A-Z Romances: Cat Sebastian and Independent Heroes

My favorite book by Cat Sebastian is You Should Be So Lucky. I love it so much, I usually read it in less than a day (so I have to set aside a day to read it). 

For this list, I read Two Rogues Make a Right. The book belongs to the Seducing the Sedgwicks Series. Of the nineteenth century historical romances, I prefer Sebastian's Turner Series. But one purpose of this list is to read what I don't usually read--or don't read that often. 

Two Rogues Make a Right is one of those books, rather like McCall Smith's Mma Ramotswe mysteries, that I can read a little bit, then put down, then read a little more. Sometimes, this approach backfires (I forget to pick up the book again before I have to take it back to the library) but sometimes, as with McCall Smith, the little bit gives me something to look forward to over a few nights. 

Sebastian is a very good writer and can create gentle, slice-of-life moments within a larger plot. She is also quite skilled at creating damaged characters in which the plot is not about how damaged they are. 

I've discussed elsewhere the problem of tying violence (even remembered violence) to romance. The characters in Two Rogues are not meant to save or fix each other. They can't. The past can't be undone. Certain conditions can't be cured (in the nineteenth century). But they can meet each other halfway. 

Will and Martin are a little different from other such characters since they are both, being rogues, willing to burn down the world for each other. But that burning-down-the-world doesn't extend to riding inside someone else's skin. Love--as I point out often on this blog--is about accepting a person where/who that person is, not trying to mold them into something else for their own good. (I separate "interventions" over drug addiction from "but I wish you had a different career"--see below.) 

There is a line (as when Martin is too sick to make decisions) and Sebastian honestly tackles that line as well as honestly tackling the problem of status and money. Like KJ Charles, Sebastian doesn't present love as so grand, lifestyle disappears as a factor. It must be tackled directly. 

Martin accepts that his skills and health only take him so far. He also learns, however, that he can live on £50 a year (historical "salaries" are incredibly difficult to figure: £50 a year is about $5,000 - $10,000, so not a great deal but more than enough for someone living in a cottage who doesn't have to pay rent for the cottage itself and who spend that same amount on buy 7 bushels of wheat, which is equivalent to 30 bags of flour. And since he is living with Will, who may bring in about the same amount, they will do fine! 

But they had to learn they could, not assume they could.   

A-Z Romances: P is for Probabilities

Reading Mary Jo Putney's novella One Wicked Winter Night, I was reminded of one of the many Jane Eyres I have reviewed. In it, Jane Eyre and Helen behave like modern teens snidely telling off the ridiculous headmaster, snarky swaggering that in that time period would have gotten them sent away from the school--or worse. 

With historical writing, there is always the problem of trying to stay faithful to the time period while capturing behavior that we modern readers recognize in ourselves. T.H. White pulls this off in The Sword in the Stone, despite the anachronisms (anachronisms to fourteenth century medieval England) because (1) he is obvious about what he is doing--the anachronisms are part of his style; (2) he captures the essence of human behavior across time. 

I suggest line between "okay, they didn't talk that way but that dialogue does capture the time and place" and "I can't take this seriously" gets crossed when human behavior becomes itself improbable. Jane and Helen behaving like quick-witted teens who have lawyer fathers at home is not believable--the anachronistic behavior stands out more. 

Putney's novella, unfortunately, has both anachronisms and unlikely human behavior. At one point, the couple discuss the hero's evil (dead) father. Apparently, he had an affair and fathered an illegitimate daughter. Although he sent an allowance, his unwillingness to do more for the daughter is discussed with hot indignation--in a Regency novel--by the main characters. 

In fact, by Regency standards, the fact that the evil father took responsibility and sent the equivalent of child support is impressive. He is no longer evil. A reader who understands the time period begins to suspect that he had a softer side (except the author doesn't want me to believe that). Moreover, illegitimate children--while they might be supported and even adored by parents--were rarely openly discussed using those terms. Mr. B's illegitimate daughter in Pamela is cared for and supported by Pamela, but she is also carefully shielded against any suggestion of an inappropriate background so she can eventually marry well. 

Those conditions may be unfair. They are reality. The righteous condemners are virtue-signaling like crazy but in reality, they would be causing more problems for the people they label "illegitimate." 

More unlikely human behavior comes earlier in the novel when a young woman writes, "Once more I give thanks to my wonderful visit with you in India because that led to me being captured by corsairs on the way home." 

 What? What?! 

