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That last sentence specifically I've seen in many of the recent publications.Not necessarily that exact sentence, but the pattern. And the words 'touched with something...'
Of course it's farmed from already published books, so which came first... The chicken or the egg.
AI is getting better I think, Here's what I got from ChatGPT just now
Title: "A Tarnished Welcome"
Elizabeth Bennet stood at the gates of Pemberley with her aunt and uncle, the Gardiners, her expression carefully composed. Her heart thudded against her ribs as they approached the grand estate, unsure of whether they would see its master. She had declined the invitation at first, wary of her recent history with Mr. Darcy. But curiosity—and perhaps something deeper—had won out.
As they approached the entrance hall, Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, greeted them. She was a woman of upright bearing and sharp eyes.
"Welcome to Pemberley," she said with a small curtsy. Her eyes swept over Elizabeth with barely concealed disdain, though she offered warm smiles to the Gardiners. "Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, I presume?"
Mr. Gardiner nodded with an easy smile. "Yes, and this is our niece, Miss Bennet."
Mrs. Reynolds’ lips tightened. "Indeed."
Elizabeth felt the chill in her voice but said nothing, trying to admire the fine art and stately rooms as they were led through the house. She had expected warmth, or at least neutrality—especially considering how fondly Mrs. Reynolds had spoken of Mr. Darcy to her in the original timeline. But instead, the housekeeper’s eyes lingered on her with veiled suspicion.
"I beg your pardon," Elizabeth said at last, as Mrs. Reynolds showed them into the gallery. "Have I given offense, ma'am?"
Mrs. Reynolds stiffened. "It is not for me to say, miss. I merely observe. And I have always looked out for Mr. Darcy's interests."
Elizabeth blinked, taken aback. Before she could respond, footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Mr. Darcy appeared at the far end of the gallery, clearly just returned from riding. He froze as his eyes landed on her. Then he came forward, his composure marred only by the surprise and unmistakable warmth in his eyes.
"Miss Bennet," he said, bowing deeply. "This is a most unexpected pleasure."
"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said, curtseying, her voice uncertain. "We were just—admiring the beauty of your home."
He turned to the Gardiners with unfeigned courtesy and warmth, and it was evident he had made his peace with the events at Hunsford. He spoke to Elizabeth with gentleness and even humor, clearly attempting to erase the memory of their last painful encounter.
Mrs. Reynolds lingered behind them, her mouth set in a tight line. When Darcy walked off with the Gardiners to show them a portrait, she leaned toward Elizabeth and whispered:
"Be careful, miss. You may enchant the master for a moment, but Pemberley is not for those who seek advancement through flattery and charm."
Elizabeth flushed, deeply hurt. “I assure you, Mrs. Reynolds, I seek nothing from Mr. Darcy but civility.”
"That is what they all say," the housekeeper muttered before turning away.
Later, when Darcy and Elizabeth found themselves walking alone in the garden—an accidental moment, not orchestrated—he glanced at her with quiet intensity.
"You are pale, Miss Bennet. Has anything troubled you during your visit?"
Elizabeth hesitated. She could not slander Mrs. Reynolds—she who had loved Darcy like a son—but neither could she pretend nothing had happened.
"Only a shadow I had not expected," she replied softly. "But I find Pemberley as lovely as I had imagined. Its master more so."
He looked sharply at her, a flicker of hope lighting his features. "Then perhaps you might one day allow yourself to see it again, as its mistress."
Elizabeth looked up at him, startled. She had not thought him so bold—not yet.
"Mrs. Reynolds might not approve," she said, trying to smile.
"Mrs. Reynolds has known me since I was four years old," Darcy said with a rare grin. "And while I value her opinion, I do not allow it to determine my heart."
He paused, taking her hand with careful reverence. “And my heart is quite determined.”
A Tarnished Welcome — Part II
As the guests departed the gallery to explore the grounds, Mrs. Reynolds lingered behind, her hands clasped tightly before her. She remained still for a long moment, then turned sharply and made her way toward the east wing—toward the master's study.
