“I am both less than you and more, ” he said. “An alchemist, an amalgamation of two opposite realms. I’m the fabric of the stars.”

Shana Abé writes beautiful romances and her dragons have been the awe inspiring stuff of dreams. I fell in love with her hauntingly romantic Drakon series and was excited to hear that she was going to dabble in the paranormal world of YA and bring her dragons to a younger audience. However, where her traditional fantasy romances showcase the vivid, rich world of her dragons, her usually beautiful prose was buried beneath so many YA cliches that it may as well not have been about the Drakon at all.

“I don’t think he meant to kiss me,” I said finally.
“What? Did he slip and fall on your mouth? Those things are known to happen.”

Tell me if this has happened to you:  Say you read YA, and you’re loving some paranormal romance (the fact that it’s beat to death be damned) and you’ve exhausted the four, maybe five original YA paranormal romance novels out there but you’re still hooked on that otherworldly feelin’. You’re not ready to go back to real life! So you settle for one (or several ) of the overly mass-produced, black covered tomes that swarmed the Teen section of the bookstore, like a plague of angst-ridden, emo locusts, in the wake of the cataclysmic literary (*scoff*) event that was Twilight. The all look exactly the same and every one of them is a variation of the one before. So you get a bit fed up and that jaded portion of your brain that was sick of this shit, and your shit, long before you yourself realized it, says “Hey, I could write a YA book.” You’ve said it. I know you. And you’ve joked with your book buddies about how you would create the perfect YA paranormal romance by including all the cliches you’ve been nearly beaten to death with in your recent reading. You’ve got a good eye for this sort of thing, and you could have made it work. Slap a hot cover on it and you would’ve had a best seller.

A Rogue By Any Other name

Author: Sarah MacLean
Publisher: Avon
Date: February 28, 2012
Pages: 386
Genre: Romance

From Goodreads: What a scoundrel wants, a scoundrel gets . . .

A decade ago, the Marquess of Bourne was cast from society with nothing but his title. Now a partner in London’s most exclusive gaming hell, the cold, ruthless Bourne will do whatever it takes to regain his inheritance—including marrying perfect, proper Lady Penelope Marbury.

A broken engagement and years of disappointing courtships have left Penelope with little interest in a quiet, comfortable marriage, and a longing for something more. How lucky that her new husband has access to such unexplored pleasures.

Bourne may be a prince of London’s underworld, but he vows to keep Penelope untouched by its wickedness—a challenge indeed as the lady discovers her own desires, and her willingness to wager anything for them . . . even her heart.

It took me a lot longer than I expected to make peace with this book. I went into it expecting nothing less than instant love and further fodder for my MacLean fangirlism, so it came as quite a shock when instalove failed to happen. What was even more surprising was that when the book was finished, I was unable to pinpoint just what the story made me feel.

Penelope is a far cry from MacLean’s traditional heroines which are of the stubborn, pig-headed, gutsy variety. Penelope was an overly self-conscious, insecure, bullied woman who felt nothing was due to her, not even her own happiness. She was so extremely pitiful at times that I started to wonder if the self-loathing really was going to be the sum total of her character traits, leaving no room for any of the traits I’ve come to expect in a MacLean leading lady. Whenever she was given an opportunity to display some gumption, her attempts were still flimsy and she never really stopped asking permission or seeking acceptance.

I was equally as disenamored with Bourne, our unscrupulous bad boy whose past and present misdeeds have left him out of favor with the highly judgmental ton. A leading man who is a notorious rake, has a colorful past and leads a slightly suspect life are traits of the standard issue romance hero. These things are perfectly acceptable in a playboy but Bourne’s character was just….mean! He was entirely unpolished, heartless and his treatment of Penelope bordered on abusive. The dry, sarcastic, often boorish, MacLean hero with his devil-may-care attitude never appeared and I was left struggling to find any sympathy or connection with him.

Oddly enough, some of my favorite moments in the book occurred at times when Penelope was at her least likable. Her opinion of herself is so very low that there were instances where my heart nearly broke at her acceptance of deserving so very little in life. I hurt for her to the point of tears and I can’t help but wish more for her than what (and who) she ultimately ended up with. This is sad because their past relationship was so much more intriguing than their current one. I absolutely adored, with all the adoration there is, the letters at the beginning of each chapter. I’m such a dunce. I didn’t even realize who it was she was writing to until about halfway in.

