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Content Warning: violence, death, pedophilia, torture, arson, sexual abuse, grooming, rape.

Note: this review contains discussion of rape, grooming, and sexual abuse.

Marius de Romanus has lived through the rise and fall of empires, has walked as a mortal man, and has been transformed into a Druid God by vampiric blood. A child of the Millenia, born in ancient Rome, we follow him here through his journey into immortality, where he loses love after love by arrogance, where he is brought to his ultimate rock-bottom. As the guardian of Those Who Must Be Kept -- the vampire Mother and Father, who were awoken by Lestat's music -- Marius has been burdened not only with keeping his own secret, but with keeping Akasha and Enkil hidden from others who might harm them. Here finally to tell his story in his own words, Marius takes us on a journey from Rome and the Byzantium Empire all the way to 16th-century Dresden, all while reflecting on the great losses of his life, and the cost of his devotion to an unspeaking Queen who never expresses her affection.

Reading the summary above, you might imagine that Marius is one of the most fascinating characters in Rice's well-populated series. He is one of the oldest vampires, a so-called "Child of the Millenia," virtually indestructible due to his age and power. He grows up during one of the most interesting times in history, as the Roman Empire reaches its peak, fathered by a nobleman and a Gaulish slave. Abducted at the age of forty by zealous Druid priests, he is ushered into a strange and frightening world where they intend to make him a "God of the Grove" - and thus, a vampire.

But here's the thing: Marius is pompous, willfully ignorant, and unable to see his flaws. This could make for a very interesting character indeed (after all, our primary anti-hero of the series is Lestat, who shares many of Marius's traits), but somehow, he manages to always be painfully boring. That, I think, is the main problem with Blood and Gold - where most of Rice's books feel propelled forward by an almost frightening, electric force (which she seems barely able to control), this one plods on and on, without ever making much progress at all.

It's only fair to mention that I fundamentally dislike Marius; when I think of him, I think of the man who bought, groomed, raped, and gave Armand the "Dark Gift," only to abandon him carelessly. It's hard to like him, and although he is a fan favorite, I never could exactly tell what it was that so intrigued people about him. Even Santino, who is similarly and heavily flawed, manages to somehow come across both as more sympathetic and interesting than Marius, who seems too busy caught up in his own self-pity to ever actually do anything. However, I do want to say that although I think it's worth mentioning that I do not like Marius whatsoever, I was actually a bit excited to pick this up, as I was hoping it might explore some of the fascinating time periods Marius has lived through, and perhaps explore some of his past and his mortal life.

Sadly, there isn't much of that at all. We briefly get glimpses of his life in Rome, but only once he has already been turned; the most engaging part of the novel involves Mael, who he hates with a burning passion, and I loved to read the complexity between them, the sort of push-pull that keeps them coming back together. There's a very dark, sexual undertone to their interactions that leaves you feeling both puzzled and slightly pleased. Unfortunately, Rice abandons this for involving some other vampires who feature hardly at all in any meaningful way (Zenobia and Eudoxia, who have tiny and pointless arcs), and most of his time with Armand and Bianca is glossed over with frustrating briskness. Bianca, who I liked very much in The Vampire Armand, is rife with potential to grow, but Rice never gives her her dues, instead using her merely as a device in Marius's story.

His arrogance with regards to Pandora could be a truly tragic story of two people too proud to ever admit their need of one another, but again, despite the fact that this novel is 400+ pages, little of it is ever examined with depth. There's Raymond Gallant, another potentially intriguing character, who suffers a similar fate; at a certain point, you start to wonder what the point of including any of them was to begin with. I'm just guessing here, but I'm assuming that Thorne is meant to represent the part of Marius's psyche that is consumed by the drive for vengeance and rage, a physical example of how it consumes someone until they become nothing but a slave to it, but his story does not provide a satisfying conclusion to a narrative that is, principally, meant to be Marius's.

Not a pleasant read for me at all; I kept wondering how much longer he could go on, without ever really saying anything at all. On another note, it's a shame Rice never took the opportunity to write a story for Mael, who is lovably brutish, wonderful in his contrast to all of the other noble, elegant Ricean vampires.

I'm sure there's plenty of Marius fans who have enjoyed this book over the years, and will continue to do so, but for me -- no thanks.

Book Review: Bronze Drum by Phong Nguyen

 

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Content Warning: violence, death (including that of a child), war, colonization, misogyny.