That's the kind of off-hand remark that is either a huge joke or demands that the character stop and reflect: Ah, yes, she mentioned being captured by corsairs in her last letter. 

Yet the text keeps going without pause. 

There were aspects of the novella that I enjoyed. The hero is a duke; his responsibilities are honestly spelled out (his dukedom isn't just an opportunity for him to collect ghastly statues as in the 2005 Pride & Prejudice). The heroine has invested in trading, which is entirely probable. She also makes a point that traveling is not romantic: it takes a great deal of "commonsense." Moreover, the BIG secret is big enough to explain the heroine's reaction, and it is quite believable for the time period. 

And there are lots of pet cats! 

Nevertheless, it is a pity when a not-too-terrible-plot with not-too-terrible-protagonists is ruined by everybody having to think properly...by modern standards. And it doesn't help when even by modern standards, they seem a little too coy and accepting.  

 

A-Z Romances: Oke and Non-Transcendental Religion

On my main blog, Votaries, I have several A-Z Lists. For one list, I read a new book by fiction authors, going A to Z. For "O," I read The Bluebird and the Sparrow by Janette Oke

Janette Oke writes religious romances. They are similar to Grace Livingston Hill's romances: the religious context is clearly Christian evangelical but in a rather ecumenical way. Christian Light. Protagonists don't swear or behave badly, but there isn't a whole lot of theological discussion going on either.

In the review on Votaries, I argue that the lack of theological discussion doesn't make the romances nonreligious. After all, religion has a social, even therapeutic side. My big question, in that review, was "Why is it that religious fiction often can't capture the transcendental nature of religion?"

As, say, C.S. Lewis's fiction does. 

This time around, I decided to give Oke another try. My current A-Z List on Votaries is about characters and character-building. Is there a connection between rather bland religious fiction and lack of decent character development?

Based on the book I read--Beyond the Gathering Storm--the answer is, "Yes!" 

The book takes place in the early twentieth century (the time frame is difficult to ascertain since automobiles are treated as newcomers to the streets but Hitler is mentioned as causing problems in Europe). The main female protagonist is a young woman working as a typist in the big city. Her not-unfriendly employer asks her to move into his large house and become his cook on the side. Even by today's standards, this suggestion borders harassment since Christine isn't sure if a refusal will result in the termination of her employment. 

Instead of saying, "No" for perfectly comprehensible reasons, both by 1900s standards  and by current standards, Christine tells the employer that she has to pray about it. 

She then writes her parents. Instead of writing back and saying, "Are you an idiot? That is an unbelievably dangerous position to place yourself in. And not what we agreed to when we helped you get through your typing course," the parents write back that Christine needs...to pray about it. 

Okay, so apparently, it is God's problem that a young woman and her parents don't have the brains God gave them. 

It's hard to see a transcendent God in all this--rather, God is the person who gives (obvious) advice to stupid people. 

It's the kind of scene that makes Pamela look positively fleshed out. Pamela is also quite pious but her religious beliefs, while not entirely transcendent, at least provide some solid philosophical stances. She doesn't belong to the same class as Mr. B but she maintains that she deserves to be treated with equal respect because she and Mr. B are equal in the eyes of God.

Pamela has a belief system. With Christine, I could never figure out her belief system except she is nominally Christian.  

In a later scene, Christine is put off by the rowdy and vulgar friends at Boyd's picnic. (The friends are portrayed as flappers, which again, confuses the time frame. Hitler was causing issues in Germany by the 1920s, but it is doubtful that anyone would have referenced him in Canada as a possible cause of war in Europe as early as that.)

I gave the character a pass regarding the rowdy friends: there is nothing more uncomfortable than being at a shindig that involves forced extroversion with unlikable people. Christine is well within her rights to counter, as she does, by inviting Boyd to church. 

He attends and is not impressed. Both Christine and the writer seem to think that Boyd's lack of enthusiasm is not due to social connections taking time to development but to Boyd's inherently shallow nature. "Church" is a signal of virtue, not a frank appraisal of what C.S. Lewis acknowledges can be an occasionally mundane and trite and tedious commitment. 

In fact, Boyd tries to compromise by thinking up outings he and Christine can enjoy together. Christine is disappointed because presumably Boyd's reaction means he is not of her world. But since she treats church much like an outing--the Correct Type of Outing--it's hard to see how Boyd has misread the situation here. 

This is Church as Performance Art, much the same way much so-called social justice is people waving their arms around rather than going into inner cities (or out into the countryside) and registering people to vote (or setting up medical clinics). 