Darcy returned to the house shortly after seeing the Gardiners off at the drive. As he entered his study, he found Mrs. Reynolds standing there, waiting.
He blinked, surprised. “Is something amiss?”
The housekeeper gave a brief curtsy, but it lacked her usual ease. “Forgive the intrusion, sir. I must speak plainly, if I may.”
Darcy studied her. “You may always speak freely.”
Mrs. Reynolds hesitated. “I recognized Miss Bennet the moment I saw her. Not because I knew her personally, but because I received a letter some months past. From a cousin of mine in Kent—Mrs. Yates, who serves as housekeeper at Rosings Park.”
Darcy frowned.
“She told me of a young lady who had drawn the attention of Mr. Collins—Lady Catherine’s clergyman—and how this same young lady had behaved…unbecomingly toward yourself. Refused a proposal from you, quite publicly. My cousin claimed there was even gossip among the Rosings staff that the lady had insulted you cruelly.”
A pause stretched between them. Darcy’s face had grown still.
“I see,” he said softly.
“I could not imagine it at first,” Mrs. Reynolds continued. “You, so proud, so reserved—proposing to a country girl beneath your station. And then to be refused! My cousin was incredulous, but she wrote that Lady Catherine had spoken of it directly. That her ladyship had warned the girl away herself.”
Darcy turned away, clasping his hands behind his back. “Lady Catherine has a fondness for interference.”
Mrs. Reynolds pressed on. “So when I saw her here today, I was...shocked. And concerned. I would not see your heart further injured, sir.”
Darcy looked at her then, eyes steady. “Mrs. Reynolds, I am grateful for your loyalty. But Miss Bennet is not as she was painted in that letter.”
“You know her still?”
“I have seen her since Hunsford. And I know now that her refusal was not born of cruelty, but from misjudgment—of my character, and of other matters. Matters which I have since attempted to correct.”
Mrs. Reynolds looked unconvinced. “But sir…a lady who would reject your offer—”
“Had every right to do so,” he interrupted, gently but firmly. “And every reason, considering my arrogance at the time.”
She flushed, startled.
“You have always looked after me,” he said. “But do not mistake her refusal for manipulation, or pride. She is no fortune hunter. Indeed, I believe she thinks less of wealth than most people I know.”
“She is... spirited,” Mrs. Reynolds said after a long silence.
“Very,” he said, and a faint smile touched his lips.
A reluctant pause.
“I only wish to protect you, sir,” she said at last, quietly.
Darcy softened. “And I thank you. But Miss Bennet does not require your protection from me. Nor do I require protection from her. I care for her, still. And I believe... I may have some hope.”
Mrs. Reynolds bowed her head, chagrined. “Then I shall revise my impressions. For your sake.”
Darcy’s voice lowered. “For her sake, if you will.”
Meanwhile...
That evening, Elizabeth walked with her aunt through the gardens of their inn.
“I was surprised,” she said softly, “at Mrs. Reynolds’... reserve.”
“She seemed quite fond of Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “Perhaps she was uncertain what to make of his attentions to you.”
Elizabeth nodded. Her heart was heavy with the knowledge that her past rashness at Hunsford had likely circulated beyond Rosings. The idea that Darcy’s own staff might scorn her filled her with quiet shame.
Yet something else gave her pause: Darcy had not let the scandal turn him cold. Instead, he had spoken with warmth, humility—even joy—at their meeting.
She wondered: if he could forgive her... perhaps she might begin to forgive herself.
ChatGPT continues A Tarnished Welcome — Part III
Healing, Hospitality, and Honest Hearts
It was two days after their visit to Pemberley when a small note, delivered by a young footman on horseback, arrived at the Gardiners' inn in Lambton.
It was addressed to Elizabeth in an elegant, familiar hand:
Miss Bennet,
If you and your aunt and uncle are not otherwise engaged tomorrow, I would be most honoured to offer you a tour of the upper gardens at Pemberley. The roses are in bloom, and I believe you once said you held a fondness for such things.
Yours,
F. Darcy
Elizabeth’s heart danced as she read the note. Though composed and courteous, the undercurrent of personal meaning was unmistakable.
