Because I am supposed to move halfway around the country next Thursday, I have been diligently putting off anything that resembles packing and or preparing to move my giant hoard of junk. Strategies have included cooking actual dinners instead of my handy salad-in-a-bag standby, wandering aimlessly about the house ignoring the packable items, eating far too much ice cream for my waistline’s comfort, and reading. Ah, yes – this is one of the reasons I became a librarian in the first place. When there’s something unpleasant to be done, you can usually find me shuttled away with a book. (At work, at least, it comforts me to be surrounded by them, even if I can’t escape into the tomes.)
Anyway, having polished off Rowlings’ Deathly Hallows in a voracious 5 hour stint, I have managed to drum up some other reading to keep me occupied. Let me review for you:
by Saranne Dawson.
Publisher: Love Spell, 1994.
To be fair, I picked this one up at my local drugstore, where some suspicious-looking paperbacks were on sale, 2 for $5.98. (Never let it be said that I am not a bookslut.) What to say about this one…if you see it, please run. Do not pass go, do not send your three dollars, do not expect wild romance and hot spicy sex (though it appears it is promised on the cover). There’s no depth to the characters, there’s no explanation of how a woman can sort-of love one guy but-not-really enough to be miffed at a new lover for killing him, and there’s very little palatable explanation of the magic and political compact that is supposedly the central plot for the book. Most unforgivable, perhaps, was that you couldn’t bring yourself to care for a single one of the characters, who were too simply developed or simply fell flat. (I mean, I wanted to care, I really did. it’s what I do – I get attached to fictional characters and weep when they die, or the book ends and our relationship comes to a standstill.)
Now, I’m a woman who likes her trashy romance novels, but this one wasn’t trashy. Or romance. Nor did it deliver on tantalizing promises of magic. Or sex. Or even good battles. Chalk it up as a loss and stay away. Sorry, Saranne – better luck next time. But congratulations on getting published – I envy you your ISBN number!
Tonight if I get some packing done, I may reward myself with a John Saul paperback. I know, I know, I’m a sellout going for the big name when I should be reading newer authors. But hey, if it makes you feel any better, I start my MFA in the fall and will be reviewing all SORTS of non-popular non-fiction *grin*