In the land of the Seven Kingdoms, some babies are born with eyes that are both the same color, but by the time they are toddlers, their eyes change to be two different colors, such as blue and green or silver and gold. If so, they are said to have a ‘Grace,’ to be possessed of some sort of gift. It may be as innocuous as being able to make the best bread ever–in which case they will probably go work for the kitchens in the royal castle–or it may be like Katsa’s: killing. Katsa is the niece of one of the kings of the Seven Kingdoms, and she has been used as an assassin many times over the years. This is the story of Katsa coming to terms with, well, being gifted at killing.

Well. Sort of. It’s also about politics and it’s a love story and a tale of survival and rescue and all sorts of other things. But at its heart, it’s Katsa’s coming-of-age story.

The politics are because, well, there are seven kingdoms and of course there are going to be power struggles, especially when there’s a particularly evil king sitting on one of the thrones with a particularly evil Grace. The love story is between Katsa and Po, who is Graced with fighting (maybe), and who is the youngest son of another king. He’s a suitable mate for her–not just politically but by temperament and Grace–but Katsa isn’t particularly interested for various reasons. At least, not at first. The survival and rescue, well, I’m not going to tell you about that because it would give away more of the plot than I’m willing to do.

Katsa is a strong, multi-faceted character; readers looking for strong, multi-faceted female characters will not be disappointed. Readers who enjoy richly-described fantasy worlds with interesting geography and a strange new form of magic will definitely be interested in this story. The male characters are pretty interesting, as well; not just Po but the other people in Katsa’s household, especially Prince Raffin. The pacing of the plot is fairly good as well, although the adventure part of the story stretched on a bit longer than I wanted. Readers more invested in the action than the romance will probably be happy, though.

The problem I had with Graceling is that I felt that the interpersonal conflict was pretty much all manufactured by the heroine herself and I have very little patience for, well, that. Essentially to me it felt like Katsa was saying, “Oh, woe is me! For I am a freak and shall never, ever find a man who will accept me as I am, the kind of woman who doesn’t really like to wear skirts and likes to kill things! All men want to change me and make me into the kind of woman who has to stay home and not kill things!” And standing right next to her was Po, saying also the entire time, “Um, hi. I’m Po. Right here. Hey. Standing here. Oh, what the hell–you’ll come around someday.” Now, I’m a fan of self-discovery and not necessarily falling madly in love with the first guy to come by who seems not to be the world’s biggest jerk, but I think I would have preferred the story where she realized that he appeared to be the kind of man who wouldn’t expect her to change but was still suspicious and wanted to hold out judgment, rather than flat-out denying to herself that that man could even exist.

Then again, I’m twenty-eight and Katsa is eighteen, and perhaps I’m expecting her to act more like me. But I spent half the book mad at her because of this–and she seemed to be pretty decent at all other times–so I’d like to note it here. Younger readers, or those who are better at accepting characters at face value, will probably not notice it, or be less annoyed.

Honestly, this was a good read, and an excellent addition to the oeuvre, and it’s possible I’ve just got the strangest set of biases on the planet. I’d recommend it to pretty much anyone who’s interested in the genre, frankly; it’s got a little bit of everything and it does it all awfully well. 4/5 stars.

Anyway, Counterfeit Magic is narrated by Paige Winterbourne, the main character of Dime Store Magic and Industrial Magic. It features her and Savannah Levine, the daughter of Eve Levine, narrator and star of both Haunted and Angelic (the latter also a Sub Press book). Savannah is also the narrator of books 11-13 of the series, apparently. Paige and her husband run a private investigation business, and Savannah works for them as well. They receive an invitation to investigate a case that involves the existence of underground supernatural fight clubs, and Paige and Savannah have to infiltrate them.

Because it’s a Sub Press book, I have an ARC, and it’s got some drawings in it which may not be in final format. That may be wishful thinking, though, as I really don’t like the drawings. They’re very well-done, but the tone seems a little out of place with the actual themes of the book. They’re very . . . well, frankly, they’re bordering on soft-core porn in some cases. Again, they’re well-done and actually look like some of the characters and scenes in the book, which is much better than I can say about some illustrations or covers, but I wasn’t that enamored of them as an addendum to the book.