I’m very much aware that I’m being a bit hypercritical of characters in a romance novel and I also realize that it’s probably a bit selfish (with a wee touch of hypocrisy) to expect an author to follow the same formula that she’s been using for every book. Maybe my struggle is with myself and not the writing. It’s perfectly reasonable to want to explore a character from a different angle so perhaps I just need to get with the program. I did so enjoy her Love by Numbers series and I guess I’m just kind of nostalgic for that type of story.

Third Grave Dead Ahead

Author: Darynda Jones
Publisher: St. Martin’s Press
Date: January 31, 2012
Pages: 310
Genre: Paranormal Romance

When you’re The Grim Reaper, you can pretty much count yourself as exempt from some of the everyday things people struggle with. I mean, you still have to pay taxes and such (because Uncle Sam has an even greater reach) but you’re pretty hard to kill so the odd ass kicking here and there isn’t that big of a deal and you don’t have to fear the things that go bump in the night. But as a general rule of thumb, it’s still probably best if you don’t royally piss off the son of Satan by permanently tethering his soul to a human body. Charley had a hunch that doing so could be detrimental to her own personal safety but considering the fact that she never got The Grim Reaper 101 handbook with its list of no-nos, she went ahead and did it anyway. Angry would be a walk in the park compared to what Reyes is feeling at the moment, so he lashes out the only way he can. Even tied to his human body, Charley is still only one dream away and every time she closes her eyes, he makes sure he is there.

Sleep deprived (because we all know what he can do with a dream), Charley carries on with her day job as a private investigator. A case of a missing wife finds its way to her in the form of a seemingly distraught husband that just reeks of a guilt that only the supernatural can sniff out. With a woman’s life on the line, the clock is ticking and Charley has to hurry up and get her hands on her missing person before Reyes gets his hands on Charley.

Just what are you trying to do to me, Jones? Reyes is there, he’s not there, he might be there, he’s there but not there there and oh wait he is there there. It’s like an all you can eat buffet of Reyes and I’m aiming to get kicked out for gross over-indulgence. God I love this relationship. There would be all kinds of red flags and danger signs if it was actually real but the majority of Charley’s interaction with Reyes is only in her head. Gives new meaning to the term mindfuc- er moving on…

This is the third installment (thus the title) in the series and I’m happy to report that it hasn’t slacked off yet and with an ending that further complicates the situation, no signs of slacking off are even on the horizon. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again- I love that Charley is ridiculously good at her job. The mundane one, not the supernatural (she’s good at that too, but it’s kind of morbid to declare death a good thing). I think it’s what keeps me so tied to the character and the stories. I know I’m always in for a good show with very little slapstick to cover up an incompetent character. Charley is tackling a couple of cases at once in this book. There’s the missing woman with the less than innocent husband but she’s also on the trail of someone who is suppose to be dead. It’s all well in good if the dead guy is in fact dead, but if he isn’t, there’s someone close to Charley with a ten year vested interest in his whereabouts.

There. You’ve been thoroughly teased. Go take a cold shower.

Kick ass cover btw.

I took a quick shower, pulled my hair into a ragged ponytail , and dressed in a pair of comfortable jeans, a loose black sweater, and a pair of killer boots I got off a biker for a lap dance. He was pretty darned good, too, after I got past my aversion to back hair.

Unsticky

Author: Sarra Manning
Publisher: Headline Review
Date: May 2009
Pages: 562
Genre: Fiction- Romance

At 562 pages, this is perhaps the longest contemporary chick-lit novel that I have ever encountered- and I think towards the end I would have sold a quarter of my soul for 562 more.

I don’t even know where to begin talking about this book. I’m supposed to provide you with instances that I liked, giving you tiny little teasing insights into the story. But how can I when I loved every single word on every single page. Even the thes, ands and buts.

When I’m down in the dumps, or suffering from a case of the mean reds (look it up), I shop. There’s nothing more therapeutic than a pretty pair of shoes or a sparkly pair of earrings or for us book whores, a stack of glossy new covers, to put a little light into our day or help us escape from whatever baddie that has lodged itself into our heads. It’s silly, I know, but it comes with being a girl, this idea that if something can make us feel a little prettier, for even a second, it will offset the effect of whatever is bringing us down. There isn’t a woman alive that doesn’t want to feel pretty and even fleeting seconds of pretty can offset a whole day full of hurt.

