Belle is a BITCHIN' Feminist, BITCH! And other random musings about things that annoy me...

Hello my peoples! It's been a long time. A very long time. Guess what!!! I got married! Wait...maybe that was already mentioned...basically, whether you didn't know I got married or whether I did announce it and then forgot, it's been waaaaaaaay too long. Seriously. For shizzlenits and for certain!

*AHEM*

The Pebbles is almost done with yon bonny graduate school, and this means that she will soon become *drum roll* A MASTER OF ALL ENGLISH!!! OOOOOH YEEEAAAAAHYAAAAAH...and of romance novels. Because I'm totes writing my final thingie ON ROMANCE NOVELS! WOOHOO! Death to the anti-romance novel oppressor!!!! Death to the proletariate! wait, what?

Anyhoos, thankfully I've had more opportunity to think and contemplate romantical cwaep lately, but no real outlet other than my scholarly writings to evacuate said thoughts and contemplations, and I must, as you know, be fairly restrained in such cases (not everyone appreciates The Pebbles "pebble-ocity," you know).

Today I'm thinking back to the stuff that started it all. You know, Disney. Not really just Disney though, because though I loved me some Aladdin and some Beauty & the Beast, and later Mulan, I wasn't a big "OMG DISNEY!!!!" kid- mostly because almost all Disney movies scared the cwaep out of me at some point (Beauty & the Beast has those wolves, okay? and the whole West Wing thing made me crap my designer toddler undies).

Unfortunately, this will begin as a scholarly-ish sounding series and deteriorate later on into a series of ranting posts (undoubtedly). Or, like most things I do on here, it will just sort of fade away until I get distracted by something else shiny and rant-able.

First, there was this article, ya'see...

http://www.nerve.com/entertainment/ranked/ranked-disney-princesses-from-least-to-most-feminist

Read it. I dare you. If you like Disney Princesses and think there's nothing un-feminist about being a girl and wanting love and marriage, then you might (like me) get a little pissy. Or, if you're brilliant like me, you'll be like um...yeah...bitch, you dumb. Although, let's be honest, that's usually how I respond to anyone I don't like. I'm immature like that.

So basically, this thing ranked Disney Princess movies in order from most-feminist heroine to least feminist heroine.  I'm probably going to have to turn this into a series of responses to each ranking (based on how much I disagree), but for now, just go read it. It's short, and you'll get to see pretty pictures (oooooo! PINK!).

Read it? Good.

Didn't read it?

Bitch, you lazy.

Basically, it says they should be ranked as follows:

1. Mulan
2. Pocahontas
3. Tiana
4. Rapunzel
5. Jasmine
6. Belle
7. Ariel
8. Cinderella
9. Snow White
10. Aurora

Also, check out this awesomeness (basically from 11:00-22:00 is what I'm going to discuss a bit).

<http://www.veoh.com/watch/v15800022cezMt3D6?h1=Mickey+Mouse+Monopoly+>

I'm not getting overly argumentative with the lower 3- I haven't seen them recently enough to judge whether the ranking is inappropriate- since Aurora is named after half a light show in Balto and spends half the film asleep, I'm pretty okay with her being at the bottom (that's what she said...); Snow White gives me some unpleasant pedophile squick (come ON, the girl is like 12, scampering through the woods and then sleeping in a house with a bunch of little old men) and some major necrophiliac AAAK (the Prince is like "dead girl in a glass coffin? SOLD!"); Cinderella is, yes, imprisoned by her bitch of a stepmother, and basically wholly reliant on the godmother for aid, but I guess she does exert a certain patriarchal colonialism over the primitive mice...

     

I love Belle, and I think the quote is adorbz.
 But hipsters, even Hipster Belle, should be punched in the neck. 

  Now, Mulan, I get. Seriously, I really do. Bitch has it ALL. It's an awesome movie, and yeah, she's pretty damn good. Pocahontas poses a few interesting problems (and I won't really be focusing on race, since the topic is feminism and gender, but...yeah...), Tiana I just didn't like, though I do think we can argue her feminist value, Rapunzel was ADORBZ, but I'm not really feeling how she's better than Belle...

         Basically, I'm going to focus on Belle and Mulan right now, because I'm the most familiar with them, and I actually think I would at this point be pretty happy making an argument that they should be tied for #1 on this list. But, well...here goes...and forgive me for ranting about incoherently, it's what I do sometimes...

I’ll confess, I was rather annoyed by the rankings of the Disney princesses., and frustrated by the views expressed in The Mickey Mouse Monopoly- primarily because I felt as though they were using a set of criteria to judge levels of “feminism” that was necessarily suited to making such a determination.

Essentially, I suppose my primary point of disagreement lies in how the author/interviewees chose to “read” the chosen female characters; do we judge their level of feminism based on the most basic aspects of the plot (Belle ends up imprisoned and then married, Mulan carries a sword and slays people, Tiana starts her own business…) or do we try to judge their position within feminist ideals based on the level of authorship that the female characters exercise over their own narratives? The former seems to be the chosen set of standards used by the author of the original article and the commenters in The Mickey Mouse Monopoly, but the problem with this way of interpreting seems to be that it relies upon gendered actions and behaviors in order to determine feminism; Mulan is cited as the most feminist for her adoption of male attire and culturally masculine actions (she takes the place of a son and goes to war)- Mulan is cited as a “real, independent female” because of these actions. This seems extremely problematic if we wish to discuss “feminism,” because it presupposes that true feminism requires qualities and behaviors that we gender traditionally as masculine (is it bad if you’re a girl and don’t don armor and go to war? Are you less feminist or powerful?). 

I would not argue with Mulan’s ranking, though I feel that she could be placed more laterally with Belle; the author’s and the commenters issue with Mulan seems to be one that fixates on the idea of love and marriage as essentially un-feminist, which seems hardly logical- what seems to matter is that both Belle and Mulan are characters that actively pursue an attempt to alter and control not only their own narrative, but those around them as well: Mulan alters not only her father’s potentially scripted narrative by taking his place, and that of her people by saving them from destruction; Belle too plays such a role in saving her own father, and enacts a very physical (but potentially symbolic) change in the Beast’s narrative as well (literally producing a transformation). These are just two chosen examples of a reading that is less reliant upon basic plot elements and actions to determine a character’s feminist standing, but it seems plausible that a rereading of other princesses might reveal some to be more equal to one another (before we take a moderate drop into the downtrodden and woeful era of Sleeping Beauties, Cinderellas and Snow Whites). 

I would challenge the argument presented in The Mickey Mouse Monopoly that Beauty & the Beast depicts and romanticizes abuse- were this a real life situation (girlfriend locked in the house, yelling and temper tantrums, excuses, marriage, etc.) then we could logically begin arguing the situation as pseudo-feminist (clearly, this girl is not really going to turn out to be as in control as she believes herself to be). However, because we are dealing with narrative, we should perhaps set aside the temptation to interpret the film based on factors that lie outside of its constructed narrative- the story of Beauty & the Beast results in a literal and very empowering transformation of the male character, not an implication that Belle has not actually managed to change him, or that her power is an illusion. Therefore, although the violence and underlying abusive elements of the story might necessitate discussion between parents and children, they do necessarily work as evidence for a lack of feminism in the story.

Lastly, there was one point made by both the article’s author and The Mickey Mouse Monopoly that I found rather troubling. Namely, the condemnation of Jasmine’s use of her sexuality to distract/control Jafar- essentially, the idea that she couldn’t possibly be a strong figure or role model if she used her sexuality so blatantly. Although I understand the concern that she might (superficially) be seen to uphold an idea of young women as sexual objects (again, a discussion for parents and children), I hardly think it detracts from her position as a strong female character. The excessive levels of concern over her actions seem somehow to revert to a more stereotypically male response: how dare a women use her physical attributes as a weapon- she must be a slut.

