September 3rd, 2004


come on, lets be frank (or polly?) defl-...friend me

wowzers, i have a unique new pain. stinging, aching, pulling, decidedly yucky pain in the whatsthewordforthethingdammit middle of my left thumb. no idea why, when, where or how, and as yellowsummer is frolicking around with her bf, i guess no-one will suggest rheumatism or arthritis, huh?


i so wanted to read a love story. might this have something to do with dreaming about jason isaacs, to be specific about jason and me (and some others, to make it more titillating) on the sea and water and boats and fucking big ships), kaysha? i don't think i had read what i consider a romance for a decade, and naturally there was little choice, being cloistered indoors as i am.

indoors. funny word. doors. bill door in pratchett. henry doors in rankin. doooooors. innocence is another funny looking word, btw.

so i started another inroad on whats-her-name. quinn. *pause* wah, i am so spooked! only now i realize that the elusive author that may or may not exist in rankin's last book was also called quinn. *very very spooked*

anyway, another _ass_ is also reading these romances, but started way after i had already grown sick of them (i.e. after the first 20 pages). sadly, i had bought three, having been tricked by amazon appealing to my hope of some day finding something coming close to heyer.

not just copying her - badly - as quinn does. as courtney does. as simply everybody writing regency does. baaaaaaaaaadly. and on the cover is a small silhouette of a fencing man that is from the cover (and a german illustrator i love dearly) of a heyer publication, wtf?! quinn (is that really her name? maybe i am going crazy?) also uses not a single ounce of brains or research. instead she uses the language of slash, from "no no no no" to "sooo good". did i mention i was sick of slash?

i could take the not-so-funny humour. the pacing is off, i.e. what she tells clashes with what she shows (just as how people behave clash with the claim of her using 19th century morals) but i do not mind the general story telling. i do mind the sex.

just as in slash, i get thrown when it starts and i wish she would get over it. especially considering this is a series of eight siblings marrying-in-one-book-after-the-other, to have each and every female be a hot but very innocent virgin, deflowered in what the less-well-read consider regency styletm *gag* by her reigning-himself-in-with-all-his-might husband. then i have to suffer through another fifth of the book until they finally love each other (because we are in the 21 century, and you fuck first, love afterwards) and - moste importante - have lots of babies *screamager* i cannot believe she does exactly the same to each of the siblings - if it were not a series, ok, but agagagagaga. i read a number of treatises on the subject and researched it with the view on doing a thesis, but i am simply unable to empathise with women seeking "simple escapist fun" in what i find depressing, downwards-pulling torture.

they leave such an empty feeling behind. hollow. unsatisfied.

*off to start the next and my last book*

i already sneak-peaked, and it is the same, barfing-horrible sex.

might have to order the other novels right now. i am insane after all.

save me.
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