She did not hesitate in her response.
The Next Morning at Pemberley
The Gardiners were once again welcomed warmly by Mr. Darcy himself. This time, he stood at the entrance rather than delegating the greeting to his staff. He offered his arm to Elizabeth, and together they strolled into the gardens under a rising sun.
Mrs. Reynolds observed discreetly from the drawing room window. She noted how naturally Elizabeth moved beside Darcy—not clinging or coquettish, but composed and bright. There was no simpering admiration, no anxious attempts to impress. The girl asked questions about the grounds, listened with genuine attention, and laughed—yes, laughed—so freely that even the master had smiled back with rare amusement.
Later that day, as Elizabeth paused by the lily pond to admire the reflections, she knelt to adjust her sandal—and inadvertently startled a small child chasing a hoop. The boy tumbled forward, skinning his knee. Without hesitation, Elizabeth helped him up, dabbing at the scrape with her handkerchief and speaking to him in a soft, encouraging voice until he stopped crying.
The child’s governess arrived, breathless and flustered, but Elizabeth reassured her gently. “No harm done,” she said. “He was simply too fast for his own feet.”
Mrs. Reynolds watched the exchange with growing discomfort. This was not a woman who schemed. This was not a woman who wore charm like a mask.
This was someone who belonged—not because of station or wealth, but because she held kindness as her compass.
That Evening
Mrs. Reynolds found herself polishing the silver—a task she usually left to the under-maids—when Darcy entered the dining room.
“Mrs. Reynolds,” he said with a small smile. “The silver will still shine if left to the footmen.”
She looked up at him with some hesitation. “I have been... thinking, sir.”
Darcy waited.
“About Miss Bennet. I may have been mistaken. She is not what I feared. There is a—goodness in her. One that is not often found in... well, even in the best drawing rooms.”
Darcy’s voice was quiet. “She humbles me. I once thought her beneath me. And now, I strive to be worthy of her.”
Mrs. Reynolds straightened, struck by the rare openness in his tone.
“I believe you may be,” she said softly. “If she has made you better, then I will thank her for it.”
He offered her a grateful look. “Then perhaps you will assist me in something.”
“Of course, sir.”
“I should like to host the Gardiners again next week. Perhaps a small dinner? Nothing grand. But... I wish for her to feel welcome here.”
Mrs. Reynolds smiled, truly this time. “I believe she already does.”
Later That Week
Elizabeth received the dinner invitation with an odd mixture of excitement and nerves. This was no longer a casual meeting in the countryside. Pemberley was now a place that beckoned with a sense of possibility.
The evening itself passed in warm company. Darcy had invited a few trusted neighbours—not society’s elite, but families he respected, those whose presence would put Elizabeth and her relations at ease.
Mrs. Reynolds greeted her that evening not with cold formality, but with a gentle smile and a slight curtsy.
“I am glad to see you again, Miss Bennet,” she said, her tone sincere.
Elizabeth blinked in surprise, but returned the greeting with quiet gratitude. “And I you, Mrs. Reynolds.”
Epilogue Preview (if you'd like to continue)
The following weeks brought a rhythm to Elizabeth’s stay in Derbyshire. Walks became frequent, dinners more familiar, and conversations between her and Darcy grew deeper—touching on family, values, and even regrets.
Mrs. Reynolds, once cold and guarded, slowly became an ally. She began placing fresh flowers in Elizabeth’s room at the inn. She asked after her preferences. And when Elizabeth once mentioned missing her father’s library, a small stack of books appeared the next day, “on loan from the Pemberley collection.”
Elizabeth would not forget such kindness.
Nor would Darcy forget the moment he saw her standing beneath the rose trellis, sunlight in her hair, smiling—not because she had forgotten his faults, but because she had seen them, and stayed.
A Tarnished Welcome — Part IV
The Lady, the Housekeeper, and the Hedge Maze
Elizabeth’s stay in Derbyshire had extended beyond her expectations. The days passed in pleasant conversation, tranquil walks, and quiet revelations. Though nothing formal had been declared, it was clear to everyone — even those not inclined toward sentiment — that Mr. Darcy was in earnest.
