A Duke of Her Own, by Eloisa James (review)
Posted: 2012/01/25 Filed under: Literature | Tags: a duke of her own, desperate duchesses, eloisa james, georgian, historical, review, sex 7 Comments »This wasn’t initially supposed to be a review or reader’s blog. You may have noticed that I never rate books in my so-called reviews, and that I regularly give up on being exhaustive or comprehensive, preferring to address a specific issue–either something I really liked, or really disliked about the book, which doesn’t necessarily represent my overall sentiment. I opened this blog with the intention of exploring and promoting the romance genre, and my reviews are only one of the ways I’ve allowed myself to do it.
Since reviewing and rating books is becoming addictive, but I don’t wish to clutter this blog with my reader’s track record, I have decided 1) to use my Goodreads account to track and rate everything I read; 2) to squeeze books of a same series together into one review post. Obviously the latter isn’t working very well with Eloisa James… Ahem. (In my defence, some series are longer than others.)
So I picked book 6 of the Desperate Duchesses before book 5. Because A Duke of Her Own was on sale… so I just up and bought it. Yeah, I know, I’m way too predictable. And then I read it, never mind that there must be 50+ books in my TBR pile, or that I was disappointed with James’s books 2, 3 and 4 of the series. There’s just something about the Georgian period… You want to lose yourself in it. Even if the story itself isn’t amazingly good. So if the story turns out to be amazingly good… You’re just in for this crazy, exhilarating experience that will leave you happy and giddy for the next several days.
A Duke of Her Own is the book we’ve been expecting since Desperate Duchesses, in which the Duke of Villiers becomes briefly engaged to the heroine, before being injured in a duel against the hero. Follows a long and scary illness that brings him to the threshold of death. Poor Villiers, he’s been through a lot. And through it all he’s never lost his cynicism, talent for chess, and taste for fashionable, flamboyant clothes (he never wears a wig or powder, though). Finally recovered, he is almost a new man, or at least, a new father: he has indeed decided to take responsibility for his six–yes, six!–bastard children, and therefore needs a wife. Meaning, a mother for his children.
His requirement: she must be the daughter of a Duke, so she can use her credit and good breeding to make his illegitimate children more acceptable to society. Two women fit the bill: Eleanor, who also won’t marry lower than a Duke (actually a trick to never be anyone’s but her ducal ex-lover), and Lisette, supposedly mad, who lives retired in the country. A party gathers at Lisette’s estate to allow Villiers to retrieve missing twins of his, as well as to make his choice between the two ladies.
The first few chapters of the book are so-so, but once they’re in the country… The rest of the novel is an absolute treat. I just couldn’t put it down, and more than that, I enjoyed myself immensely. I happened to be alone at home, and… I started to talk to the book. And no, that’s not something I usually do. This book made me do it. By “talking” I actually mean shouting things like, “I KNOW, RIGHT?” “Awwwright!” “You go, girl!” “Hey, f*** you!!” “Er… thank you?” or “Hell yeah!” It was just that entertaining, that hilarious, that spot-on. I kept wanting to interfere in those dialogues and shout at the characters for being alternately stupid, stubborn, incredible, or awesome.
I once wrote a post in which I briefly discussed realism in historical romance (it’s at the end of the entry), arguing that historical romance shouldn’t sacrifice romantic and progressive ideals to realism. Reading A Duke of Her Own gave me an additional insight into the debate. It isn’t merely about having to choose a side when historical reality conflicts with modern ideas. Historical romance is also about, well, having fun. There is an element of comic relief in Eloisa James’s work which cannot be denied. It isn’t straight-out farce that relies on deliberate anachronism; it has, however, often occurred to me that some passages you had to read with today’s mindset to fully appreciate.
All the considerations that should have made her run shrieking into the woods seemed inconsequential, when she could instead watch Leopold’s beautiful haunch as he leaned over and pulled a French letter from the pocket of his breeches, throwing them toward the riverbank.
“Do you carry those with you at all times?” she asked.
