let them be together.

What I keep wondering is why so many of these books are so repetitive and what the effects might be. People are supposed to be happy about the representation of plus size women as lovable but is this really that? Negative self talk is damaging, but isn’t a diet of these types of stories a form of vicarious negative self talk that others fat people and reinforces negative associations and expectations?

This story was a little better than some others in its openness about Lucy’s size and the impact it has. I found it notable that this heroine was larger than other main characters who are categorized as fat or curvy— her specific dress size, which is 20, is mentioned — and she is unable to fit comfortably in airline seats and therefore chooses to drive across country. The text explicitly discusses the ways that society makes life difficult for larger sized people. Flynn is also particularly good at creating a credible dialog between Lucy and Frankie with regard to sex and sexuality and their physical relationship. It goes beyond enthusiastic consent. It’s character building. It helps us understand who they are, how they relate to each other, and how their chemistry evolves. As a result, Muffin Top reads as genuinely sex positive in a healthy way.

What I’m wondering is what readers prefer. How do women of similar size feel about the recurring insecure fat heroine saved by a hunk trope. Because in many ways even though it’s not the intention, as successful as she is in other ways, the heroine’s self worth is saved by the love of a conventionally attractive man, the kind society values. The underlying sense is that his status affirms and bolsters hers. That, ironically, reinforces social hierarchy and affirms damaging conventional beauty standards. Do these curvy women ever have men that aren’t stereotypical alpha men? Why not? Would that love be worth less? If what counts is social status conferred then yes, but why is romance affirming that? How are these narratives still considered progress?

There are alternative narratives that don’t reinforce traditional hierarchies, Olivia Dade’s work for one. Teach Me is wonderfully sensitive and the heroine isn’t entranced by traditional standards of masculinity or high status—the hero is not that kind of guy and she loves him for it— and it’s a wonderful reprieve.

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Review: If I Never Met You

If I Never Met You by Mhairi McFarlane
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

If I Never Met You is easily one of my favorite comic novels in a while.* Author Mhairi McFarlane is endlessly witty and deceptively sophisticated, and her sixth book is full of exactly the kind of quotable, wry social observation that I love. My kindle overflows with the highlights to prove it.

The beginning chapters, however, knocked me around a bit. The heroine got knocked down in life, and I felt it. I was embroiled and invested in the story emotionally and in terms of wanting to know what comes next. That’s a testament to the author. But it was a little sadder than I expected or wanted when I started reading, so it took me a while to commit.

That said, I thoroughly enjoyed this novel. I like Mhairi McFarlane’s writing a lot. I’ve ready all but one of her previous books. And even so, this book turned out to be so much more than I expected: smart, funny, poignant, thoughtful and thought provoking, and just a little heartbreaking at first. At the center of it all is Laurie, a biracial woman in her mid-thirties reeling from the dissolution of a long term relationship with a man she’s been with her entire adult life and thought was the love of her life. Making matters worse, her ex is also a colleague at her law firm, and the whole office is abuzz with their news. In the wake of that breakup Laurie strikes up a friendship with Jamie, a slightly younger coworker who’s having his own relationship issues and they enter into a face-saving fake dating arrangement they hope will benefit both their reputations. Laurie’s feeling more than a little bruised. She wants to rid herself of the stink of rejection and maybe get her own back at Deceitful Dan (her ex), and Jamie wants to be taken more seriously and play down his playboy rep. With all three parties being attorneys at the same law firm, things get complicated and contentious very quickly.

What makes the book really special is that it adeptly and authentically engages with the issues around race and gender that Laurie would face as a woman of Afro Caribbean heritage in predominantly white male environments. McFarlane excels at depicting how Laurie navigates the world and the breadth and depth of all different types of love in her life. Platonic love in friendship is particularly important. Mhairi McFarlane tackles the social complexities with insight, sensitivity and humor and still never loses sight of the romance.