Paige is married to Lucas Cortez, a sorcerer and the heir to a very powerful family. Unfortunately, his very powerful family is also very male and is having a lot of trouble accepting her as an equal. She is also reluctant to ask Lucas for help, as she wants to be his equal and that doesn’t include asking for help. Because of this, they’re having some minor relationship trouble. Honestly, though, this trouble threads in and out of the entire book, and it’s a mature, feminist/equality-minded view on the whole situation–which is why I really don’t think the pictures fit with the book. Having explained that, though, I’ll deal with the story on its own.

The supernatural fight clubs were pretty dang cool. I’m not really sure there’s much more I need to say about them; they’re pretty much what one would guess, although both men and women are allowed to fight (usually against the same sex). Demon powers, as well as spells and other sorts of gifts, make the fights much more interesting–limited teleportation, for example, as well as knock-back spells and the sort.

The plot is rather convoluted for being only 144 pages long, in the best Kelley Armstrong sort of way–politics of her world plus twists only possible through her forms of magic plus several threads of actual human interest. I think she even sets up one major plot thread that will be picked up in books 11-13. However, she did use a rather common trope from romance novels and romantic comedies, so longtime romance readers may look at that part of the plot and shrug or be gleeful, depending. (It’s not my favorite trope.)

Anyway, readers who have continued with the series may enjoy this; it appears to fit in before book 11. Although I don’t think it particularly stands on its own or makes a good entry into the series, it’s not intended to do either. Ignoring the artwork, it’s a solid 4/5 stars and, as it’s a Sub Press edition, I can safely assume it’ll be a lovely physical object as well.

Fledgling is Ms. Butler’s foray into the vampire-novel genre. The main character–also the narrator–is Shori, a young vampire who survived a vicious attack on her family that left her very much injured and suffering from amnesia. The rest of the story details her fight to save her family, and her re-learning of what exactly she lost by not remembering the rest of her life.

I probably should have been tipped off by the quote from Gerald Jonas of the New York Times on the back of the book, saying that, “[Butler] never asks easy questions or settles for easy answers.” Since I was not, and being that I know I’m not the only person who wouldn’t want to be blindsided by this, I should mention that Shori, the main character, is 53 years old in actuality, but looks like she’s ten or eleven. Before we learn that she’s fifty-three, she engages in consensual (on her end, at least; it might be considered ‘dubious’ consent on his end) sexual activity with a 23-year-old man. He doesn’t know she’s actually fifty-three, either.

Now, again: she’s fifty-three, and more importantly, she’s a vampire, who are in this mythos an entirely different species that may have evolved simultaneously with humans on Earth. (They call themselves the Ina.) It’s perhaps ridiculous to apply my moral code to them, but of course, Butler intended this discomfort. It’s intended on multiple levels; Shori makes almost everyone in the story uncomfortable for many, many reasons.

She’s actually an experiment in genetic engineering: the Ina want to be able to go out in the daytime, so they are experimenting with including human DNA along with theirs. Shori has human DNA that makes her shorter than most of the female Ina. She’s also dark-skinned–that is, her human DNA is from a woman of color. Some of the older Ina are not sure she qualifies as a proper Ina. She’s also precisely at the stage in her development where she’s starting to make sexually-mature male Ina uncomfortable because they crave her as a mate (in a sort of Lolita fashion, only actually biologically explainable). She makes humans uncomfortable because she is stronger and faster than they are, and in some cases makes them uncomfortable because they desire her even though she looks like a child. Basically, no one is comfortable around Shori, and why should Ms. Butler let the reader be any less unsettled?

Ms. Butler uses this book to answer the question of what are the Ina, through two major methods: Shori’s amnesia, and Shori herself. The amnesia allows her to be told things she probably should already know, and thereby the reader can learn these things. We learn history, language, and basic societal structure this way. Shori herself provides for more metaphysical questions: is someone who doesn’t look like how we expect, maybe because of some DNA changing or manipulation, still a member of that group? The Ina are largely tall, thin, pale white people. Shori is thin, but short and dark, and it is actually at least partially her looks that cause the conflict.

This is actually the first book I’d ever read by Ms. Butler, which is a shame, and I’ll definitely be looking for more. Her writing style has been described as spare, and that’s certainly true, but that doesn’t mean that she leaves any words out. It was an easy read in terms of language, but a little difficult in terms of questions raised. This is a vampire book, I think, that would definitely be interesting to those who don’t like vampire books commonly, but I’d definitely say it’s for older YAs and adult readers due to the need to handle the sexual content in a mature fashion. 5/5 stars.