I suppose my rampant musings are the result of too many romance novels, marriage, an enjoyment of adventurous romances that end with happily-ever-after, and blissful enjoyment in being as girly as possible. And I do, of course, recognize that my own "pseudo-feminist" narrative is not an essential Truth for the masses. I also realize that I wrote this thing while my bread was in the oven, dressed in a fluffy skirt and an apron, while in grad school because I'm fwaeking brilliant...and that, my peoples, is kind of my point. 

Yon Bonny Bloggie Thingie Celebrates The Pebbles' Birthday

In celebration of mine day of doomtastic entry into the world, my peoples, The Pebbles presents some romance novel covers of...weirdness...and, possibly, joy, depending on how you look at it...


*ahem* Let's start with something tame, shall we?  

Ah, my love, thy nose hairs are so...so...blowy in yon breezy!


Here, we have the traditional romance novel cover. Note how her hair blows in the opposite direction of his, no doubt representing the schism between their peoples. He is, without doubt, a...ummm...brawny and lowly yeoman of sorts...note his firm - ha ha "firm" - grasp upon that non-phallic sword! She, for shiznits...is...umm...I'm gonna go with either wayward wenchy nun or possibly a cross-dressing friar- check out that belt! Her tunic is slightly besmurffruffled, which was necessary in order for him to clearly inspect her nostril hairs for the source of the twin breezes that are wreaking a delightfully passionate havoc with their heads of hair. And, as he is engrossed (nay, entrapp-ed!) in her nose hairs, she is ummm...either trying to take his shirt off, looking for his *ahem- stodgy  british voice* billfold! or possibly just tickling him. Who knows? And who cares? This guy's wearing PLEATHER PANTS! That's HAWT!!!! (note: when The Pebbles says "hawt" rather than HOTT! a mutating eye-roll is implied) Also, what dude runs around just carrying his sword like that? "Yup, got me a sword here" and whatnot. He looks like he's about to go all Johnny Appleseed across her fruited plain. And I mean that in a totes agricultural sense...really...


Now, here we have something a bit more er...interesting. Yes! Interesting! 

I'm not trying to tear off your skirt, I'm DANCING WITH IT! AH! SKIRT! I LOVETH THEE SOOOO MUCH! MORE THAN THE HISTORICALLY INACCURATE TEXTILES YOU ARE MADE OF!




OOOOOH YAAAAYAAAA, we've got us a totes bodice rippy cover! Their hair is even sort off almost going in the same direction! WOW! Except...I think there's something weird going on with her legs...what is up with her popping foot and her leg facing almost backwards...? Whatevs. Either way, he's totally holding her skirt like it's her hand, she's all "I'm just gonna flop back here" whilst he smooches upon her really uber prominent collar bone. One imagines there is some kind of music in the background as they have to be dancing for all the implied gyrations that appear to be occurring. Thus, the hoard of villagers with pitchforks and lanterns is, like in some movie from the 80s, coming to put a stop to all these wittle kids FUN!...or he's totes ripping on her bodice and the villagers are coming to prevent coitus. The Pebbles is willing to give the kids the benny of the doubt, after all, he clearly doesn't know how to get her skirt off...


The Pebbles will be back with more! POST...sort of haste... :)

Cwaep the Pebbles Says When Caffeinated

In no particular order of frequency or enjoyment:

1. I'm like a chipmunk- a fluffy one though. A bald fluffy chipmunk.

2. SQUIRREL!!

3. Thus, the father's repetition of the story-telling action becomes an attempt to perform a patriarchal colonization of the self over the child- an attempt to impart an ancestral cultural identity which sublimates that of the multi-culturaled child.

4. I want to punch it.

5. Feminism is all over this text.

6. You can see it here, here, here, here, here-here-here-here-here ANYWHERE.

7. Why so serious, Dickens?

8. Hahaha- "Dickens"

9. I punch drunk people.

10. I'm so cute I need to be re-licensed to carry my cuteness every three months.

11. Hey look! I found a quarter!

12. PRECIOUSSSSSS!!!!!

13. You're so cute and FLUFFY!!!!!

14. The world's my oyster and I'm going to saute it.

15. I'm sorry I was looking at myself.

16. Hello, ME!

17. Hmmph.

18. Waka waka waka waka waka waka waka waka waka!

19. I'm irresistable. I told myself so myself.

20. Then I ate a piece of toast.

21. Did I turn off the stove?

22. I'm really into laundry detergent.

23. Lo, there was much boinking between those pages.

24. Twilight is a big giant sexually frustrated Mormon.

25. Yea, the young bonny college students of diminutive brain thus pickle-ed their organs with hard liquor. Yea and verily, even as they enjoy-ed much communing with the inner-consciousness of the self.

26. This romance novel cover sucks. Where's the man-chests?!?!?!?!

27. I'm so ADORBZZ!!!!!...ZZZZZZZ!!!!

28. Say WHUUUUUUUUUUUUHT!?!?!?!

29. *hill billy voice*

30. I want to squeeze you!!!

31. Bring hot water! Bring the disinfectant!!!!

32. WuuuuWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WAAAAAAA WAAAA WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! *singing voice*

33. My intelligence just leaked out my frontal lobe.

34. This world would look better with sparkles.

35. You peroxide kissing...

36. I have a very murderable personality.

37. I will rule the zombie hoard as their un-rotted queen. DUH.

38. Got coffee?

39. You come here often?

40. Hello, sparkleston!

41. Bonjour ! Vous êtes tout à fait fluffular ! Je veux vous serrer ! J'aime du café ! Pourquoi vous vous sauvez ? J'aime votre fluffularity ! Revenir, Shane, REVENIR ! I'm sorry, what now?

42. My Uncle Louis will buy you a new pair of shoes...

43. Feminism is boring.

44. I find people quite droll.

45. I don't like people.

46. I hate people.

47. Ew...people.

48. TEA!!!!!! Why, Alfred! You rascal you! I didn't see you hiding behind the banister! Good GOD man! Do you want tea??? I met a fellow once, most dreadful scally-wag, insisted upon drinking my tea in the nude ON the banister. Quite unorthodox of him. One doesn't place one's nether regions near another's banisters or furniture. tsk tsk!

49. Whatdoyamean, "who's Alfred?" ?

50. *hiccup*

ummmm...*hiccup*?

Trogdor Meets Don Knotts Amidst a Sea of Muffins!

Fun Pebble of Pebbles Trivia: I don’t read these books BEFORE I write the review, okay? Which is why they seem so random and ill-thought out because well…I don’t think about them. Honestly my peoples, I wouldn’t want to give myself time to ruminate when it comes to these books. I fear they already have a damaging effect upon me yon bonny intellect. However, I did start to read this one for like…127 out of 299 pages, but then I gave up. If I thought about it too much, God only knows what snarkfulness would escape.

So, let us settle into this experience of reading a book with Pebbles Montoya (note: this is why you never want me in the same movie theater with you during a less than stellar film. I have no shame. None. Zilch. Nada. And I sing along to the car commercials for Chrysler…at least when Celine Dion does them, hands waving in the air and everything. Oh yaya).

Title: Stand In Groom *snort*

Tagline: “Planning this wedding will be no honeymoon”…well I should CERTAINLY hope not! This is an Inspirational, after all.

Author: Kaye Dacus (well that was unfortunate)

 *ahem* Just so we all know, in her acknowledgments Ms. Dacus says that “This book is the product of more than four years of hard work”…just so you…you know…know, because who'd a thunk it?

From the back-flap (ha…back-flap):

When professional wedding planner Anne Hawthorne first meets the handsome Englishman George Laurence, she wonders if God has finally answered her prayers for a husband. But when the “best man” for her turns out to be a client – and some else’s to-have-and-to-hold – Anne quickly realizes that planning his wedding will be no honeymoon. Can she remain professional while falling for the groom?