Boyd conveniently turns out to also be an abusive bully, so Christine never has to face any reality about her beliefs. Her beliefs are Good. His are Bad. She doesn't even have to grapple with anything as difficult as "What if he is a fantastic boyfriend and serious student and loyal help-meet--but indifferent to religion? What choice would I make then?" 

Not a lot of character and transcendence here (though the second story in the novel about Henry and a widower at least involves two decent people building a relationship based on honest interactions). One suspects that Christine's church isn't that different from her wishy-washy response to most of the people in her life: it would be blown down in one roar from Aslan (as Paul warns about all churches). And what would be left? 

The characters don't seem to know.

A-Z Romances: Milan and the Working Class

A great, great, great many Regency romances take place amongst the gentry--or higher. I think one of the reasons is the success of and liking for Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer. Many writers come to romance by way of Austen and Heyer and know how good the material can be. 

I think, too, that there is interest in upper class lives. Many archaeologists and historians have attempted to make working class lives interesting, but the records on that side are sparse, and even HBO's Rome, which produced decent working-class heroes, entwined those working-class heroes with the dramas of their "betters," in the personages of Julius Caesar and Mark Antony and Cleopatra. 

However, the endless focus on the upper classes does get a trifle monotonous after awhile. Or, at least, it gets harder for the new novel to stand out from the rest, especially when the milieu seems entirely coincidental. Not there for plot reasons. Just there so people can discuss wardrobes. 

Consequently, I tend to prefer romances that take at least one step down the ladder. Loretta Chase's marvelous Dressmakers Series is a great solution to a reader's varied interests since she combines lords and dukes with extremely witty dialog and, most importantly, the sisters' desire to be the best dressmakers in London. They don't simply want to make money. They want to exercise their artistic abilities and managerial skills. The result is delightful books with strong denouements. (In fact, I wish the fourth book--Lady Clara's book, which focuses on legal cases rather than dressmaking--had concentrated more on the couple getting by in the equivalent of the middle class: not quite at Darcy's level, yet not as poor and struggling as Miss Bates.) 

Courtney Milan's Turner Series is somewhat darker than Chase's. However, it also manages to escape the "then they went to ANOTHER dance" scenes. Unraveled, for instance, deals with Smite Turner as a justice and the woman who becomes first his mistress and then his wife. Part of the book is focused on getting a shipwright apprenticeship for a young man--not getting him into Eton. When Smite moves his mistress into a house, it is a townhouse: luxury for her but not, thank goodness, a mansion.

Moreover, though the Turner brothers have a family home and it is a nice place, scenes from the past indicate that at one point the cellar flooded. Even Darcy's cellar probably floods on occasion! (My Darcy-like father spent most of my childhood trying to figure out how to get rainwater not to drain into our basement: my childhood home was a ranch house on a hill.) 

Without turning into a Marxist tract--because people in every age have survived and fallen in love, whatever their economic status (the micro life choices are considered more important than the macro theoretical meaning)--the book, set in Bristol, manages to capture a gritty reality in which people do exactly that.

 

A-Z Romance! Harrington & Heyer Fan Fiction

The Lords of the Armory books by Anna Harrington brought home three truths (for me) about romances: (1) A problem or plot is always better than a bunch of "meet-cutes"--Harrington supplies the former; (2) a conspiracy or Big Bad makes my brain go numb; (3) yaoi/M-M romance is attractive for a reason. 

In truth, I so admire stories that have actual problems/conflicts that must be solved, I might have kept reading Harrington's novel if the main romantic couple had been male-male. 

But conspiracies don't interest me--and romantic heroes who badger romantic heroines for information while the romantic heroines stalwartly refuse...interest me almost as little. 

I much prefer to watch the hero and heroine work together. There are traditional romances that accomplish this end. In Total Surrender by Anne Mallory presents a dour hero and a cheerful heroine who nevertheless work together to salvage her father's business. Imagine if Eliot from Leverage got together with a female version of Hardison...

And therein lies the attraction of yaoi/M-M because both would simply use Eliot and Hardison. 

The Anne Harrington book A Relentless Rake starts with a brother and half-brother (father's bastard) receiving instructions on their assignment. And I immediately found the brothers' relationship more interesting than the possible romance. Granted, they are brothers, but that biological tie is easily kept or tweaked; the "working" partnership could be explored in terms of friendship and/or romance. 

I've discovered the same with my Georgette Heyer fan fiction. In some cases, keeping the original pairings is more effective. But in some cases, a male/male pairing become infinitely more interesting.