- A Duke of Her Own, Eloisa James (Avon, 2009)
I assume you know what a French letter is… Speaking of which, something I positively loved about this novel was how much they talked about sex (how could they not, when the hero fathered six children out of wedlock for starters?). Not all romances do, mind you. Sometimes the only sex in a novel is the one that actually happens. Which seems to convey the idea that sex is either only physical (aroused genitalia need release) or only emotional (two beings in love take it to the next level). A Duke of Her Own does a wonderful job showing that it is neither: it’s only a pillar of any successful relationship. If you can talk and joke about it outside the bedroom, then you’ve virtually got it covered.
He leaned back against the balustrade again and deliberately crossed his arms, because it made his muscles look even larger and he had the feeling that Eleanor liked muscles. Thank God, there was no way that Tobias could see the tent in his towel from below.
He moved his legs apart a bit, just in case she wanted to take another look. Obviously nothing would shock the woman.
“Am I to understand that you think I couldn’t be ready in less time than you?” he demanded.
- A Duke of Her Own, Eloisa James (Avon, 2009)
from E James's website
The amount of banter and sarcasm that is exchanged between those two is simply delicious. Unlike with many other books I’ve read, it never feels forced, incomprehensible, or immature. It actually feels fun. And just having that much fun with someone probably means you should marry them. But of course, Villiers doesn’t realise that until it’s too late. I found it contradictory that when it came to choosing his children’s mother, he favoured the woman who admittedly has no concern for propriety–didn’t he want a Duke’s daughter for her to compensate his bastards’ objective lack of propriety?
In spite of this minor plot weakness, the author develops a deeply satisfying reflection on motherhood, and how it’s got nothing to do with being proper, pure, and innocent (quite the contrary). Eleanor isn’t a virgin, by the way. But I’ll write another post this week specifically on this subject (not just virginity and sex, but good and evil and where romance stands). A Duke of Her Own certainly has opened many avenues for thought…
So, which is your favourite Desperate Duchesses novel? Do you ever talk to your books? Have I gone completely crazy? Don’t you love it when sex isn’t just performed, but discussed, hinted at, implied, and made fun of?
Eloisa James and I + Desperate Duchesses (review)
Posted: 2012/01/23 Filed under: Literature | Tags: an affair before christmas, desperate duchesses, duchess by night, eloisa james, georgian, historical, marketing, review, series, when the duke returns Leave a comment »
I proclaim this week to be the Eloisa James week on my blog. For no matter how I go about it, there seems to be too much I want to say for one tidy little blog post. I must confess that I spent six to seven hours on Saturday reading A Duke of Her Own (initially it was supposed to be “one or two chapters before I set about doing my school work”), and I am super excited. But since it’s a long story, I figured I might as well start with the beginning.
Last Thursday I wrote about marketing strategies to attract new readers. Well, suffice it to say that Ms. James has it down pat, at least where I am concerned. I first heard of her in 2008 (ie the year I started reading romance) when she was received as a guest on The Goddess Blogs for her then-latest novel, When the Duke Returns (aka Desperate Duchesses #4). She was also giving away an autographed copy of the series’ first book. Guess who was the lucky winner? Yes, that’s right, you got it! (I can’t show it to you because it’s currently at my parents’ place.)
I’m generally not very sentimental about romance paperbacks; I buy most of them secondhand, and I like giving mine away, even those I really enjoyed, to make room for new ones. (I have a theory concerning romance novels being supposedly “all the same”: each one is like reading something new and re-reading your favourite book all at once!) But autographed books, now that’s another thing… If ever I should decide to empty my shelves of all my books, there are three romance novels that would be the last to leave. Desperate Duchesses is one of them. The fact that I thoroughly enjoyed it also helps (otherwise I may have tried to cash in on the autograph…).
from E James's website
When most historical romances are set either in the Middle Ages or the 19th century (Regency-Victorian), Eloisa James preferred the late 18th century. Probably so she could describe the outrageous clothing and hairdos aristocrats favoured at the time. Be my guest! I’ve always had a guilty soft spot for the 18th century myself… Things were all so much more… decadent, weren’t they? Men got to be virile in very flowery stuff, you know; a far cry from the early-19th-century new male standards, which to this day continue to inform what we (arbitrarily) consider “masculine” and, conversely, “feminine”.