As an woman of Afro Caribbean heritage these subjects are all too real and personal for me, and I was not sure what to expect, so it was wonderful to see how well McFarlane handled these aspects of the story while still making me swoon. The hero, Jamie, gets better and better as we get to know him. But I wouldn’t consider this a story about a reformed rake. He’s not an alpha, or a beta. Or a cinnamon roll hero full of gooey goodness. The truth is more complex. He’s human. And that’s what makes it work. Highly, highly recommend.

*Disclosure: I received an advanced review copy of this via Edelweiss and I’m so glad I did. These are my wholly honest unexpurgated thoughts.

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Review: Red, White & Royal Blue

Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I’m grateful for great books and great love stories. Today I revisited one of the best—Casey McQuiston’s Red White and Royal Blue. Red, White & Royal Blue is the story of first and lasting love between two impossibly handsome, intelligent and privileged young men from different countries and cultural backgrounds. Alex is Mexican-American and America's "first son," the child of the United States' first female president. Henry is a British prince, second in line to the throne.

It's an understatement to say that I'm not usually a fan of royal romance, but I love this book. I loved it so much that when I got to the end I immediately began rereading it. This book made me swoon and laugh and cry. I loved the humor, the originality, the depth of feeling and the originality in format. Texts and emails play an essential part in bridging the distance between these two men as they evolve from rivals to friends and then friends with benefits and ultimately lovers.

What makes the correspondence special is that Casey Mcquiston incorporates queer history and quotes from real love letters and poems into the correspondence between Alex and Henry. It's a key part of how the two protagonists get to know each other and come to terms with their sexuality and begin to gain confidence in how they fit into the world. And at one point this correspondence becomes a part of how they heal and find hope and give each other strength in the face of near ruin. From Alex to Henry:

p.s. wilfred owen to siegfried sassoon—1917: And you have fixed my Life—however short. You did not light me: I was always a mad comet; but you have fixed me. I spun round you a satellite for a month, but shall swing out soon, a dark star in the orbit where you will blaze.

This is just one part of why this book is so special. It's also incredibly well-written. I read this novel on a Kindle and ended up with more than 100 highlighted passages and notes. It's that well-written and that memorable.

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Review: Lord of Scoundrels

Lord of Scoundrels by Loretta Chase
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I love this book. This came as a bit of a shock to me when I first read it. I had a hard time just getting past the cover which for the uninitiated gives not a hint of the wickedly smart contents enclosed. As someone who had always been skeptical of traditional historical romance novels, especially those involving English noblemen, there was no bigger surprise than how much I enjoyed and admire this book.

I would love it for the complicated and convincing love relationship it builds between the two protagonists alone, but what makes Lord of Scoundrels so memorable for me is that it is also stunningly witty and well-written and surprisingly, strangely, ever so subtly, liberal. Chase's story and prose are melodramatic of course but also surprising and innovative, even poetic at times. She describes love and sex in ways that sound new even if they aren't strictly so. On top of all that, she upends the gender stereotypes that exist in western society and culture then and today while working somewhat within the mores of 19th century society.

At the center of the novel are two strikingly original multidimensional characters. To start, unlike many romances, strictly speaking, there is no confident, dashing hero here, no handsome rake merely in need of reform. Instead, the titular scoundrel is Lord Sebastian Dain, a wealthy aristocrat whose sexual exploits and bad behavior extend far beyond what's typical even for a man of his exalted stature and earn him the nickname Beelzebub. Dain's intellect and taste for culture are undeniably impressive, but his personality is off-putting in the extreme and he can be cruel and destructive. From a modern perspective, he's better characterized as a misanthrope with a chip on his shoulder and a serious Madonna whore complex.

There's also an interesting xenophobic, racial element to his outsider status. His looks, according to English standards, are offensively foreign and swarthy. Dain inherited his title from his ancient English family, but his mother was Italian and Dain's skin so dark that the boys at school call him “Blackamoor," a term that in truth means someone of north African or Arab ancestry, but which they wield here to make him feel inferior. His peers say he's hideous and a mongrel because of his dark skin and prominent nose. It’s unclear how much of his reputation derives from his behavior and how much from prejudice against his appearance and heritage. Regardless of reason, the result is that Dain is both enormously privileged and an outsider tormented by social insecurity and self-hatred. He considers himself hideous and is convinced he'll never be accepted by the society into which he was born and is certainly could never hope to find love within it. The central question is how much of Lord Dain's behavior is nature and how much is rebellion/ self-defense. (there might be a bit of Heathcliff to him?)

