Review: Band Sinister

Band Sinister by K.J. Charles
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Band Sinister was without a doubt one of the best books I read in 2019. I love it for many reasons: sweetness of the central romance, the rich, multidimensional, diverse found family that surround them, the spot on homage to Heyer, Venetia in particular. But one of the strongest elements has to be K.J. Charles's facility with and economy of language and how she uses language to build character.

For example, when a close friend wonders about the main character's judgment in getting involved with a seemingly conventional younger man, the friend says:

"You were going to tell us about how and why you’ve talked a strait-laced bundle of rustic nerves into bed.”

Six words: "straight-laced bundle of rustic nerves." A small thing. But it's just the right turn of phrase. Captures Guy. Captures how the others, Philip’s friends see Guy. Captures their dilemma, the gap between them. Perfection.
That's just one tiny example; the whole thing is a joy. But a smart one full of insight as well as kindness. And quite a bit of heat. Charles is also really good at that.

View all my reviews

Review: Don't You Forget About Me

Don't You Forget About Me by Mhairi McFarlane
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I like everything I’ve read in the past by Mhairi McFarlane, and I like Don't You Forget About Me as well. Her writing is always strong, the blend of character, poignancy and humor skillful. But I found it a wee bit unsatisfying in two distinct ways. One, it was too familiar, an entertaining but unremarkable second chance at love, with a protagonist who resembles many romantic heroines before her: adorable yet insecure, lovable yet love-starved.

The main thing that got in the way of me really getting immersed in the narrative though, was not the sameness, but rather the unusual and, for me, unbelievable premise about a first love that is both indelible and life changing for our heroine and yet somehow literally forgotten (she believes) by her former boyfriend. I like her and he's great. But given what happens in the flashbacks, nothing about how their reacquaintance plays out makes sense to me. Could you forget your first love? Would you think your first love had forgotten you and say nothing? Even one long left behind if you're thirty, and not seventy years old? ? The suspension of disbelief required kept taking me out of the narrative, which, in the end, was still a lovely, sweet story about a woman coming to terms with her past and a second chance at love, but felt a bit like a draft with some of the rough spots still yet to be smoothed.

View all my reviews

Review: Headliners

Headliners by Lucy Parker
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Having read the earlier books in the London Celebrities series, I was already convinced Lucy Parker was one of the best authors of contemporary romantic comedy writing today. Headliners more than affirms that. Take the opening paragraph:

A dark day in October.
There were scenes in life so gut-punchingly beautiful, they were impossible to do justice with words. Like the final rays of the falling sun, glittering across the Thames as the river turned dark and impenetrable, a silken blanket of shadows. The infinite wonder of the night sky, a stretch of potentially endless stars, the scope beyond human comprehension. Or the video footage of the biggest wanker on British television single-handedly cannonballing his career in less than three minutes.

Genius. This is classic Parker. She’s got the skills to both pull off and mock elegant, descriptive observation and an impeccable, irreverent sense of comic timing.

In Headliners the story centers on Nick Davenport (the wanker in question) and Sabrina Carlton, longtime journalistic rivals, who are forced into sustained close proximity as cohosts on a morning chat show neither one of them really wants. Sabrina and Nick are popular news anchors who used to have their own shows on rival networks but have cocked up their careers a bit with scandal. Cohosting the morning show is the network’s way of combining penance and a second chance following a merger.

Sabrina and Nick are adults, ambitious, driven and a little bit knocked around from past experience. Their primary obstacle is trust. Or distrust, rather. They have history. They’ve been professional competitors and Nick reported a story that did major damage to people Sabrina loves. There’s no big misunderstanding between them or major tricks and gimmicks. But there is a lot of banter, intelligent conversation and heat. While it isn't my favorite book in the series, Headliners is still a strong romantic comedy and better than the vast majority of its peers. The writing and character development are as sharp as they were in the previous three, and the relationship progresses at a believable pace. Parker is adept at balancing emotional depth and laughs, and I enjoy everything she writes, Headliners included.

Tropes: Enemies to lovers (big time!); Forced proximity (in multiple ways).

I received an advance review copy of this book courtesy of Carina Press via NetGalley. My opinions are candid and solely my own.

