I can’t even begin to rate this book.
If I were to read this seriously, it’d be a nightmare. In typical Cartland fashion the hero is a self-centered, chauvinistic, misogynistic, arrogant, vain jerk – made worse by the way the author attempts to paint him in a light of utter perfection. Instead, he is perfectly loathsome (ha, I am getting into the spirit of this!) to the extent that with a hero like him we don’t actually need any villains. (I don’t for a second believe he won’t be having affairs once he’s married to the heroine. His views on the subject seem clear enough.)
The heroine, too, conforms to the usual mandates by being childlike and shy, yet courageous, stammering more often than not, and generally perfect in every warped way the author is so fond of. Including pure. Yes, that is the most important part.
As a pairing, well… It’s the usual father/child thing, sadly. I seem to remember that the promiscuous hero always made a point of teaching all sorts of things to the pure heroine. (And I am not even referring to sexual stuff, since usually sex only happens in the final scene among flowery language and ascension to heaven. In this case he teaches her the art of selecting the proper meal for a man, as any woman should be able to do. … I rest my case.)
I think I can blame a lot of my lingering issues with gender roles in fiction on growing up with these books. And it does not matter that I’d never read this particular one before; it fits the formula precisely. A formula that my sister and I already laughed at when we were around thirteen. I just wish it’d have been as easy to laugh away some of the insidious after-effects. Honestly, this is part of why I prefer to read gay romance, and why, when I try to write het romance, my heroines always have problems overcoming their passivity and tendency to be unnecessarily prudish. Blah.
Anyway. I better not go into rants about all the stuff that was ludicrously offensive in this book. As I said, I promised myself to not read it seriously and I didn’t. So what if ugly people are to be pitied but not too much since who gives a damn anyway, or if the hero professes that women can never be the equal of a man, or that he laughs merrily at the way his buddy seduces and impregnates hordes of women casually, or how he thinks it is a great plan to send his innocent protégée off with a would-be rapist in desperate straits so that she can refuse his offer of marriage during an intimate dinner alone with the dude. Nope, not gonna comment on anything. Nor on the fact that our heroine is willing to prostitute herself rather than accept benign charity, but in the end has no issues accepting loads of money she has not earned personally in restitution for her father. Oh well.
I think the worst might be that the hero’s awful opinions and views appear to be shared by the author herself, who doesn’t have the excuse of being the child of another period. (Well, she does, but not that far back.) Those things saturate the shifty narrative and do nothing to make the end result more appealing.
I still had fun, just because this is such a silly, ridiculous walk down memory lane. And I needed something completely undemanding and unfettered by serious issues. Maybe I’ll even read another one. Blissful freedom from thought.