WILL she continue to think every man she meets is her Twu Twu WUUUV!!?!??!?!?! Could there be anymore cute turns of phrase in that paragraph? Who knows? All I’m saying is that bitch better not plan MY wedding.

So, let’s start this little piece of non-sensualical romance!

As it begins in Ch. 1:

“Nothing like running late to make a wonderful first impression. Anne Hawthorn left a voice-mail message for her blind date, explaining her tardiness, then crossed her office to the gilt framed mirror that reflected the view of Town Square through the front windows. At a buzzing jolt against her waist, she flinched, smearing her lipstick”

First paragraphs are always set-ups for characters, draw me IN!!! make me LUUUUV them! Thankfully, in case I didn’t know that, Dacus even includes the phrase “first impression” in the first LINE! Whooooooaa…she’s GOT me! I feel like she’s crafting a reeeeal relaaatable character here for me. I mean, show of hands in the gallery, who here has left a voice-mail message (with that exact terminology in mind…because, you know, that’s not like redundant or anything) for a blind date to explain their tardiness and then crossed an office to a gilt framed mirror that reflects Ye Olde Town Square through the windows (wait…crap…windows, in the mirror…reflected in the mirror…showing the town square or Town Square…when it’s capitalized like this I imagine saying it with like, the faux Native American accents in old Bob Hope westerns, “How?” “TOWN SQUARE!”...where was I? Oh right, picturing the view in the mirror…GOT IT!) and then been jolted by the cell phone they carry at their waist and smeared their lipstick???? Everyone, RIIIGHT???

 Side note: that is one POWERFUL cell phone. Not saying anything else. And like…at your waist? I’m picturing this woman as one of those fanny pack wearing grandmas traipsing around Hocking Hills. Who carries their cell phone at their waist????

Moving on!

So, how are we feeling about Anne Hawthorne? Pretty good, right? Or, if you’re me, pretty weirded out. Let’s hope she doesn’t try to do her makeup while driving with her cell phone clipped to her waist. So now that we can picture her face looking something like the Joker’s…

“The vibrating cell phone chimed out the wedding march”

Hold up: why is it doing both? Like…if it chimes the damn wedding march (note: we just learned something about Anne Hawthorne! No, you say? Yes, I say! We just learned that she’s not technologically incompetent because she can program her phone with unique ring tones! The Wedding March! WOOOT!) But, she’s also dumb, because knowing with what ease she is frightened by vibrating objects *cough* she has it both vibrate AND play the wedding march because thay-it juss’ makes her feel spaaaycial….I’m guessing. Whatever.

So she answers the phone, including her Pro-Fessionally named business (red ALERT! We got us an Independent Career Heroine here!) “Happy Endings, Inc.”…I love that little Inc. thing. It makes everything sound less lame. I want to be an Inc. too, damnit! Can anyone guess what her business IS?!?!?!?!??!

Clues!: Wedding March ringtone….”Happy Endings, Inc.”…OMG I just can’t FIGURE IT OUT!!!!!

Oh wow, she’s a wedding planner. I betcha even Edgar Allen Poe didn’t see that one coming. (10 POINTS for ref. to Poe’s accurate prediction of the ending of Charles Dickens’s serially published novel Barnaby Rudge!...or minus ten if…you know…nobody got it…whatever y’all be FOOOOOLS!) 

Oh, this book is set in Louisiana…just soes you knows. SO instead of ever telling people to f*** off all you have to say is BLESS your HAAAAAHHHT (according to Tia Christy).   

So the call is from this chick named something because we don’t learn the girl’s name but she’s a client (hence the ringtone. Score for the technologically inclined heroine who can modify her cel-lu-lar!!!!!) and she’s all WAAAA I can’t MARRY him!!!! And Anne’s all why nots? And the girl’s like because he doesn’t want to help pick out the wedding flowers!!!!!!!! Oh nOES! Wedding on the rocks, AHOY!!! Don’t worry though, Anne Hawthorne is the J. Lo in The Wedding Planner to our sniffling-into-a-hanky-while-mesmerized-by-Matthew-McConaughey’s-Massive-Man-Chest-and-utter-jack-ass-hat-personality audience. 

She got yo back, guuurl! So Anne gets deep into the issues with her bride:

“I completely understand your concern. [so professional! So caring! I feel like I am at one with her and her wisdom!] But sweetie [whoa, now!], you have to remember most men aren’t interested in the minute details of a wedding. Just because he doesn’t care if the roses are white variegated with pink or solid pink, don’t take that to mean he doesn’t love you anymore.”

I’m…wait…that last sentence was just…awkward. I’m not liking her sentence strucutre. Whatever. But SEEE???? She’s professional, but warm! (she said “sweetie”!!!) and she’s also BRILLIANTLY insightful into the male mind! Dude! Guys don’t really give a crap about the solids or the variegated-ses? Hell…I don’t know wtf a variegated-*evil robot minion brings in dictionary of flora and fauna* oh…that’s variegated…yeah…I’d go with variegated. But what will the bride say??????? 

She wants variegated. Anne says, see all better? You understand your man so much better because you talked to ME????

*sniffles* it’s a yes! Crisis averted!!!!! The girl says:

“Thanks Miss Anne. I’ve got to call Jared and apologize.”

Aaaawwww…I’m all squishy inside. Jared’s marrying the dumbest rock in Louisiana but who cares?

Puh-leeeze. Some dumb girl really wants to call off her wedding because the guy doesn’t give a crap about the roses? Really? She didn’t, you know, have any hints that he wasn’t into décor prior to becoming engaged? Couldn’t we have given the Great & Wise Anne Hawthorne something else to prove how well she understands and manages peoples????

Nope, why should we?

Moving on.

So Anne goes to meet her blind date. Wait! Does she still look like Joker????...who knows? It might be funny if she did though…

So “Miss Anne” finally arrives at the restaurant in her “dark green Chrysler Sebring convertible” (which...she might not really be able to fit into,  but more on that later), and parks it in the parking lot of “Palermo’s Italian Grill” Which…like…umm…Palermo is a city in Sicily so…okay fine maybe it works. The City of Palermo Has Opened A Grill in Bonneterre!!! WOOOOOOT!...ha ha…”Bone-a-terre”..AH HA HA HA HA- *evil robot minion beats The Pebbles over the head with her deathray*--ha…I’m sorry where was I?

Okay, so at this point I started getting bored, and can I just say that this damn book should have been called Trogdor Stalks Don Knotts Amidst a Sea of Muffins?? Because, fo shizzle and fo certain it was that awful. What made it worse? Go to Amazon and there’s 42 customer reviews and only one of them is below four stars (3 stars! But they still thought it was good).

THIS. BOOK. IS. NOT. GOOD. Okay????

 So I’m going to descend into ranting because I JUST CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!!!!

Aside from the fact that she can’t construct a sentence that isn’t overloaded with adjectives (what was she, Noah and his freaking Ark who couldn’t turn away the last few rats thus causing future proportions of rodent-life to be extremely imbalanced upon the planet and creating a habitat in which the bubonic plague could flourish????? WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID, NOAH!!!!)…that didn’t make sense. Anyhoo, MOVING ON!

So the story began with our badonkulous heroine (sorry, no boinking between these pages, which is sad because I heart me a good boink or a really poorly written one to create hilarity and salvage the entertainment value of a crappy book, but no such luck here), who we learn is LARGE. As in, we aren’t just told she was “plump” or “more voluptuous than was considered the current mode”. Oh no, she is LARGE. In all directions. She’s six feet tall and “struggles to stay a size eighteen”. I don’t really mind if the heroine is large, I do think it’s a bit unfair to make her Trogdor though. I mean, make her enormously tall and large boned, OR make her struggle to stay a “size 18”, but I’m pretty sure that this 18 is bigger than the author really thought…I mean…that is one tall giant lady, and I wouldn’t care if she was shorter and larger, or tall or whatever but this lady got freaking SPECIFIC: Size 18 (struggle to be that, mind you, no telling what size she is now) AND 6 feet tall. I get that we need a few plus sized heroines, but just like with my size 0 heroines, I don’t want you to really tell me that much detail about their figure, stay a bit vague, imply that she’s larger and I can think she’s like me, whatever size I am, imply she’s rather more slender than normal and I can be like “yays for flat chested womans!” and feel like she’s like me, but tell me flat out she’s at least 6’ and size 18 (UK or US?) and I’m just like say whuuuuut??? Methinks the Nephilim have returned! (Noah, I’m looking at you again!!!!!) Score 10 points for Freshman Rhetoric & the Great Books Reference!!!! 