The plot’s pretty simple: Vulcan is having a debate over whether to stay in the Federation or leave it. Spock, Kirk, and McCoy have been called to Vulcan to assist in the debates on the side of staying in the Federation (obviously) but Sarek, Spock’s father and the Vulcan Ambassador to the Federation/Earth, is called to speak on the side of withdrawing from the Federation.

For fanpoodles of the new movie, please remember that because this is based on ST:TOS, Vulcan is intact, Amanda is still alive, Spock isn’t dating Uhura, and other random things one may not know about due to insufficient exposition to TOS prior to the reboot. However, there are funny bits if one is aware of the developments in canon post-1988(this book’s publication date). Sarek’s age was a bit off; the discussion of First Contact (between the Vulcans and Terrans) bears no relation to the movie First Contact; there’s some stuff in ENT about when the Surakian Vulcans came into control that, well, didn’t happen; and no one was quite sure what Dr. McCoy’s middle name is. (Fans found out in the sixth Star Trek movie that his middle initial was H.; canon doesn’t have an actual full version for it, but it sure isn’t Edward. Memory Beta says it’s Horatio, which is pretty much as bad as Tiberius. At least it’s pronounceable.)

Half the book, though, isn’t about Our Heroes and their debate, although the debate is reasonably lively and interesting. The alternate chapters are the Michener-like description of the entire history of the planet and sociology of Vulcan — well, confined to about 100 pages. At the beginning, it’s pretty slow, especially for those who aren’t huge fans of the Clan of the Cave Bear-like settings. (Like me.) Towards the end of the interludes, though, as the debate is heating up, we get things we recognize: Surak, the founder of the dominant school of Vulcan thought by the 23rd century, and Sarek and Amanda’s love story, which is particularly nice to see,

Ms. Duane’s conception of Amanda is, thanks to the time difference between when Spock’s mom first showed up (the late ’60s) and when the book was being written, significantly more interesting. In the TV show, she was a schoolteacher — but, well, really, how does a schoolteacher become an ambassador’s wife? Well, by not really being a schoolteacher; in this novel, she was one of the most important researchers for the Universal Translator working with the Vulcan language.

Of all the characters in the story, James T. Kirk is easily the least interesting. Despite his xenophobia (well-documented in TOS), it’s Dr. McCoy who shines in this story, with his dedication to the cause, lively debate, and zingers. Kirk mostly seems to be an adjunct to fill the gap between Spock and McCoy. Spock, of course, is the titular character and quite active, but he seems to be more useful as a symbol than anything else. He is one of the bridges between the two worlds, being half Vulcan and half Terran. He’s also . . . well, something more important, but then we’re getting into true spoiler territory.

Overall, I’d recommend it, if one is only going to read on Star Trek book. (What a coincidence — I’ve only read one Star Trek book.) It’s fairly well-written, although I’d avoid it if one doesn’t like long, philosophical narration (not data dumps) and a lot of historical data. Clearly, if one isn’t at all interested in the history of Vulcan, this won’t be terribly interesting. If one is looking for something more like an actual episode of TOS, with phaser fights and Tholian webs and Kirk seducing the green chick, this is not that book. The main conceit is a debate. (Fittingly, the friend who recommended it to me is the person with whom I coach middle-schoolers in debate.) Debates, while probably rousing in person, don’t make for high-action stories. And yet I liked it quite a bit and feel confident in recommending it. The audio book was read by Leonard Nimoy himself, in case one prefers those. 4.5/5 stars.

(1) ST:TNG = Star Trek: The Next Generation, and ST:TOS is Star Trek: The Original Series. DS9 is Deep Space 9; VOY is Voyager, and ENT is Enterprise, in case anyone cares and didn’t already figure it out.

I’m cutting plot discussion, just in case Dalziel’s identity isn’t known to those reading this review. Royce Varisey, commonly known as Dalziel, was merely his father’s heir when he disobeyed the pater’s wishes and went into the service, in some sort (as a spymaster). Now his father has died, and Royce is now the duke of a giant marcher duchy, up near the border of Scotland. Not only does he not have any closure, but before the funeral is even over, the grandes dames in the ton have decided that he must be married ASAP. Oh, and the last conspirator in the giant web of Napoleonic agents that he’s spent the last few years ferreting out is still on the loose. Can his life possibly get any more complicated? — Oh yes. Enter his obliviously perfect chatelaine . . .