In the Lạc Việt region of ancient Vietnam, Trưng Trắc and Trưng Nhi are the daughters of a Lord, living in a world smothered by colonization. Growing up under the thumb of their Han colonizers, Trắc and Nhi struggle to stay true to the beliefs and traditions of their ancestors, training in the hopes that one day, they will become Lords after their father, and, perhaps, begin a revolution that will be the undoing of the Han. But while Nhi is impulsive, vengeful, and hellbent on becoming a woman that the Han will fear, Trắc feels caught between filial duty and the desire to be her own person. As Nhi and Trắc become more and more unhappy with their life under Han rule, the country is also reaching its breaking point, primed for an insurrection that Nhi and Trắc will end up being more involved in than they could ever have envisioned. 

How painful it is to say that this book was a disappointment for me! It had actually been on my radar since it came out (all the way back in 2022), and I'd never quite gotten around to it, but when I got it as a gift, I decided it was time to see if Bronze Drum was everything I'd imagined it to be. This is a story based off the real lives of two sisters, who did end up leading a major rebellion against the Han (Chinese) colonization of Vietnam, one of them also becoming Vietnam's first ever queen. There is a lot of mixed legend in with the story, as is expected of anything that happened so long ago, but Nguyen's fictional account isn't meant to dissect where the two meet, but rather to explore how Trắc and Nhi might have grown up, and how their radicalization might've taken place.

First and foremost, this examination and exploration of Vietnamese history is fascinating, and while there are deliberate anachronisms (such as the inclusion of áo dài), it's obvious that Nguyen did a lot of research into this time period and that this was a passion project for him. It's fascinating to see a Vietnam that is fighting against its Chinese colonization, and in particular Confucianism, which is so deeply different from the original beliefs of ancient Vietnam. For example, women had much more power in Vietnamese society before being forced to take upon Confucianist philosophy and rhetoric: before, Trắc and Nhi would have been allowed to take on their father's position, title, and land once he died; now, they are forced to find a husband, preferably Han, who will inherit everything their father leaves, since he has no sons.

This is obviously not to say that pre-Han Vietnam was perfect, nor was it a paradise for everyone, but it's a good example of the ways that colonization contort and disturb the belief systems of a people and, in turn, destroys the flow of a country's natural life. It's also a good way of examining how patriarchal, racist, and homophobic structures are aided and, in some cases, created by colonization, but that's a topic for another day.

But now, unfortunately, I must get into what made this book a disappointment for me. Primarily, it has to do with the writing. Typically, I'm not one to be fussy about writing style, so long as it is clear, grammatically correct, and imparts the emotion that's needed into the story -- and while Nguyen's is most definitely the first two, the last one is what I struggled with. It feels as if we are observing this story from a distance, as if we are being told this tale from some third-party narrator, although that is not the case. Trắc and Nhi are one-dimensional, written only as both foils and opposites of one another, and despite the fact that they go through many emotional trials, it somehow never feels as if we are privy to their inner emotions or motivations. 

I also feel that though this is intended to be woman-focused, it still continuously centers men. Trắc and Nhi are motivated primarily by, respectively, a husband and a father. Not saying that that can't (obviously) impact their motivations or feelings, but their revolutionary fire always seems to be somehow male-heavy. There are many minor female characters who are never fleshed out that felt as if they would have been such interesting additions to the main narrative, like Mai and a few of the women Nhi and Trắc choose for their generals. Honestly, the male characters suffer from this one-dimensionality as well, so it isn't necessarily a gender problem, but most of the conversations between the women still revolves around men. It's a disappointing and disheartening issue, especially considering how this story is intended as a "feminist" tale of empowerment. 

Also, on that note: Nhi and Trắc have no meaningful interactions whatsoever. This might seem like an exaggeration, and perhaps it is, as there seem to be some rather flawed attempts at inserting this into the narrative, but practically speaking, it simply never happens. All of their conversations are brief, strangely emotionless. As someone with a sister, it stuck out to me like a sore thumb, how strangely empty their conversations and ruminations on one another are. There's a simmering layer of resentment and love boiling just beneath the surface with regards to their sisterly relationship, but it's never actually explored, and the entire time, I was frustrated by how it seemed to be pushed to the side again and again. At its best, this story should be one about sisters, particularly since they are so divided in their opinions about everything that is important in their lives, but that potential is, unfortunately, never reached. 

