Wednesday Whirlwind Courtship
What I've Finished Reading
The Grand Sophy. I guess it was thoughtful of Georgette Heyer to concentrate all her anti-Semitism in a big ugly lump in the middle of the book, instead of just sprinkling it inextricably over everything? A book editor could easily just scoop it out and throw it away, and nothing of value would be lost. The vicious moneylender caricature (complete with random homicidal impulses) whom Sophy bargains with over the payment of her cousins' debts is so jarring that it throws the rest of the book off balance. It feels like detritus from a totally different book, nestled among all the bubbly laughter and ribboned muslin and cute-dog side-plays like a turd in a trifle. But at least it's just the one? I don't know.
It was a good trifle otherwise.
To be honest, I lost the thread a little toward the end -- partly from being distracted by "Goldhanger," but mostly just because the characters and situations piled up quite a lot and I couldn't completely tell all of Sophy's friends apart. The madcap finale is still pretty delightful. Everyone sorts out into new and improved configurations in a more-or-less satisfying way, with the possible exception of [SPOILER for The Grand Sophy!]Sophy and Charles, who were a bit too underdetermined and 1950s-Hollywood slap-kiss-grab for me. I realized, almost at the last minute, that the only couple I really cared about was [ANOTHER SPOILER]Miss Wraxton and Lord Bromford! Miss Wraxton is the Overly Serious Fiancee whose meddling is unappreciated by everyone else; Bromford is a hapless sap who sallies chivalrously forth to save Sophy from disgrace (it's a long story) but catches a bad cold along the way and finds himself totally unequal to the task of walking in a room where there are ducklings. WHY ARE THERE DUCKLINGS? I could relate to him because I, too, have had colds. Miss Wraxton rises to the occasion as the only person in this madhouse who understands how confusing ducklings are when you have a cold, and takes appropriate action. Their whirlwind courtship around a soothing mustard-bath is a beauty and a joy.
After I finished the book, I read the introduction, by New York Times Bestselling Author Catherine Coulter. It was a strange introduction that focused primarily on Coulter's personal sexual fantasies about the characters. "That's an interesting approach," I thought, because I try to be polite even in my own mind, but deep down I knew I wasn't really interested.
What I'm Reading Now
Not much, due to work. The Celebrated Mrs. Oldfield is from my bookshelf. It's a short study of an early 18th-century actress and her milieu, which is a world I know nothing about. The plays and the descriptions of performance styles are fascinating.
Under the Volcano is so drunk right now, you guys.
The Laughing Monsters is better now that its unlikable assholes are on a bus instead of just hanging around in hotel bars being cagey about their asshole plans, but I still wish I were reading something else. Soon, I will be reading something else!
What I Plan to Read Next
Work stuff, as far as the eye can see.
The Grand Sophy. I guess it was thoughtful of Georgette Heyer to concentrate all her anti-Semitism in a big ugly lump in the middle of the book, instead of just sprinkling it inextricably over everything? A book editor could easily just scoop it out and throw it away, and nothing of value would be lost. The vicious moneylender caricature (complete with random homicidal impulses) whom Sophy bargains with over the payment of her cousins' debts is so jarring that it throws the rest of the book off balance. It feels like detritus from a totally different book, nestled among all the bubbly laughter and ribboned muslin and cute-dog side-plays like a turd in a trifle. But at least it's just the one? I don't know.
It was a good trifle otherwise.
To be honest, I lost the thread a little toward the end -- partly from being distracted by "Goldhanger," but mostly just because the characters and situations piled up quite a lot and I couldn't completely tell all of Sophy's friends apart. The madcap finale is still pretty delightful. Everyone sorts out into new and improved configurations in a more-or-less satisfying way, with the possible exception of [SPOILER for The Grand Sophy!]Sophy and Charles, who were a bit too underdetermined and 1950s-Hollywood slap-kiss-grab for me. I realized, almost at the last minute, that the only couple I really cared about was [ANOTHER SPOILER]Miss Wraxton and Lord Bromford! Miss Wraxton is the Overly Serious Fiancee whose meddling is unappreciated by everyone else; Bromford is a hapless sap who sallies chivalrously forth to save Sophy from disgrace (it's a long story) but catches a bad cold along the way and finds himself totally unequal to the task of walking in a room where there are ducklings. WHY ARE THERE DUCKLINGS? I could relate to him because I, too, have had colds. Miss Wraxton rises to the occasion as the only person in this madhouse who understands how confusing ducklings are when you have a cold, and takes appropriate action. Their whirlwind courtship around a soothing mustard-bath is a beauty and a joy.
After I finished the book, I read the introduction, by New York Times Bestselling Author Catherine Coulter. It was a strange introduction that focused primarily on Coulter's personal sexual fantasies about the characters. "That's an interesting approach," I thought, because I try to be polite even in my own mind, but deep down I knew I wasn't really interested.
What I'm Reading Now
Not much, due to work. The Celebrated Mrs. Oldfield is from my bookshelf. It's a short study of an early 18th-century actress and her milieu, which is a world I know nothing about. The plays and the descriptions of performance styles are fascinating.
Under the Volcano is so drunk right now, you guys.
The Laughing Monsters is better now that its unlikable assholes are on a bus instead of just hanging around in hotel bars being cagey about their asshole plans, but I still wish I were reading something else. Soon, I will be reading something else!
What I Plan to Read Next
Work stuff, as far as the eye can see.