Stephanie Laurens’s heroes are almost identical, and her heroines generally get the same cavalier treatment. Her heroes are always unreasonably large (men that tall aren’t terribly common today, let alone nearly two hundred years ago), super-alpha, and usually desperate for land and family. The ones who already had land are very, very possessive about it. As a matter of fact, they’re generally possessive about everything, especially their potential wives. As strong as those last few lines are, they’re really an understatement. What it comes down to is that these men are sort of vaguely-civilzed versions of Genghis Khan, although, of course, they’re so much better-looking and phenomenal in bed and they occasionally have a thought about the idea of consent. Royce Varisey is no exception to this rule, although he’s got a good set of Daddy Issues that they don’t all have.

The women are usually feisty, or at least stubborn, and very smart and generally above polite society in so many ways. Minerva Chesterton has been running a giant duchy for quite a few years, even if most of it is managing the duke, and she is, of course, in most ways a match for Royce. But not QUITE a match: she, of course, succumbs to her charms, even though she is completely untouched and has never found a man other than him she has ever even found remotely attractive. (Did I mention that she’s known him nearly her entire life?) I should mention here that Stephanie Laurens is also guilty of the ‘virgin widow’ trope, although not in this volume. (Given, she explained it almost adequately, but still.)

I think the worst part about this is that I KEEP READING HER NOVELS. I really LIKE the Stephanie Laurens novel, since it’s the same one written over and over. My favorites — please keep in mind that I read the first eleven or so in a very short period of time, so there wasn’t the time-lapse fatigue — are the first Bar Cynster novel, Devil’s Bride, and the twelfth volume, The Truth About Love (the hero is the brother of the heroine of the second novel). What I think is so addicting about them is the level of overwrought passion, and the well-described and copious sex. It’s really a heck of a lot of fun, especially in small doses — say, two books a year.

The Bastion Club books are, in general, not as good as the Cynster books, but this is a relatively common example of Stephanie Laurens’s style and subject matter. Royce is actually a little too close to ignoring the concept of consent for my tastes; other heroes are at least more subtle about their domineering, or in the case of Devil and Honoria, better matched. The idea that one good shagging will cause a heroine to be inextricably entwined with the hero bothers me, and in this volume, it’s a bit too blatant for my tastes. Readers who loooooove alpha heroes with every ounce of their souls will find Royce quite appealing, and those who want the cap to the Bastion Club novels will definitely find closure here (even if it is a bit trivial, after all that buildup). If Devil’s Bride is a five-star Stephanie Laurens book (not an absolute five-star book; it’s maybe 3.5/5 stars overall), then this is probably more like a 3.5/5 or 4/5 star Stephanie Laurens book which — and my math is really sketchy — means it’s about a 2.75 or 3/5 star book overall. Again, though, it’s essentially a ‘if you like these, you’ll like this one’ type of book, and I do recommend it for those who are addicted. Not a good place to start, though: try the aforementioned Captain Jack’s Woman (the prelude to the Bastion Club series) or Devil’s Bride (first book in the Cynster series).

At the ends of their wits, one day three young women become frustrated with the general quality of the young, eligible men in the ton, and determine to teach three of them — one each — lessons. In The Rake, the first volume, Lady Georgianna Halley decides to instruct Tristan Carroway, Viscount Dare, with whom she has had an adversarial relationship for the last eight years. Of course, their adversarial relationship is masking the fact that there’s a deep attraction there. A year or so later, Lucinda Barrett, the last of the three friends, realizing that the other two ended up marrying the objects of their lessons (oh, come on, not a spoiler), chooses Lord Geoffrey Newcombe. Lord Geoffrey, aside from being handsome, is safe and her father, General Barrett, likes him. Unfortunately, Robert Carroway, Tristan’s younger brother, has sort of gotten in the way . . .

I very much enjoy The Rake, because it is the best possible use of the Big Mis(understanding) plot. It’s not annoyingly offensive in the way that most Big Mis plots are. The entire issue of Georgianna trusting Tristan couldn’t actually be resolved by one conversation, although they do have that conversation well before the end of the story. A normal Big Mis plot, of course, uses some sort of stupid idea — like the heroine thinks the hero is poor (see On a Wicked Dawn, Stephanie Laurens) and agrees to marry him because of that. (Something that is generally rather easily resolved, unless there’s a series of misunderstandings based on that, or a time-lapse issue.) Not so with this one.