But what really made me love Desperate Duchesses, besides its amazing atmosphere and stylishness, was its plot. Roberta, a willful debutante from the country, catches a glimpse of the striking Duke of Villiers, and decides on the spot that she must marry him. To that end, she enrolls the help of Jemma, Duchess of Beaumont, who isn’t only the (estranged) wife of Villiers’ old friend and rival, but also a master chess player, as both Villiers and Beaumont are. Yet, in spite of her new mentor’s skills and influence, things won’t exactly go the way Roberta had planned… She will soon learn that a mere glimpse and a sudden inner conviction, epiphany-like though it may be, aren’t nearly enough requirements for a successful marriage!
I cannot stress enough how much this story appealed to me, from a narrative as much as a philosophical point of view. I love seeing characters grow out of their former mistakes. I loved Roberta’s desperation, her youthful enthusiasm and stubbornness. Love is not obvious. Falling in love is not like being hit by Cupid’s arrow. It’s much more insidious, unexpected, quiet, simple, wonderful. And lasting.
Compared to Roberta’s story, its direct sequel, An Affair Before Christmas, was a big disappointment. The elegant and clever writing was still there, and so too were the supporting characters I’d loved in Desperate Duchesses. The main romantic plot, on the other hand, despite its promising premise (a couple’s intimacy is restored after being destroyed by bad sexual experience), completely failed to 
capture my interest and imagination. And yet I went on reading the third book, Duchess by Night, featuring a cross-dressing heroine. I liked it a little better, but still I was far from enthralled.
And yet I read the fourth book, When the Duke Returns. Not bad, but God, oh God, where had the absolute joy I’d felt when reading Desperate Duchesses gone? (Interestingly, I gave book 4 a higher rating than book 3 immediately after reading them, but with hindsight I have a much clearer and fonder memory of Duchess by Night, so who knows?) You’d think after liking only one of four books of Eloisa James’s, I would have given up on her, or at least on her Desperate Duchesses series. You may even wonder why I bothered to give her so many chances in the first place, seeing as I often claim not to care about reading a series in the right order, let alone all books in a series. Except Desperate Duchesses is not a typical romance series.
In modern romance, the term “series” applies to novels that seldom share more than a common setting and a few secondary characters. If a supporting character you’ve particularly enjoyed gets her/his own novel, you’ll probably wish to read that one too. But sometimes the next novel in a series is about a presumed sibling who was virtually absent of the first book, so honestly, why would you care? Desperate Duchesses is much more of a series than either of these examples. First of all, the first scene of the next book always takes place on the same occasion as the previous book’s last scene.
Secondly, there is a story arc that spans the first five books, namely Jemma’s relationship with Villiers and Beaumont. And while this concept is all to James’s credit, since it has clearly worked with me, it is perhaps one of the reasons that made books 2, 3 and 4 less good than the first and last ones. From the second novel, this story arc indeed forks into two story arcs: one focuses on Jemma and her husband, and leads to This Duchess of Mine; the second follows Villiers’s tribulations, and finds closure in A Duke of Her Own. Unfortunately, though these characters made for a colourful and intriguing subplot in Desperate Duchesses, they seem to take up entirely too much space in the following three books, and useless space to boot, since we know none of their conflicts will be resolved till books 5 and 6.
What type of series do you like better? Do you think that series with an overarching supblot (or main plot, as it were) are a marketing tool? Which of the first four Desperate Duchesses novels did you enjoy the most? Did Jemma, Beaumont and Villiers spoil you for all the other couples?