And it was just as clear to another party, one who arrived uninvited.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh Descends
The coach bearing Lady Catherine arrived at Pemberley three days before the Gardiners were to depart for home. Darcy was not entirely surprised; his aunt had sent no letter, but silence had always been one of her sharpest weapons.
She entered the drawing room as if it were her throne room, only to find that her nephew was not alone. Elizabeth and the Gardiners were enjoying tea. Darcy rose to greet his aunt but made no effort to dismiss the others.
“Lady Catherine,” he said, polite but cool.
Her eyes swept the room. When she saw Elizabeth, her expression froze, then twisted into something sour. “You!”
Elizabeth, rising, curtsied with calm grace. “How do you do, Lady Catherine?”
“I was not informed that Miss Bennet was to be received here,” she said, directing her words to Darcy, ignoring Elizabeth entirely.
“I was under the impression Pemberley was my home,” he said quietly, “and that I might choose whom I receive.”
The silence was thick.
Lady Catherine rallied. “I wish to speak with you alone.”
“I am afraid I am engaged with guests at the moment,” he replied evenly. “But we can speak after dinner, if you wish.”
That earned a scandalized sniff. “After dinner! I am not a servant to be scheduled.”
“I would never confuse you with a servant, Aunt,” Darcy said mildly. “They are often far more pleasant.”
Lady Catherine gaped. It was a subtle, perfect rebuke.
After Dinner... or So She Thought
That evening, Lady Catherine paced in the east parlor, tapping her cane with growing fury. She was about to summon Darcy herself when the door opened.
But it wasn’t Darcy who entered.
It was Mrs. Reynolds.
The housekeeper curtsied. “My lady.”
“Where is my nephew?” Lady Catherine snapped.
“Mr. Darcy is attending to other matters,” Mrs. Reynolds replied smoothly. “But he asked me to ensure you were comfortable. He will join you shortly.”
Lady Catherine bristled. “Is this how he now treats family? While throwing open his home to impertinent country girls?”
Mrs. Reynolds’s smile was demure. “Miss Bennet has conducted herself with grace and dignity, my lady. She is well regarded by the staff, and by your nephew.”
“I do not care what the staff think,” she spat.
“I believe you do,” Mrs. Reynolds said evenly, “since you were quite willing to spread their gossip after Hunsford.”
Lady Catherine turned, truly startled.
“Yes,” the housekeeper said, “I know of the letter your companion sent to Rosings Park’s housekeeper. Who then wrote to me, warning me against Miss Bennet. I followed that warning, and I was wrong. You lied to your own staff to advance your ambitions.”
Lady Catherine surged forward. “How dare you—!”
But Mrs. Reynolds did not flinch. “With respect, my lady, I have known Mr. Darcy since he was a child. I have tended to this house, watched over his sister, and seen him through grief and growth. And I will not see him denied happiness because of your pride.”
“You overstep your station!”
“I defend it. This house stands not just on title, but on loyalty. And it will not welcome those who seek to tear down a guest within its walls.”
Before Lady Catherine could respond, the door opened again.
Darcy stood there, composed but firm. “Aunt.”
Lady Catherine whirled on him. “You allow your servants to speak for you now?”
Darcy looked at Mrs. Reynolds, then back at his aunt. “Only when they do so with more sense than my relations.”
She gasped. “You will not marry that girl!”
“No,” he said. “I will only ask her—if she will marry me.”
Outside in the Garden
Elizabeth was walking along the moonlit path when Darcy found her. He said nothing at first, just joined her with quiet footsteps. When she looked up, he stopped.
“I have something to ask you,” he said.
Her heart thudded.
“But first, I must tell you... my aunt arrived to interfere again. She has left. Displeased.”
“I can imagine why,” Elizabeth said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“She said you were unworthy,” he murmured.
“And do you believe her?” she asked.
He stepped closer. “No. I believe I was unworthy—until I knew you.”