England’s Perfect Hero is rather well-known throughout the romance-novel world for being the best discussion of post-traumatic stress disorder in a romance novel, ever. Even in the first book, it’s pretty obvious to those who know something of the symptoms of PTSD that Robert suffers from it, due to his experiences in the Napoleonic Wars. Unlike other romance novels with PTSD characters, especially historical ones, this one doesn’t magically heal Robert twenty pages in so that he can get to Lucinda. He isn’t really even healed by the end of the book, although he is significantly better. He struggles, though, on nearly every page, and Lucinda’s love isn’t the Magical Healing Device(TM) that it can be in so many other novels.

This volume is pretty much my favorite romance novel of all time. As a matter of fact, I have three copies of it at present. I understand this book has issues; apparently there’s some stuff with the horses that isn’t terribly realistic. But, more than many other books, for Robert, there are actual consequences to his actions. He dances all evening, after having not danced for years (and having a knee blown out), he cannot walk for the next few days. He forces down panic attacks, and they build up to a later, larger one. (Most of that happens off the page, though.) He disappears and comes home late, on more than one occasion, and his littlest brother Edward is mad at him. (Or all of his brothers.) Robert is cool to Lucinda one day, and she merely leaves.

The characters, who are generally the same between the two books, are outstanding. Robert has one quite useful scene in The Rake that sets up his story in the third volume (and the idea that he can even be a romance novel hero, despite his tortured past). I can’t remember if I actually read vol. 3 before vol. 1, because I think I read them originally in 2005, but it seems likely, based on my vaguely-remembered reaction to Robert’s appearance in the first volume. (In other words, don’t overlook him.) I love all three of the heroines — Georgiana, the highest-born, most outspoken, and the one with the most to hide; Evie, the still waters that run deep; and Lucinda, the calmest and most organized one. Their personalities — which are even developed back as far as the mostly-shared prologue to each volume — definintely influence their stories (in other words, these are not interchangeable heroines) and their choices of mates.

There are some minor characters, like Tristan and Robert’s brother Bradshaw and Lucinda’s father General Barrett, who are outstanding as well. I rather enjoyed every moment that they appear on stage in both volumes. Bradshaw is rather not as exemplary as his brothers; I can’t see that she ever gave him a short story or anything, so he remains a rogue with some suspect taste. It’s nice to see men of good family who are actually sort of mixed, as opposed to both Tristan and Robert who had to be at least partially reformed (good intentions at the very least) at some point.

Overall, these two (and, of course, the intermediary volume, my copy of which is 750 miles away and not recently re-read) come highly recommended, and I would actually suggest that they form a good introduction to Regency-era historical romance. 4/5 stars for The Rake, and 5/5 for England’s Perfect Hero.

This is, as the introductory note says, Julia Quinn’s marriage-of-convenience story. Two weeks before his time runs out, Charles, Earl of Billingsley, falls out of a tree onto Miss Ellie Lyndon, the sister of Miss Victoria Lyndon and a vicar’s daughter. Due to some vague attraction and the determination that she might not be so bad to be married to, he explains the situation — if he doesn’t marry in the next two weeks, he loses all of the monetary portion of his inheritance. Ellie understands this, being that she’s in her own monetary difficulties — she’s been investing her pocket money and cannot get to it. (Also, there’s an Evil Stepmother involved.) So they have a go of it. Will it work?

Jane at Dear Author did a pretty good job of explaining why this plot is absolute bunk, which I can’t find, but I’ll send her an email and update this if I do. She’s a lawyer, and should know. However, the whole must-marry-to-save-inheritance, generally due to some weird clause in a father’s will, is a pretty common one — and for good reason. It’s one of the few ways to force a marriage of convenience in this particular society. (Although it can be said that most marriages during the time were marriages of convenience, I’m not going to make that argument today.) And, of course, marriage-of-convenience plots are really a lot of fun and quite compelling, despite the essential disconnect between what can happen and what did happen, and this one is no exception.

Charles isn’t quite as attractive a hero as his friend the Earl of Macclesfield (Robert); however, that may be my own personal biases showing. Charles is a bit of a playboy; as a matter of fact, that precise piece of information causes one of the misunderstandings in the course of their story. The Earl of Macclesfield is (while undoubtedly also a rake; this is Regency England, after all) a bit of a nerd, as well, and seems more genuine to me. Charles, though, has more of a sense of humor, and the fact that he loves Ellie does sneak up on him in quite a bewildering and appealing fashion.

