Source of book: NetGalley (thank you!)
Relevant disclaimers: this author and I share an agent, but otherwise unconnected. I don’t feel it influenced my comments on the book but you may conclude differently
Please note: This review may not be reproduced or quoted, in whole or in part, without explicit consent from the author
This heroine has, like, unacknowledged core strength. I mean, literally. She and the hero keep doing the Dirty Dancing lift and quite how this quite tall, academic lady who doesn't do any explicit exercise over the course of the book is able to, y’know, allow a hot guy to lift her into the air by her pelvic bones and not collapse over him like a damp tea towel is a fucking holiday miracle. Or possibly I’m just ashamed of my inferior core strength.
In any case this book is both incredibly charming and incredibly thoughtful, as well it ought to be because it’s Jenny Holiday and only Jenny Holiday could make me read a holiday (no pun intended) romance. I think it helps that the Xmas theme is present but not *over* present: the book takes place over the course of a year—between two Xmases—which allows for a lovely slow burn romance, and gives the protagonists opportunity to have more going on in their lives than, y’know, thinking about and living around bloody Christmas.
Duke Actually is kind of follow-up to A Princess for Christmas (the heroine is Leo’s best friend, and the hero the dude Marie jilts) but it stands alone perfectly well and, honestly, while I enjoyed A Princess for Christmas, I liked this one a whole lot more. Though I suspect that’s mostly a personal taste thing. The series is pitched as “Hallmark with steam” but, for my money, that’s actually slightly reductive: yes there’s steam, yes there’s a gentle sense of optimism pervading the story as whole, but there’s also real depth and dimensionality to the characters.
Max (the duke, or rather the baron, of the title) in particular I adored: partly I think it was because he’s from a fantasy European country, so he spoke with an almost-British formality that I, naturally, related to, but also I just have a soft spot for a damaged hero who hides his pain beneath a façade of lightness and attentiveness. He has an exaggerated but still earned reputation for being a playboy, but he’s also witty, clever, and kind. Dani, too, I should say is great. She’s a literature professor struggling for tenure and dealing with the recent dissolution of her marriage. Like Max, she’s concealing her vulnerability, but in her case it’s beneath a façade of wariness and pragmaticism. They have great chemistry (along with ye trademark Holiday banter, and yes there’s a grilled cheese sandwich) and it’s genuinely lovely to watch the way their friendship helps them grow into themselves, into the people they have the capacity to be, and the lives they have the power to choose. Utterly swoony stuff.
Like its hero and its heroine, this is supremely self-aware book. From its little dig at The Great Gatsby, to its attempt to redeem the notorious “Having been an absolute wanker to you, I’m now going to non-consensually tell you my feelings by holding them up on hand-written cards” scene in Love Actually, to its willingness to celebrate all the naff and whimsical pleasures of life. But more seriously—and I can’t tell you how much I appreciated this—it’s willing to carefully unpick the privilege of its hero. Not just what it means for him and his life, but for the lives of the people dependent upon him. The degree to which wealth derives from exploitation and power is often a fluke of circumstance, especially when we’re talking about hereditary aristocracy.
Mostly the charisma of the characters, both the protagonists and the supporting cast, carried me through the story, although it perhaps has one too many plot threads (both Max and Dani make significant changes to their lives over the course of a year, there’s the issue of Max’s family mining business, there’s his relationship with his brother, there’s his abusive father, there’s Dani’s divorce, there’s her lack of satisfaction in her career, there’s the history of one of Max’s relatives they’re researching—ye gods, I’m exhausted just listing them). The ending was possibly a little rushed—Max botches declaring his feelings, Dani goes back to NYC, Max deals with his family, Dani deals with her job all in the space of about 10% of the manuscript—but the final scene at the airport was so gorgeously romantic that I didn’t care.
My only serious qualm concerned a subplot involved Max’s gay brother Sebastian. Sebastian is very gay-by-numbers (gender non-conforming behaviour in childhood, faint air of vulnerability, taste for beefy security guards) but, for me, it mostly works: I mean it’s a tropey book, he’s a tropey character among tropey characters, and he has agency, and a personality, and gets a happy ending of his own.
Where I kind of winced a bit, and I emphasise (as ever) that this is personal, plus it will stray towards spoiler territory concerns the resolution to the Max family plot. The old duke (Max and Seb’s father) is, of course, a terrible human being, because I think there’s a law that no father of a hero duke can be a good person: he’s an alcoholic, as well as emotionally and occasionally physically abusive. Towards the end of the book Max and Seb independently decide that they’re going to choose to live their own lives beyond his tyrannical attempts to control them, Max by moving to NYC where he’s been offered a job doing some kind of consultancy work, Seb by coming out (so he can officially be with his beefy security guard boyfriend). Max does his thing, the old duke says he’ll disown him, Seb retorts that it might not be a good idea because he’s a gay … and the old duke immediately corks it. Because shock and the impact of years of alcohol abuse on his heart.
So this is complicated. I mean, I have to admit that I was rather invested in Max throwing off his heritage and settling down in NYC with Dani but … that’s me. It’s not where the book was going and that’s fine. I also have zero problem with the old Duke dying plot-usefully, because he was clearly awful, and I know in theory it was probably the combined impact of both sons defying him simultaneously (plus heart issue) that led to the, y’know, the sudden death. But you still kind of had a situation here where a queer character came out to their parent and their parent immediately snuffed it.
Like … that is the stuff queer nightmares are made of. And it was super weird that the book was tying itself up neatly into an HEA when … I mean. I know rationally there were mitigating circumstances around the old duke’s death but from Seb’s POV? But this is the happy fluffy end to a story about two straight people. It also feels like the beginning of an incredibly dark story about some poor queer guy whose life is about to go massively off the rails because it probably feels to him like he came out and it killed his dad. That would fuck you the fuck up. Especially having spent twenty-something years of your life in a world where being queer simply wasn’t permissible and surviving a childhood in which acts of gender non-conformity led to direct punishment from your father. (I mean, I had that childhood and I’ve had a lot of fucking therapy).
I think what kind of confuses me about the whole “I killed my father with my gay” angle is that it didn’t feel … necessary? Max’s declaration of independence could just as well have caused the old duke’s heart to explode. I mean, I think it was probably meant to be some kind of act of positive self-something for Seb? Coming out to his abusive father? But why? What does Seb get out of that? We owe nothing to our abusers.
And coming out is … coming out is frankly one of the worst things you ever have to do. And you have to do it repeatedly. For your entire life. It is bad enough to have to do it—to accept the sick premise that some part of you that is integral and immutable requires explanation and declaration—for people you love and trust. I can’t for the life of me see why, under some spurious implication of empowerment, the book forces Seb to give that to father who has taught him nothing but shame and treated him nothing but badly.
But. Uh. Yeah. Apart from that horrendously dark twist subjected on the secondary queer character … genuinely a lovely holiday story?