I did enjoy the history here, and some of the discussions of the impact of colonization are thoughtful (though also very brief). I wish there had been more depth to the conversations on misogyny that the women in this book face, particularly from the Han, but unfortunately, it's left mostly to the background. 

Overall, this book was definitely not for me. I don't like having to be so negative, but there's really only a very little I liked here, and while I did genuinely enjoy some sections, they were not terribly frequent. 

Book Review: Forbidden Girl by Kristen Zimmer

 

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Thank you to NetGalley and Bookouture for allowing me to read this ARC!

Content Warning: murder, death, violence (including gun violence), assault, misogyny.

Rowan and Jules have some things in common, like being the daughters of two of Boston's biggest crime lords. But their fathers are deadly rivals, caught up in a dispute that has lasted for years, leaving many casualties in its wake -- and meaning that any contact between the two girls is strictly forbidden. When Rowan and Jules meet, though, they have an immediate connection, one that neither of them can ignore. Rowan, who will one day inherit her father's empire, is as tough as nails; Jules, who longs to live a normal life, far away from the violence of the world her family belongs to, has aspirations of going to college and having a career of her own, one that won't involved blood money. But as the two women keep seeing each other, they have to come to terms with the fact that it can't be a secret forever, and that their relationship could be the undoing of everything -- including their families.

This is another book I chose in an effort to venture out of my reading wheelhouse. Not that I never read books like Forbidden Girl -- a mafia lesbian romance -- but for the most part, I typically stick to historical fiction, lit fic, and fantasy. However, I've recently been craving a book that is a little out of my norm, something that is a bit more fun and a little less serious, and I thought this would be a perfect option.

If you're at all familiar with the romance genre these days, you'll know that mafia stories are a dime a dozen, particularly since the "dark romance" trope has become more and more popular. With that being said, I'm sure Forbidden Girl is not the first lesbian mafia romance, but it's certainly one of very few. I've talked about this a bit in some of my other reviews, but while heterosexual romances are allowed toxicity, complications, and darkness, nearly all lesbian ones are reduced to something soft and "unproblematic." I say specifically "lesbian," because this is not an issue that gay men face to the degree that WLW do  -- their representation is often allowed to be a little messier, and a little darker, and a little more complex. So, I was very excited and intrigued by the premise of this story, which seemed as if it my hold something quite interesting in its pages.

Unfortunately, Forbidden Girl just didn't quite land for me. The writing is relatively faultless, quite well-done, although it's not my style -- too many witty zingers, not enough exploration of emotional depths -- and I do think that Zimmer is undoubtedly very talented. The plot is pretty thin, but as romances typically focus primarily on characterization and relationship development, this isn't much of a problem for me, unless it's actually nonexistent or too absurd. My main problem lies with Rowan and Jules, our heroines, and the establishing of their relationship: it happens off-page.

Yes, this is a romance, and we don't actually get to see their first kiss, first interaction, or how they came to really be attracted or interested in one another in the first place. It's around the 10-15% mark (I can't recall exactly) when they say "I love you." Other readers might not be bothered by this, but I was baffled by the decision. It felt like a cheap copout to have us already in the middle of their relationship, instead of letting it build and grow in front of our eyes. Isn't a romance half about the anticipation of the first time together, the first date, the complexity of being vulnerable?

It was particularly hard to believe that Rowan, who is extremely repressed with most of her emotions (at least, the ones that aren't anger), would be so easily vulnerable. We could say it's because it's "true love" and Jules unarms her, but if we don't experience any growth to get to that moment, it just falls flat. I really like Rowan's character: she's tough and no-nonsense, but there's obviously a softer core hidden within her, one she has to conceal mainly for her own safety. Jules was less interesting, the princess-type who doesn't have much personality going for her beyond that.

I think it would've been rewarding to get to see Rowan have to go through denial after denial, and it would have made sense not only because of her characterization, but because her romance with Jules is extremely forbidden in the first place. I wanted some back-and-forth, but Rowan and Jules never even argue or disagree, or at least not that I can remember. It was all smooth sailing, aside from the obvious disapproval from their families, and it disappointed me that once again, it seems a lesbian relationship is depicted as absolutely perfect, sunshine and rainbows all of the time. 

