Paperback Reader

Armed with the antidote and a suspiciously enigmatic partner—fellow virologist Mac Coleman—Jane raced to the rescue. But with betrayal, time and the Amazon itself working against her, the bookish Dr. Miller would have to tap her inner adventuress to make it back alive….

Jennifer Crusie's beloved Anyone But You was originally released in 1996. HQN has re-released this classic title in hardcover this month. I fell madly in love with the book when I first read it, and was pleased to know that my memory didn't fail me. It is a rare romance that stands the test of time -- it is even rarer for a category romance to rise above the sheer volume of titles released every month. That so many of Jennifer Crusie's titles are remembered fondly is a testament to her skill as a writer and storyteller.

According to the buzz at RWA’s annual conference this year, sex continues to sell like hotcakes (I don’t get the reference either) and the hotter the story, the better. Before erotica/erotic romance became the darling of publishers everywhere, Harlequin pushed the boundaries with their Blaze line.

You know, sexy premise, sexy story. And I’m going to admit it – I fell for a marketing pitch. I picked up Cara Summers’ Two Hot! Based on back cover copy alone. Part of Blaze’s “Forbidden Fantasies” flash, the book promised me a journey into fantasy numero dos – two men, one heroine.

Category romance is the literary equivalent of tract housing. The units line up, one after the other, in perfectly matched symmetry, completely known and quantifiable. And, certainly, there is no reason to fault category for succeeding in doing exactly what it sets out to do: offering the reader the comfort of sameness and the certainty that what is expected will be delivered upon. But, all too often the trade off that comes with this familiarity is a lack of originality. It would seem the plots points of category romances have the same limitations as three bedroom two bath ranch homes in that there are only so many ways the principle elements come together and remain true to the original intention. In both cases what’s so easily jettisoned to form is creativity.

These days, good contemporaries are hard to find as bookstore shelves are laden with paranormal and erotic romances. Want a good romance with vampires? Sure, throw a rock and a dozen of those will be hit. Craving a good romance that’s a cover-to-cover sex romp? Good is highly subjective with those, but at least there are lots to choose from. But a good love story set in the present, in this world, between humans who do more talking than groping? Not so much. In this era of sharp teeth and high octant erogenous zones, stories about men and women falling in love that are simply stories of men and women falling in love are few and far between.

When I was seven, I spent the summer eating tuna fish sandwiches on French bread. And by spending the summer, what I mean is that I created an appropriate mix of tuna and Miracle Whip (we were not a real mayo family) and cut a baguette (or the 1970s version thereof) into little baby slices, then I parked myself on a chair at the kitchen table, propped up a book, and read and ate my way through the summer.

Man, I miss those days: reading and eating all day long without gaining a pound. Life was good when I was seven.

I have, naturally, exhibited similar obsessive-compulsive tendencies throughout my life. Like, well, you know, reading every single Harlequin Intrigue I could find (this was back in the olden days when I didn’t have emotional problems about buying used books). I’d purchase bags of books and read, read, read. This time without the tuna and French bread. You gotta accept reality at some time.

Dear Wendy and HelenKay (or is it HelenKay and Wendy?),

I now we promised to tell each other everything, but I’ve been keeping a secret from you for several weeks. I’m going to be honest: I didn’t mean to keep this a secret. It just happened. And maybe that’s because it’s a secret wrapped in a bigger secret. Though, in retrospect, the bigger secret isn’t such a big deal and I’m not sure why I’d keep it from you anyway. Still, I think that’s the source of my problem.

So one Friday, a couple of weeks ago, I had had enough. I was tired of working through my lunch and staring at the cemetery while others were doing whatever it is that people do during lunch hours (it had been so long that nothing came to mind). I decided to go out to lunch. Alone.

Except, well, there is nothing sadder than a person sitting alone in a restaurant (Chinese, because if I’m going to treat myself, I’m going to do it with noodles). So I thought, “I could just buy a book and read while eating.” Yeah, I know. That’s sad, too, but at least I’d be oblivious, being that kind of reader and all. So I bought a few books. A variety. I didn’t have a mood as much as I had a need.

While I thought the idea of the “Bombshell” imprint was a bad idea on the part of Harlequin/Silhouette, I thought the idea of the Bombshell novels were great. This is not a contradiction. I suspected that the entire line – as presented in concept to me – was not sustainable. Sort of like a steady diet of Cheesy Poofs.

You need variety in your reading diet.

So yeah, more strong, kick-ass heroines, but maybe not so much on the “create an entire line around an idea” approach. Bombshell should have been a sub-imprint or whatever they’re called. I liked most of the Bombshells I read, but, as we are about to discover, there were some misses in the bunch.

File under: better late than never Hanukkah reviews.*

So, yeah, a while back, the discussion turned to holiday books and possible holiday book reviews. While I didn't say it then, I'll say it now: I pretty much hate holiday themed romance novels. There's something about the forced conflict, the fake celebrations, and general shoving of square pegs into round holes that make these books feel contrived. Or, maybe to put it another way, rather than the holiday serving as an organic plot element, it sticks out like a certain reindeer.

Without the cute song and generally inspiring message.

I sort of decided to punt on the whole holiday book review thing, and, if I do say so myself, did a fairly good job. Until the niggle. It's always the niggle, you know? A few years ago (has it really been that long?), I reviewed two inspirational romances with Christmas themes. Both books, written by different authors, were distressingly similar -- and equally unsatisfying. To the point where the romantic and inspirational elements were paint-by-numbers interesting. In fact, if I recall correctly, I lamented the genuine lack of faith reflected in most so-called inspirational romances.**