View all my reviews

Review: The Worst Best Man

The Worst Best Man by Mia Sosa
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I requested, read and reviewed an advance copy of this book within a few days. First I was eager, one might even say thirsty for it. Then I was hooked. Mia Sosa's The Worst Best Man is a fun multicultural romantic comedy with an opening that grabs you, an authentic voice, and a compelling enemies to lovers plot that hinges on the main characters’ forced close proximity.

Three years ago, Carolina Santos (Lina) was all but left at the altar by a runaway groom so cowardly that he left word with his little brother instead of breaking things off himself. Now though, life is looking up for our heroine. She's got a growing business, and the opportunity of a lifetime appears to be within reach. Lina’s work as a wedding planner has attracted the notice of the new CEO of one of D.C.’s best hotels who invites her to pitch/compete for a dream job as their new director of weddings. It’s an enticing prospect— lucrative compensation, creative flexibility and access to resources— but there is one catch. Going for it will force her into a close working relationship with her ex-fiancé’s brother Max, whose consulting firm is the company’s primary marketing partner. Lina is a professional, and she’s over her ex, but she’s not quite comfortable working with the brother she thinks played an influential role in their breakup.

As one might expect, tension and shenanigans follow. It’s immediately clear that Max and Lina have great chemistry both in and outside of the office, but their relationship is further complicated by cultural difference. Max is the kind of guy who has always known privilege—straight, white, good-looking and from a well-off family. Apart from living in the shadow of his older sibling, the world, for the most part, is Max's oyster. Lina’s situation is not that. She’s well-educated and has a wonderful family, but as a child of immigrants and an Afro-Latinx woman, she’s used to having her behavior and emotional expression policed. As a result, Lina has trained herself to keep her feelings on a tight leash:

My tone of voice is exactly as it should be: calm and even. In truth, I regularly monitor my daily emotional output the way some people track their daily caloric intake, and since my mother and I just shared a few teary-eyed minutes together, I’m either fresh out of feelings or close to exceeding today’s quota.

Part of this self-scrutiny is in Lina’s individual DNA, but we can also tell from what’s floating around in her head that this is learned behavior-- that it's about how she'll be judged in light of her race, class and gender. Max doesn’t understand, but readers like myself can probably relate.

Since Max doesn't quite grasp how these things have shaped Lina's experience, choices and her reticence to jump into a relationship with him, that adds to their challenge. It’s bad for them (at first), but it does make for an entertaining love story. Max, unlike his brother, has both the good taste to appreciate Lina and the strength of character to navigate a difficult situation. Both main characters are multi-dimensional, the forced proximity context makes sense, and the result is compelling and original.

Mia Sosa is a skilled social observer and she pays close attention to Lina’s family and cultural background, which enriches the story a great deal. She also has a great sense of humor as an author, and she does a good job of balancing the angst with the laughs. The bits where we observe Lina in her element are hilarious. For example:

Many a wedding has been destroyed by the effects of an open bar. My skin still crawls when I remember the groom who removed his new partner’s underwear instead of her garter. Gah.

Stories that hinge on forced proximity don’t always work for me. They can feel overly contrived and the closeness unnecessary. But this scenario and Lina and Max's collaboration made sense to me. I’d go through a lot for a life-changing opportunity in my field.

The one thing I struggled with was how Lina’s conflicting feelings negatively affected her professional conduct at times whereas Max seemed to find a constructive balance. Lina is at cross purposes for much of the book. She wants to shut Max out of the pitch development process, but clearly that won’t help her get the job. She wants to make him suffer for possibly thinking she wasn't good enough for his brother. Overall, she’s just in a more precarious situation, and yet I wanted her to be more of a hero of the story. I wanted her eyes on the prize. I wanted her to shine. And I wanted her to be emotionally open to this risky relationship. There's a double bind for you! That might be unfair. I’m still struggling with that and the question of whether I’m expecting too much of her because she's a female protagonist (as readers often do) given the structural constraints I've already acknowledged. Either way, the fact that this book caused me to ask those questions and think about them at length is a triumph, and reading The Worst Best Man was a pleasure.


Tropes and themes: Interracial romance; Forced proximity; Enemies to lovers.

I was lucky and very grateful to receive an advance review copy of this book through Edelweiss+. My opinions are my own.

View all my reviews

Review: An Unseen Attraction

An Unseen Attraction by K.J. Charles
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

An Unseen Attraction is the first installment in the fantastic, engrossing Sins of the Cities series by K.J. Charles. Though these three closely interconnected books center on a deadly interfamilial feud over succession to an earldom and one of England’s greatest fortunes, this novel centers two working-class heroes who are wonderfully sweet and loveably flawed.