In great contrast, the Marquess of Dain's love interest and eventual wife Jessica is an English Rose so fair and pure she that she appears to be his opposite when in truth she is his match in intellect and spirit. She's also kind, incredibly socially adept and has great emotional intelligence. As Marchioness she understands that she as a married woman has no property and no power under the law. The book addresses how social relations are organized shapes relationships organically within the narrative. This is manifest in a myriad of ways, but perhaps most powerfully and subtly in the earliest days of their marriage when Jessica surprises her husband with a birthday present, a small piece of art she acquired as a single woman just before the start of their courtship. It’s the most valuable thing she owns and has sentimental value for them both, but she also recognizes even within the intimacy of the moment that she is giving him a gift that is already his property. As a married woman, under 19th century British law, her property become his the moment they became man and wife.

Nonethless, despite the structural constraints of gender, Jessica wields great influence within the relationship and household due to her character. So many books declare their heroines to be “badass” and independent while saddling them with the most stereotypical and obviously baseless insecurities that defy all evidence around them. That is not the case here. This is the era of Clinton, Monica Lewinsky and the faux feminist girl power of the Spice Girls, and yet Loretta Chase gives Lord of the Scoundrels a heroine who is neither cripplingly insecure nor superhuman but genuinely strong in mind and spirit. Jessica Trent is an intelligent, well-read and beautiful but normal human woman. Her husband, Lord Dain may bristle at her diagnosis that he is the high-strung and emotional one in this relationship, but he does realize that he is not thinking and behaving strictly according to logic in his interactions with her and to some extent with the world as well.

That journey of growth in response to societally ingrained anxieties is too often reserved for female characters, but in this case, Jessica/Lady Dain is emotionally self-aware, empathetic and level-headed. She’s brave in the way that counts the most— she tells the truth about her feelings, motives, and actions while Lord Dain frequently retreats from his. Jessica understands him, she helps, she draws her husband out all the while being cognizant of his limitations/willingness to accept her care both as a 19th century nobleman used to being in charge and as an overgrown, neglected, emotionally stunted little boy. She also, occasionally, loses her patience, but she harnesses her emotions and intellect to do the right thing for both of them. She breaks through, for example, Dain’s initial seemingly inexplicable reluctance to consummate their marriage despite his obvious attraction to her and in getting him to take responsibility in other ways essential to their happiness.

For these and a myriad of other details and moments involving character and language, Lord of Scoundrels stands out. In Fated Mates Podcast parlance, this is this is the book that blooded me-- it tempted, teased and initiated me into the sisterhood of the historical romance readers and left me wanting more.

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Review: Open House

Open House by Ruby Lang
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I wouldn’t have expected a love story that's set in New York and revolves around gentrification to be this sweet and realistic at the same time, but this one was and it works. I love the messy, challenging, multicultural, multiracial world Ruby Lang has created here. I like it because I recognize it.

As a struggling real estate agent trying to sell one of few open lots in a historic but still gentrifying and highly coveted section of Harlem, and a community activist trying to protect the garden currently occupying it, Magda Ferrer and Tyson Yang are natural rivals if not out right enemies. This being a romance, though, of course they eventually find common ground in addition to passion. And it all unfolds in a way that is convincing and affirming. That’s in no small part due to Ty’s boundlessly thoughtful, nurturing and generous nature.

He says something to Magda towards the end that I think is meaningful, because it represents a modern ideal of loving support for a working woman: “You may not always have time, but I have patience.”

Ty may not be the absolutely sweetest and gooey new man of every ones dreams, but he’s pretty close. It’s not as flashy as the stereotypical alpha brought to heel and grovel before the heroine, but In our current context, and given the way Ruby Lang tells the story, that’s pretty darn sexy.