There's certainly none of the darkness that mafia heroes are allowed; Jules and Rowan are both good people, who only ever act out of love, kindness, or a desire to protect one another. Frankly, it's boring. It would have been interesting to see Rowan more caught up in the gangster lifestyle, perhaps a little more enamored with it, in contrast to Jules's outright dismissal of it. Or perhaps to see her unwillingly drawn into the violence, but occasionally relishing it nonetheless. Anything else would have added a bit of complexity and depth to them, instead of making them seem so wholly virtuous. 

Also, why is it that these sexy, contemporary lesbian romances are strangely sexless? There's about three sex scenes, I think, with Rowan and Jules, and they are extremely brief - typically less than a page. I found it a bit underwhelming, especially in comparison to the exploration of sex and chemistry that most heterosexual couples get in their romances. This is just a taste thing, as some people probably prefer less, some prefer more, but it's something I've taken note of that strikes me as a little odd.

However, there were a lot of moments where I did enjoy Rowan and Jules, and for that, I think it deserves two and a half stars. This book held a lot of disappointment for me, but I think my expectations were maybe a little different than what Zimmer was intending to deliver, so perhaps it's my own fault. The writing, as I mentioned above, was also very good, and I think Zimmer did an excellent job of delivering on the details of a gangster lifestyle, and it never seemed as if she were confused or perhaps a bit unsure about what she was writing about. The emotional beats aren't quite there (for the reasons I listed, and because there were times when I was slightly shocked by how Rowan and Jules didn't seem to really care that much about certain things that happen at the end), but I think many readers will find a lot to love in this book.

Not quite a success for me, but again, I must repeat that my expectations might've been skewed. Zimmer is a good writer, and I think she does a good job with making her relationships cute and sweet; this wasn't my cup of tea, but I can already imagine that there will be many people who love this book, and enjoy Rowan and Jules's playful banter.

Book Review: Cash Delgado is Living the Dream by Tehlor Kay Mejia

 

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Thank you to NetGalley and Random House for allowing me to read this ARC!

Content Warning: homophobia/lesbophobia. 

Cash Delgado is happy with her life. She lives in the tiny town of Ridley Falls, works as a manager at a bar called Joyce's, and enjoys every moment she gets with her six-year-old daughter, Parker. And there's Cash's best friend, too, Inez O'Connor, who has a way of making Cash feel that her every dream is somehow possible. But when Chase Stanton, Joyce's old manager -- and Cash's old flame -- comes back to town, she quickly realizes that her life as she knows it is about to get turned completely upside down. Chase has come to gauge the locals, intent on opening up a franchise bar that, ultimately, Cash knows will destroy Joyce's. To top it all off, Cash keeps having dreams about Inez -- and not the kind of dreams that one has about their best friend. Not to mention, Cash is completely straight... right? Determined to keep Joyce's open and scare Chase off their patch, Cash and Inez work together to figure out how they can maintain the peace in their small town, and as they spend long nights together and Cash continues to be plagued by her dreams, she's forced to confront the fact that she might not know who she is... or that she might have been hiding things from herself so deeply that she didn't even know it in the first place.

For full transparency, I was sent a link to this ARC by one of Random House's  marketing managers (thank you, Jordan Hill Forney!) in exchange for my honest review. Initially, I was a bit reluctant to read this, as I'm typically not a fan of contemporary romances, especially ones that feature a lot of the breeziness and humor. There are exceptions to the rule, of course, like Delilah Green Doesn't Care, but for me, they're few and far between. However, I am pleasantly surprised to tell you that Cash Delgado is Living the Dream was a very enjoyable read for me, and I ended up being glad that I decided to pick it up!

Cash is a relatable character, which, ultimately, is what makes a romance worth reading. She's trying to keep on top of everything, but between being a single mom to a six-year-old, working (usually nights), and paying her bills, she's struggling to stay afloat. She's very happy with her life, though, and she's grateful for the community of Ridley Falls, who have accepted her readily as one of their own. She dreams of maybe owning her own bar one day, and has big plans for Joyce's, but unfortunately, those plans involve money that she simply doesn't have. She manages to make it all work partly because of Inez, her best friend, who is sort of like the fire to Cash's water: she's a little rash, a lot brave, and she helps Cash to be brave, too. 