Grace is a regular girl, who earns a crap wage at a thankless job. She’s consistently unlucky in love and has no new prospects on the horizon, romantically or financially so. There’s nothing quite as soul constricting as the feeling of not being able to get out, of being not just stuck in a bad situation but resigned to it. And that’s where Grace is, and she’s miserable. So when the money isn’t even enough to keep the lights on, why not spend what you don’t have on something that can give you a quick fix of feel better. Grace shops, buying outrageously expensive and beautiful things in the hopes that reveling in such luxury, even for a moment, will fill the hole that living her life leaves. When she is unceremoniously dumped by her latest fuckwit boyfriend, on her birthday, in her favorite store, it’s just about the extent of all she can handle. Not use to playing the damsel in distress, Grace is understandably suspect when a kindly gentlemen ushers her away from the embarrassing scene and plies her with champagne and chocolate cake.

Vaughn is a far cry from the valiant knight on a white horse. He’s selfish, moody, demanding and at times deliberately hurtful, making him a poor candidate for a relationship. He is, however, filthy rich and when he offers Grace a nontraditional romantic arrangement that could put an end to her financial troubles, Grace is left with a decision that could further alienate her from the life she truly wants to lead but could possibly give her the security she so desperately desires. It comes down to a matter of just what she’s willing to do and what she’s willing to give up, for money.

So yes, we have here a proposed case of negotiable affection. At a whopping $14,000 pounds a year, Grace’s job barely affords food so I didn’t blink when she accepted Vaughn’s indecent proposal. Ladies, rich good looking men do not pick up sniveling poor girls in department stores and offer to give them tons of money and buy them clothes, so your wanton soul will not be condemned to hell if you go ahead and live vicariously through Grace. It -is- OK.

I loved Grace. Loved Loved Loved her. She was so instantly relatable that the older me had to keep reminding the younger me that she is a fictional character and no we can’t go have lunch together and be friends. She’s smart, creative, unique and so deserving of a better life that I couldn’t judge her for anything she did.

And Vaughn, poor unbelievably fucked in the head, bipolar asshole that he is, I loved him too. I loved him because despite his emotional infancy, he isn’t a bad guy- at least not in terms of infidelity, rakishness or dishonesty. He maintains monogamous, honest relationships with well defined emotional and physical restraints that have a preordained shelf life. For him it’s merely a defense against heartache as he doesn’t feel he’s much of a catch either. A wise woman once told me that a woman would rather be with a bank robber than a cheater and Vaughn is a one woman man, even if he isn’t the kind that’s in it for the long haul. I really love that about him. It’s in such stark contrast to the nature of their relationship that you can’t help but get attached.

This book, THIS book. I swear, I went through so many emotions reading this and the last 75 pages resulted in an unforeseen snot feast that I wouldn’t have missed for the world. I really had no idea how things were going to end and I went ahead and prepared myself for the worst- and I won’t tell you if it came to that or not. Ha ha.

This book hasn’t been published in the US and I had to adopt my copy from overseas. It came to me damaged, spine broken, cover pealing and pitiful and I’m torn between wanting a shiny new copy to keep forever and holding on to this one that has the look of a book well loved. I’m already on the prowl for more of Manning’s books as I suspect we have a long and lovely future together in store for us.

 ’Gran, this is Vaughn. Vaughn, this is my grandmother, Jean.’
 They shook hands, because her grandmother’s generation didn’t do air kisses, and then sized each other up like two dogs warily circling each other, before one of them decided to go for the throat.
 ’Grace has told me a lot about you,’ Vaughn said politely, his face wearing a smiling Vaughn mask that didn’t even look like him. ‘It’s good to finally meet you.’
 ’Well, she’s told me very little about you,’ her grandmother replied because she’d survived a war, one stillbirth, a daughter who’d got knocked up at seventeen and ten years of a Labour government, and she didn’t take shit from anyone.

More love for Unsticky:
Angie @ Angieville
Holly @ The Book Harbinger