Naked in Death, by J. D. Robb (review)

For all of you who might not know, here’s a newsflash: J. D. Robb is Nora Roberts. And I must say, I have yet to read a book, whether authored by Roberts or Robb, which I dislike.

There are many reasons why an author might choose to write under different (pen) names. Since it’s a question that still comes up often, I thought I’d sum it up for you. The reason might be purely administrative: as long as an author is under contract with one publisher, they may not use the same name with other publishers. It could also be a marketing reason: bookshops tend to order books based on the author’s previous sales, so if you’ve gone from writing poetry to novels, you might want to come with a clean slate and pass off as a debut author (which you are, in a sense, where novel-writing is concerned). But marketing also applies directly to readers: if you’ve garnered a decent following writing period pieces, you might fear to jeopardize it by making them buy your next sci-fi novel.

It is, indeed, a fact that most readers 1) have favourite (and sometimes hated) genres, and 2) pick books based on the author’s name, rep or fame. I certainly do the latter. Genres or subgenres, on the other hand, seldom matter to me, as Naked in Death proved it once more. The first in a series that now numbers 42 volumes, it introduces us to Lieutenant Eve Dallas, a tough, no-nonsense young officer of the NYSPD. But underneath her dedication and talent is also loneliness, the price she’s accepted to pay in order to forget her past… Though the repeated murders of legal prostitutes may not allow her to do that much longer, no more than her magnetic encounter with secretive Irish billionaire Roarke.

While I was reading Naked in Death, I couldn’t help but be reminded of Suzanne Enoch’s contemporary suspense series: a single couple throughout the whole series, a crime that needs solving, a billionaire hero from the British Isles, a resourceful, in-your-face heroine, the extensive use of technology… The main differences being that the In Death novels are set in a futuristic, mid-21st-century New York, and more importantly, that Eve represents the law against Roarke’s shady doings, while in Enoch’s novels, the heroine is the law-breaker (though in both cases, similar conflict ensues between the protagonists).

Since Eve Dallas existed long before Ms. Enoch decided to dally in romantic suspense, if one author was inspired by the other, it can only be Enoch, by Robb. For that, credit must be given. However, I must confess the original didn’t quite match up to its follower. I liked it, not loved it. It turns out, for one thing, that we see little of Roarke. Too little. Which made him seem almost instrumental to the plot: super-hot mega-rich dude happens to be somewhat linked with victim of murder, walks in, is clearly innocent, and incidentally falls in love with the primary investigator.

It’s not the scenes or the love between Eve and Roarke that felt fake, but his presence on set altogether. The card that points him as a suspect is very underplayed, and ends up seeming pointless. Like with No Proper Lady, I found myself longing for more conflict rather than evidence of the hero’s decency and good nature. Couldn’t Roarke have been in a deeply incriminating position, so that Even would have to fight to prove his innocence, including to herself? Instead of which Roarke is made into the romance billionaire cliche, a sort of god-like mystery who can make everything happen. Slight disappointment.

It does not spoil the book, though, especially if you are not a romance fan with clearly established expectations regarding the hero. After all, if Roarke’s role is a little downplayed here, it’s because he’s going to have to show up at least 42 times more without getting boring. And I can’t say the author hasn’t managed to make me curious about the sequels… Among the more pleasant surprises of this book were, first of all, its sci-fi flavour. I picked it up without even knowing I would be taken into the future, yet this choice of setting proved to be more than instrumental (as opposed to the choice of hero).

Ms. Robb tries her best to be fairly realistic, drawing on recent developments to imagine plausible future ones: firearms are banned and replaced by cleaner, less dangerous “lasers”; prostitution is made legal; humans have started colonizing the universe beyond the planet earth; and of course, technology is ever-present. The two first themes I’ve mentioned have a particularly prominent place in the novel, since Eve is investigating the assassination of “licensed companions” with antique, illegal guns―”old-fashioned murders”. Politics are involved, and our main character does not stop herself from voicing very explicit opinions:

“Before we legalized prostitution, there was a rape or attempted rape every three seconds. Of course, we still have rape, because it has much less to do with sex than with power, but the figures have dropped. Licensed prostitutes don’t have pimps, so they aren’t beaten, battered, killed. And they can’t use drugs. There was a time when women went to butchers to deal with an unwanted pregnancy. When they had to risk their lives or ruin them. (…) It’s not a perfect world, but you listen to him and you realize it could be a lot worse.”

- Naked in Death, J. D. Robb (Berkley, 1995)

“Him” is none other than a Senator member of the Conservative Party, often opposed to the other main force in the country, the Liberals. I cannot even tell you how much conservative-bashing there is in that book without giving out spoilers, but on top of having their official ideas criticized, the conservatives characters in Naked in Death are often shown as playing a double game, presenting a “moderate” front while secretly supporting extremist views. Sound familiar? And yet, despite being more liberal than conservative, Ms. Roberts’ arguments made me think, but not necessarily agree (maybe because I’m more leftist than liberal). Who said that romance did not feature serious topics or invite reflection?

One more thing I enjoyed in Eve and Roarke’s first book takes me back to Suzanne Enoch’s contemporary novels, perhaps to the romance genre in general. Details. Random, mundane, everyday life details. Even when romance is packed with action and fantasy, authors will always take the time to mention what she ate, what he wore, the car she drives, the furniture in his living-room. It is a little different in historicals, where such details usually emphasize the exotic and the fabulous, but in contemporary (or realistic sci-fi), it’s what makes the characters real, relatable, human. Eve Dallas drinks her coffee black, cuts her own hair, owns a car with a broken heater… She isn’t just constantly taking relevant action that drives the plot forward.

And if you want to know exactly what makes me feel good about reading romance, it’s not so much the love or the happy ending. It’s those crazy mundane details. She takes a shower. She drinks coffee. She spends long hours at her workplace. You have no idea how inspiring this is to me: by describing all these meaningless, everyday actions within a sexy, suspenseful novel, it gives them a new shine, almost a glamour. Yes, it is part of life, of our duty, of our mission. Life’s value isn’t measured in feats and  achievements; it’s all the little things that make it up, second after second, day after day. “Trudniej dzień dobrze przeżyć, niż napisać księgę“, said great poet Adam Mickiewicz (it is harder to live a day well than to write a book). With romance, we get both. How much luckier can we get?

Are you an Eve Dallas fan? If you are, can you tell me whether Roarke’s too minimal appearance in Naked in Death is avenged in the next installments? Do you like J. D. Robb or Nora Roberts better? Do you welcome political opinions in fiction novels as much as I do?