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Review: Pretty Reckless

Pretty Reckless by L.J. Shen
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Not a fan. I found this book deeply disturbing and not in a smart, thoughtful way. In the end I mostly felt soured by the experience of reading it. For now my concerns are primarily communicated in the highlights if you’re interested in why.

I gave it three stars for technical proficiency. The prose is fine and it tells an original story. But the morality of it. The psychology. The perspective. The warped, confounding internal logic and, most of all, the confusing characterizations all add up to a great big no. No to the rationalizations for ridiculous behavior. No to what adds up to an apologia to cruelty and privileged bitchiness.

I thought about saying nothing at all. But this book is nominated for best romance, and I do have opinions about this, and I imagine I’m not the only one. So this extremely brief review is for anyone else who read this book and said wtf.

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Review: It Had to Be You

It Had to Be You by Susan Elizabeth Phillips
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Love in the Time of Slick Willy, the Juice and the Donald.
This one was quite a throwback. Since this summer I've been making a conscious effort to better understand the genre I've been so engrossed by recently by reading some of the best known books in the romance canon, and It Had to Be You came highly recommended. It's one of Eloisa James's favorite books and appears on many best of all time lists. But reading It Had to Be You was an unsettling, frustrating experience for me. This pioneering, popular and well-received sports romance was published in 1994, the year of Nicole Brown-Simpson’s death, and former football superstar O.J. Simpson’s ill-fated low speed chase/attempt to evade arrest for killing her. It was also the second year of the Clinton presidency, two years before Monica Lewinsky burst into public consciousness, and, perhaps most important, just a few years after “Backlash” told of a powerful postfeminist reactionary political wave sweeping across America. That’s all to say it was a heady time, right on the cusp of some sort of transition in gender and racial politics.

So I should have been prepared for what a contemporary romance set in the testosterone heavy world of the NFL might look like. It shouldn’t have been a huge surprise that the sexual politics made my head spin. And yet it still threw me for a bit— the gender dynamics aren’t pretty. They’re neither reactionary nor progressive, yet unsettling all the same. It was an unsettling time. For all that’s wrong with 2019, this book made me incredibly happy that it’s not 1994 and that I could leave that world by closing the book. When I think about reading It Had to Be You I'm reminded of that terrible, scornful, old-school, Victorian set down— that someone is no better than they should be, meaning they're lacking but that's to be expected because of who they are or where they come from. This novel made me think its gender politics were awful and yet possibly realistic for the time, in other words, no better than they should be. The gender dynamics between the characters are too muddled and confused to be truly enlightening or thought-provoking, but they are unsettling. So maybe that's as it ought to be. Intentional or not, it was a terribly unsatisfying and muddled time for women. It Had to Be You certainly reflects that.

The heroine, Phoebe Somerville, is an heiress, a buxom “bimbo”, secretly celibate sex-bomb, and a kind and intelligent woman who craves the love she never had growing up. She’s also a rape survivor, who’s suffering from a great deal of trauma and tries to use her body and her sexuality as armor and as a tool of manipulation in every aspect of her life even as she feels ashamed of her body and uncomfortable and insecure about her sexuality.

When Phoebe inherits (with conditions of course) an NFL team from her horribly abusive, recently deceased father, she amps up the overt, outrageous sexuality and downplays her intelligence as she enters a new workplace dominated by men. She thinks she’s adapting to the way the world sees her and using her body and looks to her advantage, and it appears that we are supposed to understand that this is a workable strategy, but it’s also clear throughout that this strategy causes her great pain. It makes her hate herself and puts her continually at odds with her employees, other businesspeople, and her potential love interest who is also a colleague.

Is Phoebe's false sexual flamboyance and bravado a source of strength, shame, or success? Or all three? More to the point, why is this her only professional strategem? Phoebe’s choices are cringe-inducing. I found it very hard to keep reading at times. But then I questioned myself. Am I slut shaming this heroine, am I being prudish? Possibly. But I don’t think so. So the question remains: Why are bare cleavage and the sexual manipulation of men the predominant way that Phoebe uses her talents in business dealings until the very end? While she’s at it why does she not on her own at least learn something about the industry independently rather than solely relying on her burgeoning relationships with the men in her organization? And, above all, if it’s a smart strategy why is it such a continual source of pain? The workplace plotlines strained my belief in the character and the narrative as a whole.

