This has not been my best fortnight. I checked out more than a dozen romances for Angela, then didn't read them even though I wanted to and they were right there, mostly because when I had time I had other things to do-- other reading, slush mostly-- and then there was knitting that had to happen. I can read and knit, but only on my computer.
My fingers are so sore, people.
Ally Carter, Perfect Scoundrels. Enjoyable, quick, and absolutely tension-free because it’s a heist book, everyone is good at what they do, and the places where a movie would explain that you’ve been seeing the clues all along but misinterpreting them don’t work in a book. It’s not Carter’s fault, and she does a good job with the heist formula, but... but. The clues have to be present, and in a book, that takes more resources than in a movie.
Mary Jo Putney, Sometimes a Rogue. Begins as a mediocre kidnapping plot, ends with predictable surprise earldom and unpredictable lack of surprise fortune. Except also some surprise fortune. I am completely uninvested in the book, which is an accomplishment given that Putney could have given me a perfectly good Showing Them All narrative with people to be proven wrong on all sides. And a lack of Irish rebels fueled by French money and backstory drama.
Mary Balogh, A Promise of Spring. Another reread. Why? Because... because it was late, I had just put my computer into the spare room to charge, and I wasn’t quite willing to go to bed yet. And I didn’t remember anything of the book.
This is a terrible reason to start a book at nine o’clock in the evening.
Anyway, this is an older book, full of long paragraphs in which nothing happens but introspection about how the couple cannot talk about their problems. They beat themselves up over it, but I understand that-- this isn’t a case where it never occurs to anyone to say, “Hey, here is a problem I am facing. Want to face it with me?” but one where guilt and a confused understanding of agency collide to form a book with surprisingly little dialogue.
This one’s going to the library next time I go.
Marie Brennan, Lies and Prophecy. I didn’t know what to expect from this; I read the “Welcome to Welton” bits Brennan posted and stopped when I realized I wanted to read the whole thing. Except this isn’t a continuation of those bits, not directly. Instead it’s much stranger and full of people holding together. More than I could believe at one point-- I think I read ‘Circle’ as ‘church group’ rather than ‘no seriously BOUND’-- and any book set at a college is going to set off my Did Everything Wrong You Suck buttons, but that is more than outweighed by the world Brennan set up and the challenges her characters face.
JD Robb, Thankless in Death. Another In Death book, yes. I was fascinated by the way the story is set up-- the loser-turned-killer stays ahead of the cops for days by being lucky, and the luck includes Eve and company not picking up on things that they would have in previous books. It felt much more tense and while it wasn’t interesting in the context of the series, it was a better crime novel than the usual.
Brenna Yovanoff, The Space Between. The cover copy on this one is totally misleading. Yes, Daphne is the daughter of a demon and a fallen angel-- but her mother is Lilith and her father is Lucifer, Lord of Hell. Anything I say should be as understated as the cover copy.
So it’s a very emogoth book.
There are many things I didn’t understand throughout it-- how the fix works, the cosmology, et cetera-- but most things have been thought through very thoroughly. I like Yovanoff’s writing in general and look forward to more.