A Kiss of Fate, by Mary Jo Putney (review)
Posted: 2011/06/13 Filed under: Literature | Tags: a kiss of fate, fantasy, genre, georgian, guardians, harry potter, historical, j. k. rowling, lessons, mary jo putney, review, scottish, writing tip Leave a comment »Despite some weaknesses in the narrative, I was sufficiently intrigued by A Distant Magic to give the first book of the series a shot. And so I read A Kiss of Fate, whose hero is none other than Jean Macrae’s older brother, Duncan. A work as uneven as its sequel, it lacks the latter’s flamboyant action, but makes up for it with a more elaborate, intimate love story. Once again, then, still a worthwhile read if not a fully satisfactory novel.
As I expected, A Kiss of Fate is more focused on the Guardians. Unfortunately, the Guardians bored me to death. Pretty much like Harry Potter’s Wizards, the Guardians are a special kind of magically gifted humans who, besides secretly taking part in parallel institutions and endeavours of their own, live among the Mundanes as regular noblemen and -women. As a counterexample, Duncan and Gwynne’s story provided a good lesson in fantasy writing… The problem with the Guardians is how utterly wonderful their world and themselves are. Magic is something more they have over Mundanes, which makes them capable and aware of more, and therefore wiser, better, better-off, etc. Of course the risk of misusing magic exists, but it is closely controlled and severely punished.
I’ll take Harry Potter again as an example, as much because I expect most of you to have read it, as because it’s the book that started my personal reflection on how to write magic and fantasy. When I read the Harry Potter books as a teenager, something about their fantastic world irked me: basically the contrast between the way Harry Potter felt about the wizard world―as though it was some sort of wonderland of salvation―and what it really was―a dangerous, dysfunctional place filled with mediocre and despicable characters. Putney’s Guardians opened my eyes to this apparent paradox. I’ve only just grasped that the preference Harry Potter feels for the world of witchcraft has to do with belonging and subjective experience, not objective superiority. In fact, Rowling treats as villains all her wizards who profess such a superiority. Her theory is that magic doesn’t make people better, more enlightened, more humane or more intelligent. Which, however frustrating, is probably more “realistic” as well as more entertaining than the opposite premise.
A Kiss of Fate suffers from an overabundance of good guys. God knows I understand Ms. Putney’s optimism and her concern for grey zones, but at the end of the day, it gets boring when everybody always acts in good faith. Even when the author explicitly picks a side, she can’t help counterbalancing her own arguments by making all these good, decent people (amongst whom Jean Macrae, future heroine of A Distant Magic) adhere to the very side she opposes. This remark calls for some details on the context: in 1745, a few decades after Scotland lost its independence and the Hanoverians accessed the throne of both England and Scotland, the grandson of the last Stuart king, aka Bonnie Prince Charlie, led an uprising which many Scots followed in the hope of regaining an equal status with England.
Charles Edward Stuart
A pity the Pretender didn’t listen to his Scottish advisors and stay in Scotland. Even I will concede that an argument can be made for allowing Scotland to regain her independence under a Stuart king. But no, the Pretender must listen to French and Irish advisors who say he should invade England.
- A Kiss of Fate, Mary Jo Putney (Ballantine, 2004)
This novel, on top of being a historical fantasy romance, dabbles with the Scottish subgenre, and that, I must say, is where all the fun begins. Who doesn’t like barbarian, freedom-loving Scots in kilts? That’s right. But where most romance authors consider it enough to exploit the stereotype for purposes of sex-appeal, Putney remains true to herself by using the Scottish element on a historical and political level. Duncan is a Scot, Gwynne is an Englishwoman. At a time when many Scots are rebelling against the king in London, how will the newly-weds bear the strain events puts on their budding love?
Gwynne knew there was more conflict ahead of them, but she also knew beyond doubt that she was in the right place―and with the right man.