The what now?

That turned my mom off like right off the bat, but what turned me off was that this chick has really lame ringtones.

Seriously and for certain. She has the Pink Panther playing (and wears her cell phone on a belt around her waist…what? Now that’s HOT!) and later on she’s like putting lipstick on and it rings AND vibrates (Da-DANT, Da-DANT *VRRMMM VRRRMM* Da-DANT da-Dant-DA-DANT da-DANT da-DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANT *Vrmm vrmm vrmm vrrrrrmmmmmmmm*) and then messes up her lipstick AGAIN. I think I’m supposed to say aw shucks, I’ve done that too! Commence sympathy for heroine! But instead I’m like “dude…she looks like the Joker now…again” And she’s all talking to a client in really short sentences about plates and dinner ware and- did I mention she’s a wedding planner? Because they keep randomly saying like “as a wedding planner” and “because she was a wedding planner” and “in the wedding planning business”

…W.T.F. Obviously, this becomes REALLY important later on! And so she has the Pink Panther and the Wedding March for her ringtones. WOW, she is REALLY HIP!

So other than telling me she’s large (and Dacus really harps on this, to the point that I thought she was cruelly and illogically stereotyping slightly larger than average women) she has Anne constantly noticing smaller women, and being like:

 “Walking through the packed restaurant behind the slender, petite young woman, Anne tried not to feel self-conscious. At six feet tall and doing well to keep herself fitting into a size eighteen, she hated to imagine what others thought when they compared her to someone like this little hostess- five foot flourish with a waist so small she could probably wear Anne’s gold filigree anklet as a belt”

…O.M.G.

Seriously, a statuesque woman of 6’ has giant 23” cankles? SERIOUSLY???? (side note: she’s wearing an anklet?...I like me some bohemian clothing and accessories but I wouldn’t wear an anklet with a business suit. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t be caught dead in a business suit so…whatevs).

Anyhoo, 23-inch ankles? I don’t think so, that’s insulting to any 6’ woman who wears a size 18, she’s not THAT big (even if the proportions are striking me as Trogdor), and I know we’re all insecure sometimes but seriously? This girl is pushing thirty, I don’t buy that she’s constantly thinking about other people comparing her to smaller people, and that just makes me really UN-sympathetic because then I start feeling creeped out like this chick is eyeing smaller ones like Trogdor watches little peasant friars run into their huts for safety before burninating them to the ground. Seriously.  And even if I could get past it and say, okay the author’s just trying to drive home some info about the heroine’s insecurities, I couldn’t get beyond the fact that she’s constantly eating. EATING!! and when she’s not eating she’s THINKING about FOOD. Like…really? Was the author preggers when she wrote this? Because that’s the only excuse for you telling me crap like:

 “the heavenly aroma of garlic, basil, and oregano mixed with the unmistakable yeasty scent of fresh bread and wafted on the cool air that blew in her face when she opened the door. Her salivary glands kicked into overdrive, and her stomach growled.”

OH MY GOD!!! HUNGRY TROGDOR COMING RUN FOR YOUR LIIIIIIIIVES!!!!!

Say whuuuuuut?

Did you seriously just give me INGREDIENTS in a list??? Oh yaya, she does that later on with a muffin! (MUFFIN!!! YAYS!) Observe:

“she could smell the brown sugar, cinnamon, raisins and honey in the muffin before her”

…can she not smell the flour and baking soda too? I could seriously bake these things from the info she’s giving me.

But let us get to Don Knotts (our standing-in groom), because he’s described as tall and skinny- but later she’s like:

 “he was more slender than she remembered with broad shoulders”

…that just looks weird…I feel like I’m in a Louis L’Amour book where he won’t shut the f*** up about all his cowboys being “broad shouldered and slim hipped” (we all know your secret, LOUIS!!! You like-ed you the MANS!!) . On top of the skinny thing, he has a large nose. Seriously, she says that he has a large nose. So I’m thinking, skinny and large-nosed…Don Knotts!!!! And then I started being concerned for his safety because she kept describing his eyes as if they were different kinds of food (foods that aren't necessarily the same color...): 

"Milk chocolate"...okay...

"Dark chocolate colored velvet"...okaaaaaay...

"Like a medium roast cinnamon hazelnut coffee"....I've got NO response to that. The Pebbles has been rendered the Less of the Speech. 

But that’s not the worst of it, oh nose! (har har) She falls in love with him when her hottie mchottness lawyer cousin introduces her to him at the restaurant where she’s shoveling in crab cakes, calamari, white rolls and lobster like a bear preparing to hibernate (her blind date didn’t show up, she’s depressed I’m guessing) but then she sees this guy and it’s love at first sight. Seriously?? I mean, SERIOUSLY???? And so badly fallen is she that later on she’s like:

 “God, why are you giving me these feelings for him when he’s engaged [oops, gave that up] and I’m planning his wedding?”

Seriously, she’s like blaming God for all this, and I’m pretty sure he’s up there going “What. The. F***. Bitch, this YOUR problem! You be stalking on my boy Knotts and it ain’t COOL!”  [Which is kind of how he talked to Lucifer in Paradise Lost, you know the whole “as if predestination precluded-“ whatever I’m supposed to be writing a paper right now, okay???]. 

In my Bible, God spent some years in downtown Detroit with Eminem who’s his homie. 

To be serious a moment (seriously) this was one of my main problems with this book: it was an “inspirational” with tons of God references, but she totally falls in love with this guy just when she sees him, and then basically stalks him the rest of the book like “we’re meant to be together but he’s with a much younger woman why is he with a much younger woman she’s so immature compared to me????

Maybe because you’re acting like a six year old twit who chases boys on the playground. This was like a 

stalker’s handbook because SPOILERS! AVAST!!!! They end up together in the end. So the whole moral is: stalk that guy you fell in love with after one meeting and all shall be well with Ye and thy love shall last forevermore and into eternity as of yore and as thee and thine own shall feast upon muffins whilst thou stompeth across yonder planes in search of creatures to feed thy carnivorous cravings so thou doest not devour thy skinny large-nosed husband” End spoiler.

So that was BIG BIG PROBLEM numero UNO. Lame romantic development (what development?).

Secondly, this girl has weird musical habits. First we’re told that she only listens to classical music or like Frankie and Dino and shit (no problem, I grew up with George Shearing and Elvis and that was the 90s, so I get the whole “old is better” thing…plus a sense of pop culture that was a few decades out of date if you count only Bonanza, The Rifleman, Roy Rogers and Gunsmoke as like my TV exposure…), but they make this out to be like “only this kind of music is good, and mature Christian peoples can only listen to this kind of music” LAME!

…guess what? She and Don Knotts like the SAME MUSIC! OMG it’s meant to BE!!!!!