So, for instance, with The Unknown Ajax, I kept the original pairing--Hugo and Althea--but concentrated on Richmond and Vincent in my fanfiction. In the book, Richmond is a wild young man who wants to go into the army. His doting grandfather refuses. Richmond appears to become quiescent but in fact is busy running a smuggling ring. Vincent is a sardonic man who doesn't appear to care about anything. Even though Richmond looks up to him, Vincent keeps his distance until matters reach a crisis. Then all the cousins have to pull together. 

Richmond and Vincent coming to terms struck me as far more interesting than the warring supposed opposites, Hugo and Althea. Hugo and Althea are a decent couple but so much "oh, no, I'm not REALLY attracted to you" bantering does get a tad tiring after awhile.

That is, I prefer Nick and Nora--already boon companions who banter--working on a separate problem than what my mother (in a different context) once referred to as "revolving door" relationships. Richmond and Vincent are already friends. The issue isn't one of "yes, but do I really like you?" The issues are Richmond's tendency to hero-worship and Vincent's tendency to cynicism while, on the action side, the issues are Richmond's desire to get a commission and Vincent's willingness to drop his pose for at least one other person. 

A-Z Romance! Andrew Grey

Since I am reviewing "G" authors, I thought it might be appropriate to mention a rare male romance writer (they do exist!): Andrew Grey.

Grey's The Best Worse Honeymoon Ever was one of the first male/male romances I read, and I enjoyed it.

However, Grey's writing is an interesting example of how a writer can do a decent job in one area but not in another. Grey's books always have a plot, always, which I much appreciate since romances can sometimes feel like a bunch of "meet-cutes" tacked together with some random alarming revelation tacked on at the end. One of my favorite Greys involves an art/coin legal case; the other a mystery/corrupt judge case. Both books pay off their conflicts!

Unfortunately, Grey's characters tend to get--for lack of a better word--really preachy. Not in the political sense. They don't preach at the reader. They preach at each other. I have no idea why since I would run screaming for the exit if any so-called lover ever did it to me.

That is, in a number of books, at about the point where a character is supposed to have an epiphany, one character explains to the other the purpose and meaning of life. I suspect Grey was told that exposition is better delivered as dialog. I still sigh.

Interestingly enough, one of the best Grey books that doesn't speechify is Organic Chemistry in which one character has a form of Asperger's. Since the characters have to stay in character, the resolution cannot resort to "it is now time for you to understand your life--here is the requisite monologue by me" lecture. In fact, I think the book ends too soon!

Grey's writing proves a general point about authors. I excel at dialog (and considered becoming a scriptwriter at one point) but struggle with description/setting. One of the writers I edit for delivers description/setting as easily as breathing--but struggles with plot. Still another captures individuality with characters--and remembers each character's individuality but doesn't always pay off those characters.

We admire our greats for a reason. Which doesn't stop the rest of us from giving another story a go!

A-Z Romance! Grossman

Although the main characters of Marry Me at Midnight by Felicia Grossman didn't engage me, the book reminded me of one of the delightful side-effects of many romances...and mysteries.

Because the arcs and tropes fall into similar patterns, authors will often "change things up" by placing the couple and/or detectives in a new setting. Ellis Peters, of course, created a triumph with Cadfael. She not only captured the time period, she knew the history exceedingly well and could smoothly work it into the mysteries.

There's also Jeri Westerson's King's Fool Mysteries series, in which the real life court fool, William Sommers, investigates a crime for each of King Henry VIII's wives (Williams Sommers did, in fact, survive them all, including Queen Mary and Elizabeth I). The series captures Tudor England perfectly.

Likewise, Georgette Heyer produced some of the best contemporary romances of Regency England, in part due to her research of the time period.

Felicia Grossman's books are unique since they take place in the Jewish East End in the early 1800s.

The only snag with unique settings in romance is that often the books feel more like world fantasy--that is, the books concentrate more on all the stuff the protagonists are dealing with than their actual relationship. With something like the manga series Barbarities, I don't mind since the setting of Renaissance Europe is so entirely fun. But not all Heyers' books interest me equally and even Grossman's fascinating milieu couldn't hold my interest.

The best solution appears to be to present the milieu so seamlessly, the reader doesn't realize how much is being communicated. KJ Charles's Band Sinister comes to mind. Charles tackles the issue of individual do-you-own-thing behavior versus for-the-social-good behavior versus for-survival-in-society behavior. Maintaining the tensions between these positions is possible because Charles plays fair with the time period: it is what it is.