In addition to an engrossing central mystery, which unfolds over the course of the series, each book focuses on a different relationship. The intrigue is compelling even though the build-up and middle installments of the trilogy are stronger than the finale, which seems a little forced/rushed. In An Unseen Attraction, however, the action and romance are perfectly paced. Charles deftly introduces the family and other key players, but she primarily focuses on Clem, a bastard, biracial second son of an Earl and an upper servant of Indian heritage. After growing up mostly on the margins of this illustrious family, when the story opens, Clem is running a boarding house in London owned by his half brother, the Earl of Moreton. The arrangement suits the handsome, Anglo-Indian Clement just fine. Clem is sweet and good and intelligent, but has what we would now recognize as information processing issues, and that undermines his confidence. Those challenges give many people, his family especially, an excuse to underestimate and abuse him even more than they already would because of his ethnicity and illegitimacy. Running the boardinghouse allows Clem to use his strengths, his fastidiousness, patience, sensitivity and emotional intelligence, and maintain some semblance of independence. It also puts Clem in a position to meet and cultivate a slow burning but steamy relationship with a boarder, Rowley Green, a man who understands and fully appreciates him.

The one catch is that the house comes with a permanent and difficult tenant, who is somehow connected to and protected by his older brother. Clem has orders to see that the reverend always has a place there rent free and feels satisfied about it. Not long into the book, however, bad things start to happen around the dissolute reverend. His room is ransacked and though no valuables seem to be missing, he’s in a real upset over it. Not long after that things get far worse. These events threaten the stability that Clem has worked so hard to establish in his precarious position. His tenant is hiding something, and Clem’s brother also seems to be hiding something as well. It may be obvious to Clem’s new friend Rowley (and possibly to readers as well) that there is more to the relationship between the Earl and the clergyman than the brother is disclosing, but the secret is not easily guessed.

Beyond the bare bones of the narrative, what really matters here is the specificity and care Charles takes with setting--the finely drawn detail around Victorian culture and the natural and built environment of London-- and, above all, character. Clem and Rowley are indelible and vivid protagonists. They aren't aristocrats or hyper-masculine heroes, and that is a relief. They are ordinary, kind, fallible men made extraordinary in their connection, care and commitment to each other in the face of societal sanction. For Rowley it's simple: '“I’d like to make you happy,” Rowley said softly. “However that might be done.”' That is no small thing to Clem, a man used to either being overlooked or appreciated for his looks and little else: “Rowley, there are lots of people who think I’m worth looking at. Not so many who think I’m worth listening to. Not like you.”
Their love isn't showy. It can't be given their context. But in K. J. Charles's hands, it's undeniable and, in its own quiet way, profound:
I love you. Such small words to make such a huge change. Not the kind of change other people had, with a wedding in fine clothes and people cheering, but a change that would do very nicely for the two of them. Mr. Talleyfer and his lodger, privately and unobtrusively domestic, left to themselves. It was very close to Rowley’s idea of paradise.

Well, it's almost paradise. For the remainder of the series, we learn more and more about what the connection is between Clem's brother and the troublesome former reverend, and why it’s worth blackmailing and murdering people over. The underlying conflict spawns a sprawling but cohesive and mostly comprehensible mystery involving murder, legitimacy, inheritance and class and racial conflict. It’s really very good. An Unseen Attraction is an excellent introduction to a trio of books that I believe constitute a minor masterpiece (I'm not sure I've used that word before)— thoughtful and convincing both on the romantic and suspense elements.

View all my reviews

Review: Get a Life, Chloe Brown

Get a Life, Chloe Brown by Talia Hibbert
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

It was clear the minute I started to read. Get a Life Chloe Brown is a different romance novel. And I was thirsty for it—I’ve read a lot of disappointing books of late.

The premise is original; the main character, a wealthy and sheltered young Black British woman who is intelligent, genuinely witty and is living with chronic health problems, has a not so near death experience and decides to radically change her life for the better. Chloe Brown doesn't look or sound like any I've seen before. Her challenges go way beyond the typical negative self talk and stubborn miscommunication I’m used to; and the writing stands out too. It’s vivid, full of rich, specific detail, crisp, and quotable. I found myself frequently nodding and highlighting passages in appreciation. Like this one:
“Slowly, slowly, she sank to the ground. Put her clammy palms against the cool tiles. Breathed in. Breathed out. Breathed in.