Ellie is stubborn and really spends a lot of the book having people not believe in her. I found frustrating, a bit, but pretty realistic, given the circumstances. Ellie’s lack of power frustrates her to no end, and I liked seeing her struggle, even though I wanted the best for her and wanted her to find her happy ending. All in all, it’s really quite a delightful little tale. It’s not particularly possessed of any sort of deep insights, or particularly deep currents of emotion, but I wouldn’t say that detracts from its eminent readability or a reader’s enjoyment. The characters are sweet; the tale is pleasant, and I believe it’s exactly what it purports to be. 4/5 stars.

*I tried. I forgot Colin Bridgerton and Penelope’s volume’s title (which turns out to be Romancing Mr. Bridgerton). Also, I can’t remember Daphne Bridgeron’s husband’s name. Other than those, though, I was spot-on. *sigh* Other than that, I got ‘em all. Sad, huh?

The Enchantment Emporium is set in a new universe, just a bit removed from our own (or maybe it IS our own) where there’s a family of powerful women, surnamed Gale, who nudge the universe around by immense personal ability. Alysha Catherine Gale (Allie), our heroine, is twenty-four, jobless, and single when her grandmother (the family’s black sheep) gives her a store to run — the eponymous Enchantment Emporium. However, that means moving away from the family, out to Calgary. Obviously they can come visit, but apparently everyone is too busy actually to come with her. And then the strange things start happening — a tabloid reporter (very attractive, by the way) comes by, dragons start flying over the store, and faerie beings start showing up. What has Gran gotten Allie into?

The print on this book is different from most of the previous Tanya Huff books I’ve read — it’s finer and situated differently. I don’t know why this caused me to go into the book with a bit of trepidation, but it did. I wasn’t expecting it to be, well, so precisely Tanya Huff, but fortunately, it was. The magic structure reminded me a bit of the Keeper books, what with Aunts and Cousins all over the place, but other than similar terminology (and ontology), it was (I believe) distinct. Here we have a single family, albeit incredibly extensive (everyone seems to have tons of siblings) that, well, tends to intermarry (although the aunts make sure that they’re second cousins or more) and keep the same surname. In the Keeper books, none of that was necessarily true — I think there were many different families.

Once we get past the family and its first wacky set of family members, we get to Calgary and its wacky set of inhabitants. There’s a leprechaun (a bit tall for one, really), a few Faeries (one who lives in the river), some incredibly attractive and incredibly dangerous dragons, a wizard or two (all wizards are evil, by the way), and a tabloid reporter. Believe me when I say that the tabloid reporter isn’t quite the most normal member of the batch. Tanya Huff has always been good at creating believable but
entirely unbelievable characters, if that makes any sense. Perhaps it’s more that I wish I lived in a world where the Aunties exist, where ritual magic can change the world, and where there are shapeshifting dragons who may or may not eat people.

Overall, the book is definitely going to appeal to fans of Tanya Huff’s work, and probably fans of other funny urban/contemporary fantasy authors. Those who like, obviously, strong characters and exciting magical showdowns will like this; those who are really invested in complicated mystery plots probably will figure out what’s happening well before the end, but the ride is great. The ending is somewhat deus ex machina-esque — okay, very deus ex machina-esque — but it’s forgivable, given the circumstances that precede it. I’m looking forward to see if Ms. Huff ever writes more in this world, although the volume
definitely stands alone. 4/5 stars.

Verity Durand is the most famous — and infamous — chef in England. Famous, because her food makes angels weep and grown men slaver; infamous because, well, she had an affair with her last employer, Bertie Somerset. Of course, Mr. Somerset has since died and his younger half-brother, Stuart, has inherited the entire place, including Verity’s services — as a chef, of course. Stuart Somerset is a politician; originally a barrister, he’s now an MP and holds the ear of the Prime Minister; he works twenty-four hour days trying to get bills past. He rarely has time to eat, let alone enjoy his food. Oh, and he’s engaged to a Miss Lizzy Bessler. However, ten years ago, he had one amazing night with a lady he’s never seen since, despite searching. Only a totally crazy situation would throw them back together . . . wouldn’t it?

