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320 pages, Paperback
First published June 28, 2016
"ME: I'm going to do it for real. I'm going to ask Charles to have sex with me.
MARGARET: laughs uproariously.
ME: completely straight face.
MARGARET: abruptly stops laughing. You're serious?
ME: As a hemorrhage. (NB: I didn't really say this. It's the kind of thing I imagine myself saying. I think I actually said something pithy, like, "Yes." Also, don't be fooled into thinking I actually know how to spell hemorrhage. That baby is all spell check.)
*I was provided with a copy of this book in order to conduct this honest review.*
Sunday morning I learn how complicated it is to split my attention between the sensation of Charles's tongue and mouth on my genitals and the sensation of my mouth and tongue on his genitals.
"You feel like shit and you also feel like shit about feeling like shit. I feel like shit too, but for different reasons, and I also feel frustrated that you're too busy feeling like shit to be nice to me while I feel like shit, but I also understand why you feel like shit, and I'm mad at myself for not being totally fine with you feeling however you need to feel, and I know that probably you feel this shitty in part because you've been trying to do the Monster Deal, which has torn down your defenses, so it's kind of my fault that you feel shitty."
"You, Miss Annabelle Coffey, are remarkable," he says. "No one could process today better than you are currently doing."
a) The condescending, patronising and arrogant tone of it. The whole time a scene is very obviously depicting or resembling a FSoG scene there's this tone to it that reads like "hey, lookie here!, this is how it's done". And I'm sorry, but I'm not fucking reading a romance to be fucking lectured. I read contemporary romance for entertainment and if I learn something along the way, cool. But I'm not looking forward to a fucking lesson.
b) The book would have probably worked better, or at least for me, if it hadn't made it's mission to draw evident comparisons against FSoG. Honestly, the book was doing fine and the story was completly interesting without inserting those minuscule details that makes indisputable to which other book it is referring. We have Annie (Annabelle) and Charles. Annie is an inexperienced virgin. She lives with her best friend and confidant. She has two loving parents. She's sweet and hard-working and smart and naive. Charles is a rich lord from England, sexually experienced. He has two siblings. A brother and a sister that he loves but feels don't love him back because he is a repressed asshole. But is also secretly a sweetheart with a marshmallow soul. He gives Annie a first edition copy of a book that bears importance both to her personally and in the world because he knows no other way to show his feelings. He "can't love" due to an abuse-filled past that's left him a tortured man. There are tons more of those details. And there are of course also differences. Plus the spin that's put on some of those things is actually very well written. But what bothers me, is that none of those details were necessary at all for the core of the story, except to make an undeniable comparison and then smugly say "hey, this is how it's done".