Now, I do have a few issues with the novel, which is obviously why it didn't end up with a full five stars. I debated between giving it three and a half and four, but ultimately, I decided that it deserved the four, as it's well-written, entertaining, and made me curious about what might be next from Mejia. My main problem has to do with Inez and Cash and the development of their relationship. It's a bit more complicated when you're doing a "friends to lovers" story, because the relationship is already halfway developed, and so you sometimes feel as if you've been thrown into the middle (not with this story, thankfully, but with some others I have read before). Mejia manages to avoid the issue I just spoke of, but the chemistry between Inez and Cash is somewhat lacking. We spend so much time caught up in Cash's head and her dreams that it feels as if the real world Inez and Cash don't do all that much interacting.

Actually, let me be a little clearer. It isn't so much the chemistry, which exists, but rather that the development feels rushed, especially considering there's not many romantic moments between Cash and Inez (that don't happen in Cash's mind, at least). The attraction is certainly there, and they have some very sexy moments together, but I wanted more of their developing feelings. I'd even go so far as to say that this isn't primarily a romance, but more about Cash's attempts to save the bar and her efforts at self-discovery, which isn't a bad thing at all, but can be a little jolting when you're expecting more of a straightforward romance. 

My other problem is one that, to be honest, I think a lot of writers struggle with: writing a believable child character. Parker is just a bit too mature and wise beyond her years, serving more as narrative commentary than an actual child. However, I do think it's really difficult to strike the balance with child characters, so it wasn't too disruptive for me --  I could suspend my disbelief, mainly because Mejia's writing is so great and the story itself is so fun. There's a lot of the contemporary romance "quirkiness" which I sometimes find a little grating, but Mejia pulls it off and somehow makes it feel totally earnest and genuine.

I know I've mentioned it several times by now, but Mejia's writing really is fantastic. The tone maintained throughout is lighthearted and fun, beautifully described, but Mejia never shies away from exploring some of the heaviness of coming to terms with your sexuality and identity. All in all, I think this is definitely a success, and I'll be eager to see what Mejia comes up with next!

I mean, this book has mini donkeys. That's basically a guarantee that I'll like it. 

Recommended, especially for those who like stories of found families and friendship that turns into something more.

Book Review: The Gilded Crown by Marianne Gordon

 

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Thank you to NetGalley and Avon and Harper Voyager for allowing me to read this ARC!

Content Warning: death (including animals and children), murder, violence, torture, emotional abuse.

Hellevir was only ten years old the first time she visited Death. Able to raise the dead, Hellevir goes between the land of the living and Death's domain, where she haggles with the shrouded figure who acts as its Guardian -- and who she speculates may be some kind of God, or Death himself. But raising lives comes with a hefty price, and Hellevir loses bits and pieces of herself each time she must bring someone back. When Princess Sullivain, the heir to the throne, is assassinated, the Queen seeks out Hellevir, demanding that she raise her granddaughter, and once Hellevir has done as she's asked, she promises not to tell her court of Hellevir's gift. But the Princess has made no such promise, and she decides that Hellevir will serve at her side, her protector from any further attempts on her life. As Hellevir grows closer to the Princess, despite her intentions, she learns that there is a deeply tangled web around the court, and that she may be at its center.

How exciting, to see a sapphic fantasy debut that is not young adult! Although I understand the importance of YA stories that portray diversity and queerness, it seems the curse of WLW-centered books is never being allowed to burgeon into adult fiction. It's a problem that irks me to no end, and so I was very highly anticipating The Gilded Crown, particularly with its Nordic inspired setting and its interesting premise revolving around a necromancer.

My first impression upon reading the first few chapters was positive, but unfortunately, as I delved deeper into the story, some of the shine wore off for me. While it's beautifully and brilliantly written, with some turns of phrase that left me downright envious I hadn't come up with them, the characters and plot suffer in comparison. Hellevir, for example, is strangely blank, without much personality. She deals with constant backlash and overcomes obstacle after obstacle, but she never seems to grow much of a backbone, at least not until the very last few chapters of the novel. I suppose that's growth, which I can't condemn, but aside from being forgiving and naive, there's really not much else to her.

Sullivain, on the other hand, is perhaps a bit better. She has hidden depths, at least, much of which centers around not being a very good person. Many other reviewers have a problem with Sullivain, and specifically her romance with Hellevir, but I didn't -- I'm tired of sapphic and women characters always having to be good and boring. People were upset with some of the things she does to Hellevir, but what about Cardan in The Cruel Prince, who readers absolutely adore? He does far worse things to his romantic interest, but strangely enough, no one seems to bat an eye at it. How odd, that a man might be forgiven for things ten times worse than what a woman might do, but she'll be the one who is criticized.