- A Kiss of Fate, Mary Jo Putney (Ballantine, 2004)
Yes, modern romance promotes love as the motivation and action as the means to make anything happen, to “conquer all”. However, when it is intelligently plotted, romance never sells love as the easy way, or the only way, or the way that magically (even when you’re a Guardian!) does away with all the obstacles in its path. A Kiss of Fate is one of the rare romance novels in which marriage doesn’t represent the conclusion of a journey, but the beginning of one. Only time and the everyday reality of being together are the measure of true, ever-lasting love. As a person currently involved in a relationship, such a perspective obviously echoes much of my own experience.
After the explosion in the library, she and Duncan stopped discussing politics. That prevented more arguments, but it had also put a barrier between them. They were corteous and affectionate with each other, but the intimacy that had been developing had frozen solid. Marital relations, no matter how amazing―and they were!―couldn’t compensate for emotional wariness.
- A Kiss of Fate, Mary Jo Putney (Ballantine, 2004)
Gwynne and Duncan’s bumpy road to love admirably shows how identities, cultures and political convictions can clash with the reputed omnipotence of passion. Here are two individuals both determined to stand up for who they are and what they believe in, who will settle for no less than openhearted reconciliation. Far from the myths of transcendental harmony or one-way self-sacrifice, A Kiss of Fate strikingly illustrates the fact that real difficulties arise after you’ve found “the one”, not before. Though the whole beginning is too smooth to interest much, as the plot thickens emotions and stakes finally take off.
Are villains necessary to add tension to a plot? What do you think is the essential tip for anybody who writes fantasy and is confronted to the creation of an imaginary world? Do you like romance that focuses on the relationship once established (rather than on how the relationship happened)? Why/why not?
A Distant Magic, by Mary Jo Putney (review)
Posted: 2011/05/16 Filed under: Literature, Politics | Tags: a distant magic, fantasy, georgian, guardians, historical, mary jo putney, review, social movement, time travel, trilogy Leave a comment »I didn’t notice when I bought the book that A Distant Magic was the third title of a trilogy. The Guardians series normally reads as follows:
1) A Kiss of Fate
2) Stolen Magic
3) A Distant Magic
Fortunately, trilogies and other such series in modern romance don’t imply books with “un-ends” like in fantasy (see A Song of Ice and Fire) or cliffhanger endings like in Christopher Pike’s Final Friends (review of the first part coming this week). Unlike many other types of stories, in which the suspense lies in who’s going to end up with who, modern romance keeps you curious about how the two main characters will manage to end up together. For the reader to not be able to guess outright who the heroine and hero are is usually considered a flaw in characterization and narration. Which isn’t to say that it’s completely impossible to stray from the norm, if you’re going to do it with purpose and talent.
A Distant Magic, making good on its last-book-of-a-series status, is probably the least “Guardian” plot of the trilogy. I’ve noticed that after spending several books with one sort of characters or context, authors often like to somewhat depart from it; that and tying loose ends have them look for more drastic, exotic and unprecedented solutions. This is exactly what’s going on here, to my nearly greatest delight. I would have loved indeed to brandish A Distant Magic as my new all-time favourite romance novel. Alas, this is a powerful story which gets carried away and eventually trapped within its own ambitions. Definitely good, definitely interesting, but not the best literature yet.
The problem with this book is that, in its excitement at being both the trilogy’s climax and oddball, it aims at too many things. Just take a look at the tags: it’s a historical romance novel, using time travel as an element of its fantasy aspect, carrying a strong political message. If everything had worked perfectly till the end, this work would have been simply brilliant, incredible… As it is, it at least remains so for the whole first part. I was especially drawn by the slightly enigmatic, touching interludes which Ms. Putney wove into the main story of Scottish patriot Jean Macrae and Nikolai Gregorio, a mulatto pirate avenger (did I mention that I like dark men?). We’re in the eighteenth century, and European powers thrive on the profits of slavery…
“Would you like to learn how to read, Addie? It would be interesting to see if you can do it.”
Adia’s rush of excitement blocked her irritation at her mistress’s assumption that a slave might not be capable of learning. She wanted desperately to read and write, for education was a path to power.