He knelt before her, not caring for propriety, nor audience, nor fear. “Elizabeth, if your feelings are still what they were—tell me. But if they have changed... then let me ask you, as I should have asked you before: Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”
Elizabeth felt tears prick at her eyes. “Yes. Yes, I will.”
Epilogue
Lady Catherine returned to Rosings in a storm, her pride wounded beyond repair.
Mrs. Reynolds continued on at Pemberley, her respect for Elizabeth now genuine and enduring. On the day of the wedding, she placed fresh white roses in the drawing room — Elizabeth’s favorite — and watched with quiet joy as the future Mrs. Darcy took her first steps into the home that would one day be hers.
A Tarnished Welcome — Final ChapterPeace and Propriety at Pemberley
The sun streamed gently over the green hills of Derbyshire as the grand halls of Pemberley stirred with the pleasant noise of guests.
The Bennets had arrived two days prior—all of them.
Elizabeth had braced herself for the experience with both affection and apprehension. Jane, gracious and glowing, had come with Bingley in tow, while Mary wandered the library with somber devotion. Kitty, much improved by the influence of her older sisters, chatted merrily with Georgiana. And Mrs. Bennet...
...Mrs. Bennet was currently loudly admiring the wainscoting.
“I declare, Mr. Darcy must spend a fortune keeping these floors polished! Lizzy, look at that chair — I daresay it’s older than Lady Catherine herself.”
Darcy passed by the drawing room with a half-smile. “It might well be.”
Elizabeth gave him a look that was half fondness, half warning. “We will survive this week.”
“I have every faith,” he said.
Mrs. Bennet’s voice followed them down the corridor. “Oh! And do tell the butler I take only weak tea in the mornings, Lizzy! Weak! And cream, not milk.”
Darcy whispered, “Would it be rude to claim Pemberley is suddenly under renovation?”
Elizabeth laughed. “If you make the announcement, I’ll take the blame.”
In the Gardens
Later that afternoon, Elizabeth wandered the rose path with Georgiana. The younger Miss Darcy had taken to her new sister with quiet admiration.
“I must confess,” Georgiana said with a shy smile, “I was quite afraid to meet your family.”
Elizabeth gave her a sideways look. “And now?”
“They are... enthusiastic,” she said diplomatically.
Elizabeth laughed. “That is the kindest possible phrasing.”
“But I see how much they love you. And I see that you love them. That means a great deal.”
They paused at the trellis where Darcy had once gathered a white rose for Elizabeth during their courtship. Georgiana smiled. “He smiles more now.”
Elizabeth nodded. “So do I.”
In the Servants' Hall
Downstairs, Mrs. Reynolds gave Cook a brisk list of dinner requests. Then, sensing she was being watched, she turned to find one of the younger maids peeking through the service door.
“Is it true, Mrs. Reynolds?” the girl whispered. “That the mistress once refused the master?”
Mrs. Reynolds gave her a look. “The true part is that she had the sense to say no when it mattered, and the grace to say yes when it mattered more.”
The maid’s eyes widened. “And now she lives here?”
“She lives here,” Mrs. Reynolds confirmed. “And she belongs here.”
She turned back to the menu. “Now fetch the lilies. Lady Bingley may not have returned our vase, but Mrs. Darcy prefers fresh flowers.”
That Evening
Dinner was a bit chaotic—Mrs. Bennet spent half the meal commenting on the courses and the other half trying to guess how many rooms the house had. Mr. Bennet looked at his son-in-law with mild amusement and offered occasional dry remarks that only Darcy seemed to fully appreciate.
Afterward, the family moved to the music room. Mary took to the pianoforte immediately, and Georgiana joined her for a quiet duet. Kitty clapped. Jane and Bingley found a window seat, whispering.
Darcy drew Elizabeth aside to a quieter corner of the room.
“Are you content, Mrs. Darcy?”
She smiled, her hand finding his. “Perfectly.”
He looked around. “Even with all this?”
She laughed. “Especially with all this.”
He leaned in. “You know... Mrs. Reynolds now calls you ‘our Missus.’”
Elizabeth blinked. “She does?”
He nodded. “I heard it just yesterday. I think it’s a compliment.”