Along the same lines as the musical note (I’m so clever I amaze myself), there’s this one scene where she’s cleaning her house, and she puts on music (which we’re told is in surround sound! BOOYAH this chick has a PIMPED OUT HIZ-ZOUS!!!) and then:

 “the strains of Bach, Beethoven and Mendelssohn drifted through the house”

…wait…all at once??? Is this like a Classical Rave or something??? But, lest I forget, this is still along the lines of food: oregano, basil and garlic at the restaurant to emphasize foodiness (and it’s an Italian restaurant, they loves them the garlics! Fun Factoid: during the late Victorian period in America I’m positive most Americans were vampires, because there was this whole major thing in newspapers of the time period about how evil the Italians were because they ate GARLIC!)…weird tangent, where was I? Oh yes, ingredients! So now we emphasize the ingredients for creating a really Klassikal Kewl Kreature Kave for our Trogdor Anne! YAYS!

Sheesh.

Anyhoos, so there’s a lot of other crap that happens. Not really though, nothing happens in this book. It’s like Twilight with 500+ pages (of larger print, in case we actually thought it was a legitimate 500 page book) of Bella baking enchiladas and taking showers while contemplating Edward’s luminescent sparkly diamond’s are a girl’s best friend skin (wow, that would be hot, let us make love to a cold clammy rock!).

 Like Bella of the Tree Stump Personality, Trogdor-Anne does NOTHING. She like makes phone calls and takes phone calls and George aka Don Knotts, hears her on a call and is all touched (but not really, INSPIRATIONAL ROMANCE AHOY!) that she’s so giving and generous to talk to her clients about all their problems…with their weddings…which she’s planning…I’m thinking this is just evidence that she wants to keep her job but if he’s all THAT IS SO SWEET OF HER then fine. Who am I to destroy Don Knotts’s dreams of wedding Trogdor with totes of muffins?

Fun note: this may be an inspirational romance, but he still admires her figure! Dacus writes things like the guy admires the way Bouncin’ & Behavin’ is wearing a:

 “denim sleeveless shirt and khaki shorts that flattered her hourglass figure”

…ummmmm…one: what decade do you think this is? Because a sleeveless denim shirt? That is a MAJOR FASHION DON’T. Like, since 1980-Never. 

And two: she’s in a church, setting up for a client’s wedding (professional atmosphere, anyone?) and she’s dressed like she’s about to attend a hillbilly potluck?  For SHIZZNITTS??? Yays, gurrl don’t know how to dress at ALL, but we’re supposed to think this look really flatters her (what do I know, maybe it lifts and separates?).  All I’m saying is, I know fashion, and that outfit wouldn’t show an hourglass figure even if you were Marilyn Monroe, sorry Toots.

Anyhoo, so then there’s this whole SPOILERS AHOY! Plot conflict with her saying she’ll have to drop him as a client and not do his wedding (because she wants to do him????nope. sad face.) because she thinks he’s living with his faux-fiancee (he had her move into his house when he realized her mother was a controlling bee-yatch) and she has a “morality clause” in her contract as a wedding planner:

“No co-habiting before the wedding [cue heroine’s Young Stomachs Churning daytime soap operah worthy sobs of woe and broken heartedness]”

…because…you know, you are a GOD who can tell if they be having The Sex before The Wedding just because they aren’t living together. W.T.F.

I’m fine with her thinking it’s bad to have sex before marriage. Heck maybe it’s not really economically advantageous if you want to go for my granny’s whole “cow and milk” marital economic theory. But she’s like a real twit about it AND a real idiot. Like, seriously, she thinks just because they’re not listed as living in the same house she can make sure they’re not doing the sexxoring before the wedding??? This woman is a frigging dumbass. That and I don’t care if it is Louisiana, you couldn’t make money as a wedding planner post-1950 if you had some “morality clause” insisting nobody lived together (and actually had them truthfully saying they weren’t sleeping/living together). 

SERIOUSLY. So anyhoos Don Knotts [FIRING ALL SPOILERS AVAST!!!] Tells her NOOOO I’m not even the GROOOOOM and it’s all OMG I LOOOOOVE you and crap.

This after he’s spent the past 114 pages bemoaning the fact that he’s such a dirty sinner for lying to her 

SPOILER: because he works for a famous guy who doesn’t want anyone to know he’s getting married so he paid his assistant Don Knotts to pretend to be him during the planning stages of the wedding. END SPOILER.

So I’m confused, does he think this is like a mortal or a venial sin? I mean, this is like not even something most extremely religious people I know would bat an eye at: you’re just saying you’re the other guy because it’s your job, it’s not a malicious lie or anything, I’m not even sure if anyone would call it remotely sinful. What is this guy some kind of Kantian???? (I hate Kantians. Why? I like pushing fat men off bridges to stop trolleys).

 So he’s been self-flagellating for like hundreds of pages because WOW he’s in love with Trogdor (so stalking DOES pay off??? YAYS! I shall now chase down Paul Bettany and inform him we are meant to be together!) and thinking “HOW CAN I LIE TO HER AND STILL BE A GOOD CHRISTIAN????? SHE WILL HATE ME!!!!”

Seriously? Dude, in this day and age she’ll just be glad all you’re lying about is like…being a groom (and that wouldn’t even be bothering her if she wasn’t all stalkerish in love after five seconds). It could be worse, you could be a pedophile or a secret terrorist or be an abusive ass-hat or a frat boy or something.  But hey, we all believe that Christians just beat themselves up in private because they’re so much better than everyone else that minor lies are the worst thing they can torture themselves about (riiiiiight…).

If the author made this guy have some real dark secret, or be actually traumatized or tempted or tortured about something, I’d be fine, but seriously they have such simple easy lives that the worst thing to “test their faith” is a really minor “lie” that’s so small that I just bunny-eared it????

…I’m disappointed.

Oh well. I’m inspired though! I shall aspire to the heights of spiritual awareness that render me so free of any flaws that all I must worry about is if I might be implying that I’m my boss when my boss told me to because that is such a horrible, horrible sin (because I’m Catholic and think my worth is based on all of my actions or something. Correct me if I’m wrong but that belief might have come from one of Errour’s poisonous dugs!...*cough cough* sorry, SUMMER LIT CLASS!) and I shall then be stalked by yonder Trogdor the Faire and we shall be wedded (what, you really didn’t see THAT spoiler coming?) and all shall be well upon the earth as it is upon the heavens and the whatnot.

Seriously, this book is dangerous to young Christian women (SERIOUS DEEP SHOULS OF INTELLECTUAL CONTEMPLATION AHOY!). I can see the headlines now: 

Trogdor Woman Murders Don Knotts by Stalking & Stomping Him! 

“But, officer, I didn’t mean to kill him! God told me we were meant to be together and he DIDN’T BELIEVE ME!!!!!”

…Well that’s okay then, so long as you blame God for all of your stalkerish tendencies it’s all good J  I’d almost say this chick is a hyper-calvinist (very different from a Calvinist, mind you), but that would be too deep for a Dacus book. (haha…her name makes me lol for some reason, and I do mean LOLLING HERE!!! Ah…good times J It’s good to be The Pebbles.).

There’s other stuff in this book too, like her own dirty dark secret that creates a MAJOR HITCHCOCKIAN (love that name J) plot TWIST! (…or not) and her fear of flying (something about surviving a crash that her parents died in or something?), but it’s all really lame and overblown and melodramatic so I’m just sitting there casually slurping my iced latte and going “uh huh uh huh uh huh…oh wow, really? How sad…” like a therapist who’s so bored by your life they draw stick figures of people watching paint dry while you bare your soul.

In conclusion, this book was so bad I’m not even sure if it could have been saved by copious amounts of shagging, and that usually makes any book funny to read (I roared during Dark Seduction, as ye all know, because of his whole “potent tension was filling the ante room” kind of krap). 

Seriously, but shagging  might have ended in death for this krazy kouple, her being Trogdor and him being Don Knotts and all…

Oh well.

Pebbles OUT! 

His Christmas Pleasure or D*** in a Box with a Merry Red Wrapper!"

Title: His Christmas Pleasure (oh yaya)

Author: Carolyn Maxwell (coffee!)

Avast! Warnings: The Pebbles sometimes spoils things, but will, in this case, she shall endeavor to avoid spoilers of great epic magnitude.