I keep forgetting that Sherry Thomas is about the best historical-romance writer out there. I continually read good-enough historical romance (see: unfortunate taste for Stephanie Laurens novels) where the men are homogenized to the point where they’re all heavily dominantly Alpha under all circumstances. The women, to match, are exactly feisty enough to be attractive but, of course, completely submissive in bed for absolutely no reason. The plots generally have some sort of random mystery thrown in just to provoke a confession of love at the point where either the hero or the heroine is about to die. This novel reminded me that there’s more than just that.

To start, her prose is on a level all its own. I can’t pinpoint the differences, but when I read it, I immediately knew the difference between ‘adequate’ and ‘good,’ or even ‘good’ and ‘exemplary.’ The book starts with a comparison to a Cinderella tale (pointing out that the narrator/author is self-aware) and then goes on to a description of a kitchen, which nonetheless kept me rapt. (For those interested, the opening can be found here.) Her structuring, with time jumps between 1882 and 1892 (1892 being ‘the present’ for the story), was quite well-orchestrated, and I never felt as if she left part of the story hanging unintentionally or improperly. The way she chose to unfold all the details of the story made it feel as if there was a real mystery (without the amateur sleuthing of the more recent Stephanie Laurens tales). While the ‘mystery’ had a lot of importance to the lovers involved, it didn’t have much impact on society or the greater world (even bringing a murderer to justice is an impact on society), and I felt it was the sort of ‘mystery’ plot that amplified the emotion, rather than just providing a convenient excuse for actions.

Her characters are — different. Yes, of course, there’s the requisite members of the nobility (duchesses and whatnot), but Bertie Somerset is merely a fairly well-off country gentleman (no title), and his brother is a barrister, having been born out of wedlock but later legitimized. (That’s not much of a spoiler.) Verity Durant has been a cook for years — an upper servant, sure, but that’s all. While we are talking about the late Victorian era — 1892, after all — I don’t particularly remember too many historical romances about almost ordinary people. (Although that’s a very big ‘almost.’) Also, Stuart is not terribly alpha male. Certainly he stands up for that in which he believes, but he’s, well, a nerd. I thought he was fantastic.

The story is very intensely emotional, but a smidge lighter than Private Arrangements. It isn’t all sweetness and light by any means; there are a lot of thorny patches on the way to the happily-ever-after. (Readers will, I trust, forgive my mixing of fairy tales.) The emotion, though, was another factor that kept my attention steadily in the story. Most romance novels manage to keep my interest, usually by the will-they-obviously-yes-but-when line of the emotion, but in this one, it wasn’t so much that as the sheer quantity and depth of the many different kinds of love shown in the story. Overall, I’d definitely recommend this to fans of historical romance, and those who haven’t read much but are willing to be convinced. Be warned, though: most of what you find won’t be nearly this good. 5/5 stars.

Here’s the general setup of the series: We have Anita Blake, the short, assertive, overly-weaponed necromancer (zombie-raiser)/vampire hunter. More under the cut, actually, in case there’s a person left in the world who hasn’t read these books who wants to. Anyway, Anita’s up to something like five or six permanent boyfriends and another dozen rotating ones. The permanent ones include Jean-Claude, Master of the City of St. Louis (i.e., head vampire); Micah, the other head of the wereleopard pack; Nathaniel, another wereleopard; Asher, Jean-Claude’s second-in-command (another vampire); Damian, Anita’s pet vampire (a long story, found in another volume), and, maybe, Richard, the head of the werewolf pack. She now carries about five different strains of lycanthropy, even though she doesn’t shift shapes, and in addition to being the lupa (sort of) of the werewolf pack (and the Bolverk), she’s the queen of the leopards. She’s also arguably got some vampire powers, being that she has managed to ‘inherit’ Jean-Claude’s ardeur, the need to/ability to feed off of sex the way that most vampires feed off of blood. (i.e., she’s arguably a succubus, but not as cool as Georgina.) Because of that, she can make men become addicted to her. She still occasionally hunts things.

So in the current volume, Anita has decided to pretend to be Jason’s girlfriend while Jason goes to visit his dying father. (Jason is one of the rotating boyfriends; also generally just a friend of Anita’s since book 3.) Jason’s family is dead convinced that he’s gay, despite legions of ex-girlfriends, and apparently the presence of a girlfriend might ease the father’s passing. However, everything goes pear-shaped because Jason looks almost exactly like the governor’s son — who is getting married this weekend. Apparently the idea that said governor’s son (named Keith) could be spending time with a pretty brunette instead of his blond fiancee isn’t too far off of reality, and the media gets involved . . . and then Marmee Noir, the biggest, baddest, oldest vampire of ‘em all gets involved . . .