I'm not saying Sullivan and Hellevir's relationship is healthy; it's not. But aren't LGBTQ+ people allowed complexity, depth, and sometimes toxicity in their relationships? I grow weary of always reading "positive" representation, which only means that queer characters are never allowed to do anything wrong, lest they be seen as a negative reflection on the community. So, for the most part, I greatly enjoyed the dance between Hellevir and Sullivain, and being able to feel angry and hurt when they do things that wound one another.

The plotline is strangely boring, despite its rather original and fun concept. The riddles that Hellevir must solve for Death are so conveniently resolved that I felt they were pointless to begin with, and most of the characters and relationships feel like little more than window dressing (and the same can be said for the world-building, which doesn't feel fleshed out). The pacing, though, is what does the most damage to the narrative: nothing feels as if it really happens until around the 70% mark, and it's somewhat agonizing to get to that point, since everything in between is boring and struck me almost as being filler.

The third star is because the ending is pretty great, and suddenly, I found myself wanting to read more. I'll probably pick up the next book in this series (because it will be one), but I'll have some reservations when I do. If the pacing errors and characterization issues aren't fixed, I'm afraid it'll turn many people off. All in all, I think there's so much potential here, but it's hard to give it a higher rating than I did, because the majority of it is just so boring. 

Book Review: The Ballad of Jacquotte Delahaye by Briony Cameron

 

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Thank you to NetGalley and Atria for allowing me to read this ARC!

Content Warning: racism, murder, death, sexual assault, racial slurs.

In Yáquimo, Santo Domingo, Jacquotte Delahaye works as a shipwright. Although she's not well-known yet, she dreams of bigger things, recognition and perhaps the chance to take to the seas herself, but finds herself constricted by her race, gender, and her selfish, drunkard French father. But when Jacquotte's childhood friendship with the Governor of Yáquimo's nephew forces her to choose between her future and her father, Jacquotte's world quickly descends into chaos, and her chance at freedom is stolen from her by the notorious Captain Blackhand -- a pirate who takes Jacquotte onto his ship as an indentured servant. As Blackhand hatches a dangerous, risky plan to steal Portuguese riches, Jacquotte must rely on her wits and her iron-will to survive, especially as she begins to realize that there may be room for her dream of a captaincy -- and that it will change her life forever.

The setting of this story was what captured me first. Haiti is rich in culture and history, and it was exciting to see a book set there, particularly one that starred a biracial pirate as its heroine. Jacquotte Delahaye is a Haitian legend, and while there is no tangible proof that she actually existed, she has lived on in the imagination of a people who have been through much suffering and tempestuous change. The idea of a book that tells her story from her perspective, and elaborates on her life as a woman of color, is refreshing and exciting. However, I can't say that this was the most enjoyable read for me, nor did I find myself ever truly captivated by what was happening in its pages.

The main issue I struggled with was Cameron's writing style. While I'm not terribly picky over writing, and I can read most anything as long as it's grammatically correct and well edited, this was too dry for me. All of the sentences seem to follow the same rhythm, and they're all short, without much emotion or depth to them. For example, in scenes where something frightening or traumatic is happening, it feels as if we're reading a screenplay rather than a novel -- and we never quite seem to get a real hold on what is going on inside of Jacquotte's mind. She remains strangely elusive throughout, and has no real discernible personality of her own, aside from caring about justice and being hellbent on revenge. Her relationship with Teresa, her romantic interest, is similarly dull, though there are some moments that shine through, like their interactions on Port Royal.

I've complained about this perhaps a hundred times now, but the romance has the same problem I encounter time and time again within books featuring lesbian or bisexual women -- there's no real connection or buildup; they simply fall in love immediately, and even if they have issues to work through (and Teresa and Jacquotte have plenty), it never comes off as having quite the emotional depth or impact it should. I don't know why this is so common, and I know it happens often with heterosexual relationships in media too (instalove is a trope for a reason), but it's as if most writers somehow feel that because these two women have found one another, and they're both interested in other women, they'll instantly connect and fall in love and live happily ever after. It's frustrating, because any complexity that might arise (and again, there is ample opportunity for it here) gets quickly and conveniently swept under the rug. 