AVAST! Here be suggestive cover copy!

Anything can happen at Christmas!
When her father threatens to marry Abigail Montross off to a man twice her age (and with thirteen children!), she decides to elope instead with the irresistibly handsome Baron de Vasconia. She knows all about his notorious reputation. He is the most seductive man in all of London, but he's vowed to protect her, so she allows herself to be tempted into his bed, promising to guard her heart at all costs.
Andres believes he's entered into nothing more than a marriage of convenience with a charming and very wealthy young woman. But the days—and nights—Abigail spends in his arms soon reform this rogue. He'll do anything to gain her love—until they each discover the truth about the other and old wounds are revealed.
It's the season of miracles and passion—when love not only awakens the senses but delivers the greatest gift of all . . .


Let us hope it is not a wee-sized gift.  

*ahem*

When the word “butt” appears as like, the second word on the first page, The Pebbles knows this is going to be a book that is totes full of WIN…maybe. Oh…it’s a pistol butt? Once again, my dirty, dirty mind got the better of me. Fine. Moving on!

Of course, never fear, for my bunny boinking imagination was quickly satisfied, because our hero, the noble and WTF named “Andres” (fine, so it isn’t that weird, but the first time it appears it is “Andres’s” so…I’m like, wtf mates?) has the potential to be Mr. Badonkulous Boinker himself. And we know Andres is totally going to be hung like a horse because, firstly, this is a novel of yon bonny ROMAAANCE and, secondly, he thinks the following:

“The butt of the ornate dueling pistol was saw-handled, so it felt short in Andres’s grip. Obviously, the gun’s owner, the duke of Banfield, didn’t have hands as large as his own.”

…DUDE. If this guy was in a Loretta Chase novel, he would be guaranteed to file that thought away in his Things I Think That Do Not Really Pertain to My Wang but Actually Do mental file. Fo shizzle.

So, anyhoo, what is the Heavily Be-Wanged Andres doing with another undoubtedly small-wanged gentleman’s pistol?? He is at a PAR-TAY! Oh yes, Andres is from Spain, he is The Handsome! (I don’t know that for certain know yet, but, dude, did you see the cover?), he is The Virile! and he lays claim to the impressive title of Baron de Vaseline! Oh wait…crap, that’s baron de Vasconia. Anyhoos, our dear Andres is at this party in jolly old Albion because he hopes to find a career with the English government, and he’s totally certain that “given the chance, he could make a contribution to this new country of his.”

Hot Spanish Baron with a Cause!!!! My Sensitive Guy-dar just went off!!!

Oh yes, he is desiring to give the Service to the Governments of the EngliLish (and I do mean EngliLISH).

So far, I’m fine with this book, she said “butt” in the first sentence, she’s alluded to the hero’s Not So Diminutive Wang, he’s hot, he’s sensitive- we are all good at this point! But then Ms. Maxwell goes and does the unforgivable (for me). The “I shall describe the hero by having him view his reflection in ze mirror! To be HOT, or not to be HOT???”

Here is what he observes (after he almost shoots his reflection, jumpy one this guy…):

“For a long moment, Andres stood still, fascinated by his distorted image in the mirror. His face was larger in the center, his shoulders and arms small.”

DUDE, this guy looks like a T-Rex! Of course, we have to un-distort to really know his looks. *ahem* Ummm, his face is SMALLER in the center and his shoulders and arms are MASSIVE and undoubtedly brawny! SCORE! In other words, she just described him describing himself in a mirror without really describing him describing himself in a mirror! That knocks this from an authorial MORTAL sin right down to a manageable venial sin. 5 Hail Marys and call me in the morning. This lady rocks J

So then we learn (in the mirror with Andres the T-Rex) that he has a dark, dark family past!

“Slowly, deliberately, he turned his hand so the gun aimed at his head. How easy it would be to pull the trigger. He stood, riveted by the sight. By the temptation. At last he understood his father.”

Whoa now! Andres’s father killted himself (in the mortal way, not the bonny plaid way)? Not only that, but we learn that poor Andres is living a much pained life without love, “carrying the weight of his own mistakes, his many failures” and cursing some tart named Gillian (seriously, who’s named Gillian during the regency period? It’s like running into a La’Fawnda in 1746). Turns out Gilligan (it sounds better, okay?) left him and went back to her husband (of the Diminutive Wang, no doubt). So Andres thinks, hells no! He is not going to kill himself here because:

 “If he was going to take his own life, he’d do it right. He’d blow off this face of his, which was both a blessing and curse.”

It’s so damn hard being beautiful, especially when you’re a man-whore of no honor who’s brought disgrace upon the noble house of the Ramigio (I think that’s a finely aged cheese). So he’s got no self-esteem, yo! And he’s sitting there thinking thoughts of blowing off his blessedly cursed face when suddenly a Giant Ginger tackles him! To be specific, a “redheaded force of nature.” ZOW-WEE!

She’s all “No, stop. It’s a sin.”!!! (which means he was running through his contemplations with that pistol still like cocked and pointed at his temple? This dude means bid-ness!)

I will say I like our heroine thus far, she’s not willowy and blond, or plump and brunette (both of which he astutely observes) and she’s not only a red head but described as having a veritably “impossible mop of carroty-colored hair”…okay. She’s freckled and vivacious and not said to have a “flowing crimson/mahogany/lush auburn waterfall of the amber waves of grain mane of My Little Pony Awesomeness”. So, in my book it’s all good. Of course, she’s all “omg you would so make a mess if you did that” and then:

“Andres still had the pistol in his hand. He lifted it for her to see that the hammer wasn’t cocked. ‘I wasn’t doing what you imagine.’She tilted her head, as if his accented English had surprised her, as if discovering the gun un-cocked surprised her.”

The only thing I’m surprised about is that we’ve used some variation of the word “cock” almost five times in the past three pages and NOBODY IS BOINKING YET!!! Seriously though, I do believe romance authors do this on purpose. They emphasize the sexual lingo in a totally “well I never did!” manner that way you’re practically bouncing off the walls with sexual frustration. I don’t have a problem with it, I mean, I’m not pissed off like I was about Brenda Joyce having her heroine’s cat “sensually slither” through her legs on like page 14 of Dark Seduction, but I’m getting a little put out right now.

But I digress…

So he’s all discussing not being caught in sinful behavior with her and licking his chops like a wolf that just got a taste for prime “English lamb” and then he mentions that while she’s being all saintly and trying to save him, they’re actually in a really compromising position (cue J. Lo’s On the Floor!) and she’s all “I thought you needed help” and then he’s like:

“Oh, I could use some help,” Andres assured her as lust slammed into him with a force he’d not anticipated. He sat up, wanting to both gather her in his arms and hide the fact of his arousal.”

I’m not sure one usually uses the phrase “hide the fact of their arousal” but, I’ll go with it. Hey, Andres, if a tree falls in the forest…

Never mind, lame joke. Moving on! So we (and Andres) find out that Abigail (our carrot-mopped heroine) is in love with some guy named Freddie (we know he’s a douche) and he of course meets clandestinely with her (with Andres hiding behind the couch, On the Floor) to inform her that he is going to marry her respectable Duke’s Spawn cousin (Corinne I think) and will not, cannot, never must, not with a goat on a boat in a train or on a plane, marry her. Fo shizzle. But he still loves her. Totes.

She’s all torn up and emotionally bruised, and this twit Freddie is all “but I love you for realz! Let us shag on the side!” and she’s all HELLS NO and that her father expected him to ask for her hand. And Freddie Prince Douche is all, “well, he’s wrong if he thinks I’m not a man.” And then “Andres didn’t know if he agreed.”

I am so liking Andres right now, the dude is sharp, even hiding under a settee whilst painfully aroused watching a poor carrot-topped heroine get totally emotionally trounced into a pulp. And then he rescues her by revealing his position behind yon bonny piece of furniture! Cue the Pebbles SWOONS!