The disputed volume in the series is Micah, which came between volumes 12 and 13. At one point, Ms. Hamilton was going to write shorter novels, exploring the relationships between Anita and each of the individual males she’s shacking up with. I think the genesis of this plot was actually Jason’s volume, because, well, she does all she can to get Anita and Jason isolated — in North Carolina, even. (I’ve been there; it really is that pretty, but I don’t remember it being quite that messed up.) She may have changed the ending in order to get in stuff that’s relevant to the overarching plot of the series (such as it is), but basically, this is Jason and Anita and some talk therapy.

It’s sort of become the fashion to bash the Anita Blake books for having too much sex and too little plot, and while there wasn’t much plot in this volume, there really wasn’t much sex, either. Oh, enough, certainly, in terms of number of sex acts had over the course of the three or four days the book spans (I lost count), but most of them are barely described. Nothing like the 14-page epic sex scenes dating as far back as The Killing Dance (vol. 6). I like the mysteries, when they’re real mysteries, and Anita really didn’t have any investigating to do in this book. There was a moderate amount of danger, but if the book has almost no mystery plot and barely any sex, what’s left? Anita chatting with Jason about their respective screwed-up childhoods?

Another flaw of the last few volumes is Ms. Hamilton’s need to find greater and greater dangers. In the third volume (Circus of the Damned), we met and killed the world’s oldest vampire. Apparently she didn’t think about that one too hard, because now we’ve got the Mother of All Vampires, who may or may not be older than the previous guy, but is definitely scarier. This need to find something scarier and scarier in each book is causing her world-building to get more and more unwieldy, as she stretches certain points in order to put Anita in more and more danger. Of course, the more danger Anita gets into, the greater her powers have to be in order to handle that danger, and that’s why Anita apparently joined the Power of the Month club. (No, I didn’t originate that phrase. I can’t remember who did, though. Sorry.) In this book, she grabbed another animal to call and discovered that because of a combination of powers she already had, she’s even more powerful. I’d yawn, but it’s too tedious even for that.

Also, and this is a comparatively tiny nitpick, there’s a really, really simple explanation as to why Jason’s family thinks he’s gay, but she never used it. She did tell us that his sister swore she saw him having sex with another man, but he tells us he was somewhere else. So who did the sister see? Oh, well, the answer’s sort of there between the lines, but she never states it. It sort of felt like a loose end to me.

Why do I keep reading these books? Heck, until Blood Noir, I was BUYING them, in nice expensive hardbacks. Well, it’s because they’re addicting. Anita’s love life, and frankly even her professional life, is a trainwreck, but you can’t look away. Ms. Hamilton’s somewhat choppy writing style just sucks readers in, as if they haven’t left the world for over a year (as I did). The sex, when it’s present and Ms. Hamilton is writing in full form, is hot. It really is. It’s almost as euphemistic as romance novels and sometimes involves numbers and combinations and scenarios that might push the boundaries for some readers, but it’s still hot. Her characters are compulsively interesting, even if they’re all unnaturally beautiful and their flaws are of the sort that make you think they’re even more perfect. Anita has a thing for hurt/comfort sort of scenarios, and all the men in her flock seem to be broodingly gorgeous with deep pools of pain in their souls. They almost make me want to write bad emo-goth poetry, but fortunately I’m not fourteen, the way I was when I read the first of these. But they’re still hot.

Anyway, if you’re sort of insanely addicted, this might provide a decent hit until you can get a copy of the latest volume, which I’ve heard has a real plot and investigating and all that stuff, but it’s absolutely not worth it if you aren’t already hooked. I’m not sure the book even deserves a rating. The series overall started at 4/5 and has devolved to maybe in the 2.5 or 3-star range. I will say, though, that the first few volumes are pretty good, but I caution against reading them because it may make you compulsively want to read the rest of them, and then you’ll smack up against Micah, for which I’d like that hour of my life and $7 back, and Incubus Dreams, which may have had a plot but I’ve forgotten in between all the sex, and this one, which, as I’ve noted above, isn’t quite plotty enough to be decent and doesn’t have enough sex to be interesting in that way.