In contrast, the love story and Phoebe’s reawakening after sexual trauma are handled incredibly well. The connection between Phoebe and Dan and how their physical relationship progresses is believable, specific, not at all cliched. Their relationship hinges on consent and trust as much as chemistry, and Phillips handles it beautifully.

It is hard to write a novel that is both sexy and gritty about social reality in that particular historical moment while avoiding being particularly political or preachy. That's a hard needle to thread with the social forces, hard choices and traps women faced navigating a still hostile working world in the wake of the women’s movement. Phoebe is navigating an unjust situation and system. That is inherently political. It Had to Be You seems to want to be on the side of gender equality but not idealistic, not too orthodox, not too feminist maybe?

But the problem with the way Phoebe's written transcends gender politics. It's more fundamental than that. People say and do disrespectful, humiliating things to Phoebe; Phoebe says and does humiliating things to herself. And that lasts pretty much throughout the book in terms of her professional persona even though she grows in her personal life. Self-objectification and playing dumb are her favorite business strategies. And that's the contradiction I couldn't quite believe. Quirks and imperfection are human. Phoebe is human and therefore an imperfect heroine. Plus, all women struggle with self definition in a world that values and condemns female sexuality, but I'm unconvinced that she would choose to be imperfect in this particularly sexually exploitative, self-sabotaging way for this long in her professional life. I don’t buy that it would have gotten her the positive results she’d need to want to stick to that strategy for well over a decade. These choices make the book no better than it should be.

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Review: Unfit to Print

Unfit to Print by K.J. Charles
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I swooned.

Wonderful combination of period detail, mystery and romance. I found myself highlighting something on every other page like a maniac. The writing is crisp and original and the relationship just made me swoon-- it's got depth and chemistry and heat.

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Review: Beard with Me

Beard with Me by Penny Reid
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Author Penny Reid issued a lot of caveats when she published this novel. It's heavier than the other stories in the Winston Brothers series. As she's written, it's a tragic love story rather than a romance that ends with a happy ever after-- at least temporarily (the story continues in the next book). I'm a fan of the HEA in love, and I tend to avoid narratives that involve abuse. But I love Reid's work and this series especially, so I took a chance and it was completely worth it. This is Billy Winston’s coming of age and origin story as well as his love story with Scarlet. It’s what made Billy a surly resentful patriarch instead of the stern but sweet hero he was growing into. It's a compelling story, beautifully rendered. For me the proof was that by the end Beard with Me made me want to reread the first 5 books, and I can’t wait to read book 7.

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Review: Get a Life, Chloe Brown

Get a Life, Chloe Brown by Talia Hibbert
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

It was clear the minute I started to read. Get a Life Chloe Brown is a different romance novel. And I was thirsty for it—I’ve read a lot of disappointing books of late.

The premise is original; the main character, a wealthy and sheltered young Black British woman who is intelligent, genuinely witty and is living with chronic health problems, has a not so near death experience and decides to radically change her life for the better. Chloe Brown doesn't look or sound like any I've seen before. Her challenges go way beyond the typical negative self talk and stubborn miscommunication I’m used to; and the writing stands out too. It’s vivid, full of rich, specific detail, crisp, and quotable. I found myself frequently nodding and highlighting passages in appreciation. Like this one:
“Slowly, slowly, she sank to the ground. Put her clammy palms against the cool tiles. Breathed in. Breathed out. Breathed in.

Breathed out, her whisper like cracking glass, “If I had died today, what would my eulogy say?” This mind-blowing bore had zero friends, hadn’t traveled in a decade despite plenty of opportunity, liked to code on the weekends, and never did anything that wasn’t scheduled in her planner. Don’t cry for her; she’s in a better place now. Even Heaven can’t be that dull.”