Baron de HoTTness is all “Abs, I’m so bored, let us dance now!” and Freddie’s all “Hot Spaniard of Fashion! Introductions, introductions!” Seriously (although, the Spanish aren’t the best fashion examples. Italians look better. Just ask Puma). Seriously, this dude’s response is friggin’ weird. Even Abby is like, umm…this guy is more excited about Andres’s cravat than my bodacious bod?

I have two words for you sweetheart: Gay. Dar. Get one.

Either that or he’s majorly metro. Either way, it is doubtful his wang is quite the mighty oak that Andres’s is.

Anyhoos, we get like a paragraph of discourse on how to tie a cravat. Curious? Lots of starch because apparently you need: “that hard feel.”

I’ll say!  Is it getting a little warm in here? This makes Abby think of how “hard and lean” Andres’s body felt (finally, some direct mention of the hotness!), and then we have the Moment of Emotional Connection.

Maxwell does realistic emotional situations well. Seriously, if I were Abby I’d be shrieking bloody murder before collapsing in a soggy heap in the middle of the ballroom (oh wait, I’ve done that), and we totally get that Abby is god-awful embarrassed and humiliated, as seen in her post-Freddie-Fashion exchange with Andres:

“Shame welled inside her. “I cared so deeply.” And her heart hurt. She wanted to escape, to find a quiet place to break down. Abby started to pull away, but he moved to take her by the hand, his fingers lacing with hers. ‘You can’t run yet,’ he told her, his voice low, intimate. ‘You promised a dance–’

‘No, you commandeered a dance.’”

WOOT! Nautical terms!!!! I heart me a good nautical term in non-sea-faring setting within a regency romance’s key moment of emotional trauma and recovery. FO. SHIZNITS!

Of course, the bliss cannot last, as we learn that some woman named Lady Carla Dobbins- *unladylike snort*. Wait, for realz? Ok.

-Lady Carla Dobbins has the hots for the Andres, and she makes some snide comment about Abby being as “withered as a prune” and Andres defends her saying they’re laugh lines. And I’m like: HOLD UP! Say whuuuut????? I mean, I’m pushing 25 too (that’s a quarter of a century, makes a girl think!) and I’m nowhere near being considered wrinkled or “withered” (and, DUDE, I freaking laugh a lot, mostly at my own lame jokes or sick humor). Anyhoos, so now I’m scrubbing the image of a pruny ginger-haired Abigail from my mind, while simultaneously trying to figure out what that might look like. Like, HE noticed them enough to say “Bitch, they’re laugh lines!” rather than “Bitch, you’re just jealous, she is SO NOT withered!” so…yeah…something to ponder.

Anyhoo, the woman’s all tarted up- she dampened her chemise, hey-whoa slut-alert! And her nipples are showing through…who knew they had wet t-shirt contests at regency balls?

Moving on! Lady Dobbins (her most famous ancestor was a House Elf for the Malfoys) makes a scene and tries to stomp all over da Baron de Vaseline and he gets all pissed and says he doesn’t like overripe melons anymore (implying that now he likes Abigail’s more diminutive ta-tas) and Abby’s totally freaked because he’s said it in front of EVERONES and totally dishonored her more than she already was because some dude jilted her like a while ago and so now that de Lubricant has made such a public statement in favor of her lentil sized essentials she’s SO RUINED!

What else is a girl to do? She smacks him. SU-WHEEEEET! I miss those slapping scenes. They don’t do that enough in romance novels, usually the most we get is “may I tie thee to the bedposts with silken scarves for shits and giggles?” (oh like that’s really getting back at him for anything) and I just want someone to hall off and whack one of these dumb rakes for saying stupid things in public. So, Abby (pruny or not) has my votes. Totes. That, and I’ve liked the word “slap” ever since a student in my Middle English class mis-pronounced and said that “smale foweles maken melodye and SLAPPEN ale the day with open eye”. Totally. You go SLAPPEN THAT BIRD!!!!

So things progress for-shizzly, Abigail is filled with remorse for her behavior, knowing that she made an already terrible scene even worse. Her parents take her home and she’s informed that she shall likely marry some guy named Lord Villiers who has a baker’s dozen sack full of bagels- I mean children.

Anyhoo, I liked the way Maxwell developed the relationship and characters early on; Andres has his issues (don’t we know it) and Abigail is, in her own way, wounded and issue ridden as well. I love when an author can make a presumed libertine something other than an absolute sex-crazed cad. Andres was actually pretty sweet (like, he’d be the fireman on the calendar for the month of May with a bevy of barely singed fluffy bunnies or golden retriever puppies cavorting in front of his manliness).

 Moving on! Can I just say, as a side note, whenever I read Andres’s name “Ramigio” I keep wondering if it’s really Italian? So should I say “Ramee.G.O” or is it really like authentic Spanish pronunciation as in “Ramee-HEEE-O”…which now sounds like either cheese or a vegetable like radicchio…he might go well in a nice antipasto, you know?

MOVING ON!

Suffice it to say, MYSTERIES ARE REVEALED!!! …and they kind of build at the same time as they are like BUILT UP and crap! So, let’s just say that The Baron Andres Ra-Cheezio needs to leave town. Lord Dobbins the House Elf wants him to take a payment and leave for his jolly-rogerment of Lady Dobbins. As in, leave London Towne STAT! He’s suddenly been given a moldering old pile in the moors or, as Spenser would say a goodly “heape” (little Ren-Lit ref there ;) ) but he needs MOO-LAH, BITCHES! So, where doest our Noble Toro turn?

…dude, I just met this ginger last night…

BITCHIN’!

Seriously, this was where I was a little ummmmmm…okaaaaaaay…because he seemed a bit colder than he had the night before (har har) when he was cocking and uncocking things.

Maybe I’m just picky, but it seems a tad cold blooded:

“He needed money. He could borrow it, but then he’d be beholden to whoever lent it […no shit, wowza, we 

just had the word “lent” defined for us. Let us also add, “usury”! I’ll take “Jewish occupations in Elizabethan England” for $1000!]. Andres wanted Stonemoor for himself [check it: stone + moor = …ummm cold and hard? Never mind. Not hot]. And then he remembered Miss Montross’s conversation in the library. She had money. Her own money. Money not connected to the dowry or any inheritance from her father. Money that came to her upon marriage.”

…See Jane. See Spot. See Jane see Spot. See Jane run. See Spot run after Jane and CHEW HER LEG OFF!!!!

I’m sorry, what now? Oh, right. Can I just say, she really builds on her sentences in a way that grates on my nerves. But it's okay, she doesn't do it that often. What am I saying, she does it a LOTT (2 t’s gets a double “t-t” sound check The Pebbles Dictionary of Snarkerific Pronunciation & Words).  So, just so everyone who might also find the mechanics of an author’s writing style to be a major factor (like me) in assessing a book’s quality, then warned ye have been! Here be sentences. Of shortness. And brevity. That Make Me. Think of. William....Shatner! 

Moving on!

So yes, the coldness of his decision to pursue Abby like a veritable bull after a red cape swishing in yon ring of Spanish Awesome is rather chilling:

“Abby Montross was not going to be one of his usual conquests. She was smarter, wiser…and truly in love with another man. But he’d think of a way around her. And he was looking forward to the challenge.”

AH-HAH, TORO!!!!! Seriously. The Latin Fire of his Bullish Heart beats with The Passion of Emperor Palpatine after he’s eaten Thai food. I’m frightened.

Anyhoo, so the poor Abby is fearful she shall be wed to a corpulent mass of belching human flesh with thirteen children. Yet, AVAST, we learn from the Mandatory Gossiping Gaggle Of Women That Acts as a Greek Chorus So We Can Learn Shit We Wouldn’t Otherwise Have Logically Learned, that the Baron de Vaseline rogered Lady Dobbins six times in one night. WOWZA. Baron de Viagra has one vociferous manroot!!!!

