So, this book and I had a complicated relationship. To begin with, my friends and I have a trashy romance novel book circle, where we often give each other books where the heroine has our name or, in this case, green eyes like mine -- the more ridiculously terrible or terribly ridiculous, the better.
Unfortunately, I mostly just found this book boring -- excruciatingly so, to the point where I could only read a couple of pages at a time, and eventually started making snarky comments in the margins because it was the only way I could stand to read it. The characters are incredibly dull and the world is populated by robots rather than real people. The writing is bland, and apparently missed the whole "show, don't tell" boat. It also feels old fashioned, but not in a charming way, like Pushing Daisies or Damsels in Distress, but a creepy, Stepford way. I finally started to make up ways to explain why the heroine was so utterly boring and the hero so darn creepy.
My first explanation was that Lucy was mildly mentally retarded. This would explain why her parents preferred that she stay home and help them plan parties and such, why she had to fight to get a job, and why no one seemed terribly surprised that she had never gone to college. It also explains why William felt so creepy -- not only was he making decisions for Lucy without her input (e.g. ordering for her at restaurants), but he was also hitting on a mentally retarded woman a good decade his junior. Creep.
Then I realized that this didn't work, because the entire world in which this book takes place is completely warped. Although it was written in 1991 and presumably meant to be contemporary, everyone has a household staff, the friends' live-in nanny only gets 4 hours off a week, and measles is apparently a common childhood illness instead of a public health emergency. Which...no, just no. Accordingly, my second way to make the book more interesting was that it had started out as a tie-in novel to The Stepford Wives. At least it explained William.
[Sidenote: I have a Masters degree in infectious disease epidemiology, and I can tell you that is not the case now, but as I was born in 1987, I checked with my mother, a former hospital administrator, just to be sure, and she confirmed what I thought.
I will, however, credit the author with knowing the symptoms of legionnaire's disease, and that it is only transmitted from a point source, not person to person. However, an outbreak among children would be extremely unusual -- it is far more common among seniors, smokers, and the immunocompromised. I suspect she wanted a disease that was serious, but that her protagonists would not be in danger from, and that wouldn't be gross to deal with.]
But a funny thing happened as I sped through the last bit of the book on a high from some truly excellent coffee and beignets: I started to like Lucy, just a little. She showed some actual personality, even if it was in the form of passive-aggressive bitchiness, and the fact that she had actually fought to get her job and keep it, even with her family being such jerks about it, became a lot more impressive after her family began to play a more prominent role. William became even more of a controlling, infantalizing jerk, and if Fiona were a male villain she would have had a Snidely Whiplash mustache to twirl, but it became clear to me that Lucy was a perfectly normal young woman who had been trampled into a doormat. So what if she'd used her only ration of "freaking do something" to get that orphanage job before the book started? At least she'd done it! I found myself hoping that after she was fired at the end, she would tell her family to go to Hell, move to Scotland, and start over. Unfortunately, she used her new ration of "freaking do something" to chase after William. What a waste.
For most of this evening, I have been nursing some sincere anger with the author, but then I looked her up on Wikipedia. It turns out that Ms. Neels was born in 1909 and didn't start writing until 1969, though she continued until her death in 2001. So really, the entire world was probably telling her for most of her life that this was how the world should be. Maybe she really wanted to be a doctor, but writing fiction in this most maligned of genres was all she could reasonably spend her ration of rebellion on.
So, now, if you have made it to the end of this review, I ask that you take a moment to thank everyone who has worked and continues to work to ensure that the world portrayed by Betty Neels is no longer a reality, and never will be again. This book may be an absolutely awful piece of writing, but it has opened my eyes to how very lucky I am, and that is always a good thing.
Just, uh, fellow terrible-romance-novel-circle members? Please, please, please confirm that I would never be this much of a doormat, even if I had been born in 1909? The thought kind of makes me want to scream in terror.