It got better from there. The thing I admire the most is that this book doesn’t just tell the reader how special Chloe is; it shows you. As in the passage above, Chloe’s interior monologue is funny, her voice unique. Another example, from a pivotal point early on:
“Her moment of communion with the universe rudely interrupted, Chloe hauled herself into a sitting position. Strangely, she was now feeling much better. Perhaps because she had recognized and accepted the universe’s message. It was time, clearly, to get a life.”

That sold me. Definitely recommend.

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Review: Well Met

Well Met by Jen DeLuca
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

At the risk of sounding like the grinch who killed Romancelandia, I have to admit that I don’t get this one, and that surprised me given what I’d heard. Well Met is sweet and the setting, a Renaissance Faire, and setup are original. And that is admirable and worthy of note. Yet the book as a whole still felt a bit beige, like a serviceable rather than joyful read for me. I just didn’t find compelling. It was hard to escape the feeling of wanting more.

A woman moves to a small town in Maryland and moves in with her older sister and niece to take care of them in the wake of a serious car accident. The heroine Emily is also going through a difficult time in the wake of a bad breakup. While she’s in town, she chaperones her niece as a volunteer in their local renaissance faire and instantly strikes up an intense love-hate connection with the faire’s organizer. That’s all great. But things go a little off track, veering into stereotypes and overplayed tropes from there. First and foremost this is an enemies to lovers story of the weakest form about two people who know very little about each other and have a couple really minor, tepidly unpleasant exchanges. At worst, the hero is a super watered down Darcy type perhaps. Enemies is a big stretch. The second problem is that the heroine is annoyingly insecure in a way that is frustratingly common for women in romance. When they finally connect it’s still a sweet story but a little underwhelming.

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Review: The Kingmaker

The Kingmaker by Kennedy Ryan
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Lennix Moon Hunter is a passionate advocate for Native American people, women and other oppressed groups. Maxim Cade is an environmental scientist who describes himself as a capitalist crusader. Their values are actually a lot more in sync than that description implies. I won’t spoil it but they meet cute in the most woke millennial way possible.

The story is surprisingly epic. It spans two decades and four continents and involves more than a little political intrigue and suspense. But it feels intimate because it’s first and foremost a really sweet love story about intelligent and caring but extremely ambitious people who really get each other but meet in genuinely challenging circumstances. The early sequences in Arizona and Amsterdam when Lennix and Maxim are first getting to know and falling for each other are especially sweet and charming. Even when the story expands, Ryan’s writing is always lyrical, passionate, and original. The way the two main characters think and speak made me want to spend time with them for as long as possible. At the end I wanted more.

One of my favorite parts:

If a kiss has a color, this one is the muted shades of the sky overhead, a ménage à trois of midnight and indigo and moonshine silver. If a kiss has a sound, this one is the concert of our breaths and sighs and moans. If a kiss has a taste, it tastes like this. Hunger flavored with yearning and spiced with desperation. With bites and growls and tender licks and soothing whimpers. Perfectly served portions of sweet and scorching.

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New Book: The Wedding Party by Jasmine Guillory

One of the most attractive qualities of Jasmine Guillory's first two novels was that  they take place in world that is diverse yet relatable to a wide variety of readers. The author has a light hand in dealing with race and the challenges of living in a multicultural yet far from post-racial world. The Wedding Party continues in that vein yet tries to integrate a bit more realism and cultural specificity this time compared to the first two books. Theo is an aide to the Mayor of Berkeley, California and Maddie is a professional stylist. Both are people of color who struggle with what their identity means for their professional careers as they navigate a world that is still predominantly white and they are still somewhat marginalized.

Guillory handles those issues with a light but honest touch. Both Theo and Maddie feel like outsiders with little room for error; they feel the pressure of knowing they have to work twice as hard as their peers to be taken seriously let alone treated equally. Their challenges are organically integrated into the love story as the two rivals get to know and support each other. Whereas they initially see each other as types, opposites who attract on a sexual basis alone, they more they share, the more they connect and respect each other, and that is the fundamental basis for their romantic relationship. That mutual connection is one of the more distinctive elements in an otherwise conventional rival/friends with secret benefits to lovers storyline.  It's a sweet, very mildly sexy story, and a predictable, yet modern and enjoyable read.

#NetGalley #The WeddingParty