Okay, so let us just say he proposes with the gaggle of gossiping geese falling over themselves to see this Badonkulous Bull make sweet sweet (non coital) love to Abigail. She says yes, of course. Wouldn’t you, with 13 children and a belching Jabba the Hutt breathing down your neck?

I might jump into the Rancor pit first but, heck, it’s a romance J

So, she implies that she doesn’t want to be making the loves (fear of his vociferousness, undoubtedly) and, not realizing that going “ahem” isn’t really universal code for “boinking”, she attempts to convey to him her potential unwillingness to endure six renditions of “100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” in order to consummate their union. Seriously. 19^th century virgins are so adorbz!!!!

Anyhoos, I will say that there is some excitement, including a carriage chase through London that possibly might rival the Podrace in Phantom Menace, or the “motorbike race” in Return of the Jedi that my mom still won’t shut up about how FREAKING LONG IT WAS. But it was funny, so it worked!

Aside from this fun bit of breathtaking thrills (who knew a phaeton had as much horse power and hey-whoa as those little cars in The Italian Job?), we do have some rather obligatory “hard” references and “body heat” implications whilst residing at a suitable titled (Adjective + Noun) roadside inn. Here, even more shenanigans occur (no, not THOSE kind, wait for it!) and they once more are given chase like the merry tighted men of yore who fled the Evil Sheriff’s Men in service of their bonny Robin of the Green Hood J Seriously, I’m just trying to make this more interesting. MOVING ON!

They be wedded over the anvil, and there’s the rings and the kiss (yes…the kiss…ummm…not saying anything), and of course other cute things but who cares because it’s page 103 of 204 in my Nook and let’s get us to the love making!

God, I don’t know where to start.

Let us begin:

“He entered her. She stiffened. He stopped, holding himself tight, letting her adjust to him.”

…God, sexxoring with him must be like riding in a car with a student driver who rides the breaks.

“Her legs opened wider. He went deeper. She arched and he wrapped his arms around her.”

Okay, I get the whole “damnit, how do I choreograph sex?” but there comes a time when you have to say DUDE, short sentences send a subliminal message to the reader that he has a SHORT. LITTLE. FUSE.

To be *ahem ahem* subtle about it. I feel as though I’m like starting and stopping like “Okay we’re doing this. Okay we’re not. Oh wait there’s your arm. Oh wait where’d your wang go? Oh crap that wasn’t my boob.” Like, fo shizzle? And I don’t think she wants it to sound this funny.

Oh well, MOVING ON! *snort*

“Andre began moving [Finally]. He knew how to make love [Are you sure?]. He’d done it enough [ya think?], but he realized he had no control when it came to Abby [Ooooh, but of course].”

Oh, the LOVE is just so TWU! TWU TWU WUV!!! IT is what BWINGS us heewa TWOODAY!!!

In case you weren’t aware already, this is like THE MOMENT where Andres (or his, you know, little Christmas treasure) realizes he is like, sooo in a different you know, woman than he’s been in before:

“She felt so good [*Teen Girl Squad Voice* SOOOO GOOOD!]. He’d never known a woman could feel like this [Like…what?]. He’d been born to join with her [oh yaya]. He’d been unconsciously searching for her all his life, and now this was their moment [Preach it, brother!]. Their blessed, precious moment [Do they have a figurine for that?].”

I feel like we’re either on Oprah or Dr. Phil, I can’t make up my mind. Or it’s like I keep hearing one of those breathy, (code: chain smoker) voices you used to hear talking over those 900 number commercials that actually played on network TV back in 90s, “Just caaaalll, NAATAALYAAAA, if you want COMPAAAANY”…”He’d been BOOORN to JOOOOOIN with her-“ you get the idea. To continue:

“He’d not experienced such completion. And when he was done, he was spent.” As in, when it’s gone it’s gone, toots, and he’s like…gone.

Of course, she is “astonished” by his jolly rogering and when she wants to do it again (keep in mind, she does have the number 6 on the brain):

“Pride filled him […”pride” huh?”]. Male pride in all its glory. “We can do it all you wish, palomita,” he assured her, and proceeded to show her the truth of his words.”

I love how Maxwell seems to be like a catechism instructor when she's writing her sentence:

What filled him? Pride filled him. What kind of pride filled him? Male pride, in all its glory!!!  And when he says “we can do it all you wish” what might he do? Show her the truth of his words (boinking, in case you were wondering. Hey, I was).

Suffice it to say, shit happens. It always does. Suddenly there’s no money, no real house (dude, it was called “Stone + moor” if you were expecting anything more than a bunch of stones on a moldering sheep filled moor avec the Hound of the Baskervilles then... I don’t know what to tell you).

But all is well! For they have The Love and The Desire!

“Andres began undressing her. All these clothes had been her armor against what she feared was foolishness. It wasn’t. She was strong when he was weak; he was strong when she had fear.”

 And they all just go back and forth and up and down like a see-saw of loving and balance one another out like the scales of Lady Justice.

And of course, “as his seed found her heat [nice to know it’s like, heat seeking seed like those drone missiles], as he released himself in the most satisfying, shattering moment of fulfillment [just so we’re clear, this trumps the earlier BESTEST sex EVAH, I’m guessing], he knew she had been what he’d been searching for in his life. She was his treasure.”

Wait…didn’t we already say that like…twenty or so pages ago…when we were, as now, “encircled” in the sweatiness of one another? Whatever.

Life goes on and on and on, and just so we know THANK GOD CHRISTMAS IS COMING!!!! I almost mistakenly said “He is risen!” which would have been the wrong holiday and utter sacrilege anyway because I was also about to make some comment about that but, MOVING ON!

There is trauma! There is sadness! There is scheming! Here be VAST amounts of action and poignant romance!

Don’t you want to meet the one who truly knows you? ‘Tis simpler than you thought, just claim he barely knows you and see his response! Observe:

“Don’t know you?” She had become all he could think about. He rose early every morning and worked hard because he wanted to prove to her she’d made the right choice. He walked up to her, took her by the arms. “I’ve touched every inch of you,” he vowed [you can vow that?]. I’ve been inside you [whoa now]. I’ve heard you cry out my name [awkward]. I know you [well…that’s still debatable].

I love the “I’ve been inside you. I know you” thing. I mean…seriously? *ahem* So, dear readers, how many men know you? Look no further than thy hoo-hoo for thy soul mate! If he hast been there, it is the TWU WUV of the ages!

Right, okay.

To-Do List: search Magical Cave of Wonder for soul mate.

Anyhoos, so there’s other rambunctious hair raising heart tugging events, Freddie of the Diminutive Wang & the Hard Cravat returns, and all hell, of course, breaks loose.

But not really, because it sucked monkey tails. We had the obligatory he thinks she's a WHOOOOOORE because he like has low self-esteem or something and assumes she just wants to get together with Fweddie the Fwaeking Fweak or something like that I forget...I was on caffeine when I read that part...anyhoos. So, yes, CWAEP! I did enjoy myself reading it (mostly because I find my running commentary highly entertaining), it had cute ideas but seriously…it needed some editing and I really don't like the whole catechism Male Pride in All It's Glory thing, or the sputtering sex scenes that chugged along like she was wracking her brain for some kind of creativity, or the Brenda Joycian anti-climactic conclusion of OMG HE THINKS SHE DID WHAAAAAT AND WILL THEY EVER FIND OUT THE TRUUUTH AND TWU TWU WUV!?!?!?!?!??! I do recommend giving this to someone as a wee treasured gift to give thy Romance Loving Sister of Awesome (biological or not) some Christmas, holiday, birthday, whatever. Just warn her to come prepared to SNARK! 

Yays for Christmas themed books in the middle of summer!

Pebbles OUT!