The rest of the characters all have the same issue. Francisco, Miguel, Blackhand, Mbala -- all of them are written as archetypes, with little else going on beneath the surface. There's attempts at adding depth to them, but it never quite works. On the other hand, everything comes off as just slightly corny and a little too perfect. It's never quite believable that Jacquotte's ragtag crew comes together so easily and is almost immediately fantastic at everything they do, and it's just a little boring, especially because it seems like everyone who likes each other just gets along so well all of the time. 

I guess it'd be easiest to say I liked the concept of this book more than its execution. I wanted so badly to love it, but it just wasn't something I found myself able to really dive into. There are positive aspects, like Jacquotte's burgeoning relationship to her own queerness and blackness, and her discovery of herself, but most of it is overshadowed by the writing that tells us everything rather than showing it.

I will be intrigued to see what Cameron writes next, and perhaps most of these issues are merely a debut's tribulations, but The Ballad of Jacquotte Delahaye was a disappointment for me.

Book Review: Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane, #1) by Elizabeth Hoyt

 

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Content Warning: violence, death, child abuse, sexual harassment, sexual assault.

Temperance Dews knows the streets of St. Giles well. She's grown up amongst the rabble and poverty, and now that she is a widow, she finds herself working at her family's orphanage, alongside her duty-conscious brother, Winter. But Temperance and Winter find themselves in a difficult situation: there is no funding for the home, and without a wealthy patron, it is only a matter of time before the doors are closed. Lazarus Huntington, Lord Caire, is just as desperate as Temperance is -- but his desperation comes from something else: the hunt for a murderer. Caire makes Temperance an offer: if she will act as his guide in St. Giles, he will do his best to help her find the foundling home a patron. As the two of them get closer to the truth, however, they also find themselves drawn together, attracted to one another despite their secrets and dark pasts, and Temperance is faced with a temptation she vowed to never give into again.

This is something a little different for me! I used to read a lot of romance novels, and while I still find them fun, my interest has waned over the years. My sister just read this, and she recommended it highly, so I thought I might give it a go myself -- and I wasn't disappointed. Hoyt's writing is simple and to the point, but she has a masterful way of conveying emotions that is pretty much a requirement for me to enjoy a romance novel.

I very much liked the setting for this one -- St. Giles, in the West End of London. Known for its roughness, it played a pivotal role during the Gin Craze, which Hoyt incorporates into her story. The time period caught my eye as well: the very early 18th century, which I feel is often neglected in romance novels, particularly in favor of Victorian or Regency era settings. Hoyt does a fantastic job of transporting us to time and place, although there were occasions where I wished she would have elaborated a bit more on the surroundings of the foundling home and perhaps gone a bit deeper with regards to the lives of those in St. Giles. 

The plot is pretty thin, but I think that's often the case in romance novels, as the focus is more on the characters and their emotional development, so I didn't mind it too much. I did question Lazarus's motivations, and while there is an explanation on them, I found it a little weak. It often seemed that it was nothing more than an excuse to have Lazarus and Temperance forced into working with one another, which I guess isn't necessarily a bad thing, but I never felt fully convinced by Lazarus's part of the story.

The romance itself is excellent, and I loved both Temperance and Lazarus, individually and together. I often find the heroes to be overly cruel or rude to their heroines, but Lazarus struck a perfect balance, managing to anger Temperance and calm her in equal measure. I liked their interplay, and thought the dialogue between them was fantastic. They have a way of balancing each other out, playing off of one another's strengths and weaknesses. The intimacy scenes are also brilliantly written, with what I like most in them: emotional depth. Hoyt is the kind of writer that makes sex scenes feel integral to the story and its characters, and there's a beauty to the way she fits them into the narrative.

Speaking plainly, I think this is an excellent book and, more specifically, an excellent example of its genre -- serious, but without ever losing its playfulness, and with a heroine and hero who both feel fully realized in their characterization, emotions, and pasts. 

The only element that didn't have a satisfactory conclusion has to do with Lazarus's aversion to touch. I can't speak on it too freely without spoiling much of the book, but I found it rushed and a bit too perfectly wrapped up. I wish Hoyt had dealt more seriously with some of Lazarus's issues, and that he and Temperance had discussed them more extensively.

Aside from that, I highly recommend this book! It's a great romance, and I'll definitely be reading some more of Hoyt's works!