- A Distant Magic, Mary Jo Putney (2007)
But the author goes way beyond a mere description of the well-known evils of slavery. Boldly yet wisely, she steps into the political with both feet. I felt like screaming in wonder and was resolved, by then, that everybody I knew should absolutely read this book, starting with my fantasy-loving (dark) boyfriend (Stolen Magic is on the Fantasy/Sci-Fi shelf at my national library).
“That’s absurd! Slavery is too huge, too integral a part of the world, for one man to bring it down. The West Indies sugar trade alone is a vital part of the world’s commerce, and it uses countless slaves. [...] slavery has been with us for as long as history has been recorded, and surely before that. A thousand men couldn’t make a difference. Is it worthwhile to devote your life to such an impossible goal? [...] even if you spend a long life freeing galley slaves, you will affect only a relative handful of people. You will not make any real difference.”
“You saw the men freed today. Did I make a difference to them?”
[...] “You’re right. Though you can’t eliminate slavery as an institution, what you do has meaning.”
“Don’t be too sure that there is no way to eliminate slavery. It wouldn’t be quick, and certainly not easy, but if there is a way, I shall find it,” [...]
- A Distant Magic, Mary Jo Putney (Ballantine, 2007)
Not that people around me nowadays need convincing about slavery, as you can guess. Neither do I think Putney wrote it in this intention. On the other hand, writing about slavery, about how hardly anybody back then thought it realistic or possible to ever abolish it, and about how it was abolished all the same, is a magnificent lesson for all the struggles for human rights and human dignity we are presently fighting. All “social” movements work according to the same logic. No democratic progress was ever conceded by elected politicians before it had become a force to reckon with within the population, within the masses.
American Civil Rights Movement (1950's-60's)
“You’ve never really thought much about slavery, have you?”
“No, I haven’t,” she admitted. “I’ve seen a few black slaves in London, but in the distance, dressed in their master’s livery. Not so very different from an English footman except for the color of their skin.” She began to eat again.
“You never thought about how the sugar in your tea comes at the price of women working in the sugar fields until they drop, or men scalded to death in the refining sheds.”
- A Distant Magic, Mary Jo Putney (Ballantine, 2007)
So stop telling us that as members of the “civil society”, we have no power; that only professional politicians can change anything. Stop telling us that something which has been there forever cannot cease or change, because it is part of human nature. Stop telling us that we threaten the country’s economy! There are always at least two versions of the same history. How Britain and France became such great world powers during the eighteenth century is one side, and colonialism is the other side of the same coin. How much is all this wealth, and this glorious economic growth really worth? In so many ways, the neoliberal forces of today are just like the pro-slavery lobby of yesterday.
Every time you do nothing, every time you think in terms of necessity, most especially economic necessity, you let civilisation move one step backwards; you thumb your nose at all the people who fought and worked and gave their lives for freedom and equality. It is not a natural order of things we’re living at the moment; it’s the result of some people’s “fantasies”, visionary thinking and sacrifices we now benefit from. The least we can do is continue their efforts and give our children the same gift our ancestors left us with. A better world.
This may sound corny, but Mary Jo Putney’s book is not corny at all. The very strength and intelligence of it consists in taking the reader well past good intentions and concepts such as charity and common empathy. This author understands exactly the significance of political―as opposed to individual―action (see quote #2) and a good portion of the book is actually dedicated to explaining it. Sadly, that’s when the novel loses its literary vigour and flow. Never quite becoming a full-blown History of the Abolitionist Movement, but maybe hovering a little too close to it, it also gets caught into magical technicalities which I felt were superfluous. To put it simply, the last part seems like a jumble of information forced into a too-tight 400-page format.
Do you think that modern romance is the place for an author to get passionately political? Know of any who did it successfully?* Do you believe in apolitical writing, or apolitical being for that matter?
* Mary Jo Putney herself tackled social issues in other books such as the amazing Thunder and Roses, or the blander contemporary novel Twist of Fate.
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