“It most certainly is.”
There was a pause, warm and companionable.
“I love this house,” Elizabeth said softly. “But even more, I love the life we are building in it.”
Darcy’s thumb brushed over her fingers. “And it will be all the better for your presence in it.”
A Quiet Night
That evening, as the guests finally retired and the house fell silent, Elizabeth stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the gardens. The stars shimmered above the trees. She felt a gentle tug on her hand as Darcy joined her, pulling her close.
“Do you know,” she murmured, “when I first came here, Mrs. Reynolds disliked me?”
He raised a brow. “She admitted it.”
Elizabeth smiled. “And yet, she sets fresh roses by my bed every morning.”
“She always comes around,” he said. “She has excellent judgment.”
Elizabeth leaned against him. “As do I.”
They stood together in quiet contentment, Pemberley at peace beneath them.
And from a darkened corner of the courtyard below, Mrs. Reynolds looked up once, saw the silhouettes on the balcony, and turned back toward the house with a proud, knowing smile.
THE END
Sam wrote: "That last sentence specifically I've seen in many of the recent publications.Not necessarily that exact sentence, but the pattern. And the words 'touched with something...'"
I read somewhere that a bunch of AI researchers are worried that AI is getting dumber because it is getting fed with more and more AI created material... so Copilot is learning from ChatGPT and so on
I will say that I use AI in my job, mostly to correct grammar or to condense ideas in concise sentences. But I always have to proofread before using. And my boss knows I'm using AI since she is the one who suggested using it.
I don't mind the idea of using it as an assist, especially for that.But to use it to actually create the art is both lazy and deceptive.
People work hard to create something from an idea in their brains. Whether it's fine art or a story, or song.
Katja wrote: "A Tarnished Welcome — Final ChapterPeace and Propriety at Pemberley
The sun streamed gently over the green hills of Derbyshire as the grand halls of Pemberley stirred with the pleasant noise of ..."
Katja wrote: "A Tarnished Welcome — Final Chapter
Peace and Propriety at Pemberley
The sun streamed gently over the green hills of Derbyshire as the grand halls of Pemberley stirred with the pleasant noise of ..."
Katja wrote: "ChatGPT continues
This is eerily good. I wish it wasn't. I have too much respect for the creative process to want to read books written by machines,
Does anyone have information on Airy Fairy Press?I suppose it is AI -- a LOT of books coming out from him/her/them.
I read Jane Austen Trivia: Wit, Scandal & Society.
It was interesting, I suppose, but not accurate enough to tempt me!
I also have a theory. The same person could be posting under numerous 'author' names.
Over the past few months JAFF has been awash with AI content.
My rule of thumb now is:
If they aren't promoting on social media in any way, I assume its AI.
If they publish at least once every month, 3 months in a row (and I don't know the author) its AI. Obviously, it goes without saying multiple of publishings in one month...
If each book is less than 100 pages, its AI.
Sam wrote: "I also have a theory. The same person could be posting under numerous 'author' names.
Over the past few months JAFF has been awash with AI content.
My rule of thumb now is, if they aren't promo..."
Good guidelines, Sam.
Sam wrote: "I also have a theory. ..."Sounds good to me.
AI-ry f-AI-ry press certainly hints at AI in its name I just read this https://www.goodreads.com/review/show... and it's very random.
Katja wrote: "AI-ry f-AI-ry press certainly hints at AI in its name"Chortle Chortle
Whats even worse is the Zon rewards them for publishing so many in so short a time.Almost like they want people to 'write' with AI.
One of the reasons I am doing so many re-reads. I've had it with all the 2- and 3-stars. Much better to revisit my 4- and 5-stars.
Same here. With only a small handful of new books each month that are for sure human-written, rereads are a necessity!Austenesque blog has nearly 100 new publications each month. It's ridiculous.
So apparently an author is sueing a reviewer for stating they thought the book was AI written.It's complicated. There was something about the book being pirated, then they wrote the review.
I removed my ai-tags to be on the safe side.
