as riddled as the tide
Stumbled upon the newest Jennifer Ashley, Lady Isabella's Scandalous Marriage, the second in her MacKenzie trilogy. Oh man, so excited. Cos I quite liked Isabella when she popped up in the first book and cos, man, that first book was so brilliant in terms of characterisation and plot.
I wasn't particularly moved or impressed with this one. It was all very lacklustre, no great spark to either of the characters or the plot. I was actually slightly annoyed the hero's self-pity and emotional wranglings. Didn't really like him even though he was so clearly likeable. He just wasn't interesting. She wasn't either but I did respect and sympathise with her.
The paintings were really the best part of the novel for me. Sorely disappointed with the almost total lack of glorious kink I've come to expect from Jennifer Ashley. But perhaps she's moving away from that with this series, maybe she's saving it for her paranormal stuff. I can't help but wonder if she spreads herself a little thin but that's a bit mean, isn't it?
Shame.
And I bought Lessons In Desire by Madeline Hunter on an impulse. But argh, it was a leetle too overwritten and hyperbolic to keep my interest. Tossed it aside with a regret cos I was actually interested in the story. I just found myself increasingly exasperated with the writing of it. At least I stopped before I got to the point of mentally editing each sentence.
Maybe I'll go back to it ...
Then the new Loretta Chase, Last Night's Scandal. Which I was screamingly excited about cos of the pairing. Curious. It was unquestionably good, very hot, great heroine, quite endearing hero, and it's a lovely plot well told with no horrible phrases or insulting racist stereotypes. It was an entertaining absorbing read, a definite return to form for an excellent writer.
And yet ... yet I wasn't satisfied. This was definitely my fault because I wanted to be writing Sean and Cary with all their sharp dangerous filth and darkness and sarcasm. I did find it a bit hyperbolic as a result. But then I never like swooning descriptions of beauty at first sight and really the repetition of phsyical beauty got a bit tedious. But that was the only flaw in an extremely extremely good book.
Onya, Chase. You have somewhat redeemed yourself after the fucking hideous racist debacle of Don't Tempt Me.
I wasn't particularly moved or impressed with this one. It was all very lacklustre, no great spark to either of the characters or the plot. I was actually slightly annoyed the hero's self-pity and emotional wranglings. Didn't really like him even though he was so clearly likeable. He just wasn't interesting. She wasn't either but I did respect and sympathise with her.
The paintings were really the best part of the novel for me. Sorely disappointed with the almost total lack of glorious kink I've come to expect from Jennifer Ashley. But perhaps she's moving away from that with this series, maybe she's saving it for her paranormal stuff. I can't help but wonder if she spreads herself a little thin but that's a bit mean, isn't it?
Shame.
And I bought Lessons In Desire by Madeline Hunter on an impulse. But argh, it was a leetle too overwritten and hyperbolic to keep my interest. Tossed it aside with a regret cos I was actually interested in the story. I just found myself increasingly exasperated with the writing of it. At least I stopped before I got to the point of mentally editing each sentence.
Maybe I'll go back to it ...
Then the new Loretta Chase, Last Night's Scandal. Which I was screamingly excited about cos of the pairing. Curious. It was unquestionably good, very hot, great heroine, quite endearing hero, and it's a lovely plot well told with no horrible phrases or insulting racist stereotypes. It was an entertaining absorbing read, a definite return to form for an excellent writer.
And yet ... yet I wasn't satisfied. This was definitely my fault because I wanted to be writing Sean and Cary with all their sharp dangerous filth and darkness and sarcasm. I did find it a bit hyperbolic as a result. But then I never like swooning descriptions of beauty at first sight and really the repetition of phsyical beauty got a bit tedious. But that was the only flaw in an extremely extremely good book.
Onya, Chase. You have somewhat redeemed yourself after the fucking hideous racist debacle of Don't Tempt Me.