But I saw on another post, authors were getting the Zon to delete 1 and 2 star reviews. Not sure how we are supposed to know what book we'd like to read next...
a case like that would go nowhere very quickly. A review is an opinion rather than a solid fact. I think this is probably people stirring things up in the groups a bit. If in doubt say it like it is e.g.- "this book is poorly written"
I find it harder to judge what to read based on the number of 5* reviews given to books which are truly poor.
i feel like it cheapens the stars of the truly amazing books if the blandest unedited slop is given the same rating
Craftyhj wrote: "I find it harder to judge what to read based on the number of 5* reviews given to books which are truly poor."I look at the 3 star reviews when in doubt, to see what they thought of it. I also look at reviewers I know and trust. I've been reading a lot of non-JAFF this year, and I've found the Amazon reviews are basically useless. I read the reviews on romance.io and here.
Katja wrote: "i feel like it cheapens the stars of the truly amazing books if the blandest unedited slop is given the same rating"exactly! And many of the less than stellar ones, which are to good writing despite being fun to read occasionally, have ratings comparable to Austen herself.....
Authors on FB say there's no way Amazon will remove a review at the author's request.
Liz- I saw that. A few author's responded with that.It was a thread on FB, but maybe someone was just trying to make some noise.
I agree Katja, the idea of reviews will be preposterous if they aren't real honest opinions.
Like in that FB post, one person responded saying she read a 3 star review, but it was a list of everything the reader disliked about the book, meaning it probably should have gotten 1 star. bad writing, outrageous continuity. AI type stuff... yet they gave it 3 stars.
Go figure.
Interesting. I just saw a three star review, but she enumerated everything that she liked about the book, no flaws mentioned. Maybe she uses the standard Goodreads used to publish - 3 stars for a good book, 4 stars for a very good book, 5 stars for a great book. I feel bad giving a three star review, but I do so on occasion.
Have you all noticed that if you go to a particular reviewer's read shelf on Goodreads, (unless set to private) you can click Compare Books at the top, and get the percentage of their tastes that is similar to yours? For instance, Crafty and I have rated 815 of the same books, 93 % the same.
Katja wrote: "Have you all noticed that if you go to a particular reviewer's read shelf on Goodreads, (unless set to private) you can click Compare Books at the top, and get the percentage of their tastes that i..."Great minds think alike Katja! 🤪
Austenesque Lovers TBR Pile Challenge 2025
Books mentioned in this topic
Jane Austen Trivia: Wit, Scandal & Society (other topics)Authors mentioned in this topic
Eloise Arden (other topics)Airy Fairy Press (other topics)
INT. NETHERFIELD PARK – BALLROOM – NIGHT
The chandeliers blaze overhead, casting golden light across the ballroom. Laughter and music swell as the dancers glide across the floor. ELIZABETH BENNET, cheeks flushed, eyes alight with spirited energy, weaves through the crowd—her sharp tongue matched only by the elegance of her step.
She is intercepted by MR. DARCY, tall and composed, whose reserve hides an inner turmoil. He clears his throat awkwardly.
DARCY
Miss Bennet… might I request the honour of this dance?
Elizabeth blinks in surprise, recovering quickly with a slight arch of her brow.
ELIZABETH
I had not expected so great an honour. But if you are sure… I suppose I cannot refuse.
They take their place on the dance floor as the music begins. The distance between them is both physical and emotional—each movement carefully measured.
DARCY
I hope your family is well this evening?
ELIZABETH
Indeed. As well as can be, considering the delight my mother takes in matchmaking and the havoc my younger sisters spread wherever they go.
He smiles slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching, betraying some hidden amusement.
DARCY
And yet, amidst the chaos, one finds rare intelligence and poise.
Elizabeth meets his gaze squarely.
ELIZABETH
You surprise me, Mr. Darcy. I was quite convinced you thought me tolerable, at best.
A brief silence. The music flows on.
DARCY
Perhaps I did not express myself as I ought. We are all prey to foolish impressions.
They continue, the rhythm of their steps now easing, a reluctant harmony growing between them—still sharp, still proud, but touched with something warmer.