Breathed out, her whisper like cracking glass, “If I had died today, what would my eulogy say?” This mind-blowing bore had zero friends, hadn’t traveled in a decade despite plenty of opportunity, liked to code on the weekends, and never did anything that wasn’t scheduled in her planner. Don’t cry for her; she’s in a better place now. Even Heaven can’t be that dull.”

It got better from there. The thing I admire the most is that this book doesn’t just tell the reader how special Chloe is; it shows you. As in the passage above, Chloe’s interior monologue is funny, her voice unique. Another example, from a pivotal point early on:
“Her moment of communion with the universe rudely interrupted, Chloe hauled herself into a sitting position. Strangely, she was now feeling much better. Perhaps because she had recognized and accepted the universe’s message. It was time, clearly, to get a life.”

That sold me. Definitely recommend.

View all my reviews

Review: They're Strictly Friends

They're Strictly Friends by Chloe Liese
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is possibly the best book yet from author contemporary romance author Chloe Liese. They're Strictly Friends revolves around Lucas and Elodie, true friends, who share a powerful attraction that extends beyond the physical, but are also experiencing setbacks that make them reluctant to get romantically involved. They have a lot in common: a history of playing professional soccer, wealthy upbringings, and a head for math and business, plus their two best friends are married to each other, and they both adore their godson Jamie. Though imperfect, these are two very good, substantive and lovely people, and that's incredibly refreshing.

While Lucas comes from a loving supportive family, however, Elodie is all but estranged from her controlling and emotionally abusive family from the start. When that family finally cuts her off financially and Elodie suddenly finds herself without a job or a place to live, Lucas takes her in without hesitation. That puts them in close proximity, and, inevitably, that shaky reticence quickly crumbles. It's a great set-up, and it is easy to see how the relationship grows and deepens organically from there.

Elodie and Lucas still face important obstacles, however. Even after Lucas and Elodie give in to temptation, the health issue Lucas is facing complicates their relationship in a very credible way. I was easily drawn in and quickly invested in their love story. It's funny, touching and original and compels you to keep going. I recommend.

I am thankful to have received an advanced review copy through Netgalley.

View all my reviews

Review: An Unseen Attraction

An Unseen Attraction by K.J. Charles
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

An Unseen Attraction is the first installment in the Sins of the Cities series by K.J. Charles, three closely interconnected books centered on a messy, deadly interfamilial feud over succession to an earldom and one of England’s greatest fortunes. In addition to an engrossing central mystery, which unfolds slowly over the course of the three books, there are three central love stories -- one in each book. The intrigue is compelling even though the build up and middle are stronger than the ending which still seems just a bit rushed.

In An Unseen Attraction, however, the action and romance are perfectly paced. Charles deftly introduces the family and other key players, but she primarily focuses on Clem, a bastard, biracial second son of an Earl and an upper servant of Indian heritage. After growing up mostly on the margins of this illustrious family, when the story opens, Clem is running a boarding house in London owned by his half brother, the Earl of Moreton. The arrangement suits the handsome, Anglo-Indian Clement just fine. Clem is sweet and good and intelligent, but has what we would now recognize as information processing issues, and that undermines his confidence. Those challenges give many people, his family especially, an excuse to underestimate and abuse him even more than they already would because of his ethnicity and illegitimacy. Running the boardinghouse allows Clem to use his strengths, his fastidiousness, patience, sensitivity and emotional intelligence, and maintain some semblance of independence. It also puts Clem in a position to meet and cultivate a slow burning but steamy relationship with a boarder, Rowley Green, a man who understands and fully appreciates him.

The one catch is that the house comes with a permanent and difficult tenant, who is somehow connected to and protected by his older brother. Clem has orders to see that the reverend always has a place there rent free and feels satisfied about it. Not long into the book, however, bad things start to happen around the dissolute reverend. His room is ransacked and though no valuables seem to be missing, he’s in a real upset over it. Not long after that things get far worse. These events threaten the stability that Clem has worked so hard to establish in his precarious position. His tenant is hiding something, and Clem’s brother also seems to be hiding something as well. It may be obvious to Clem’s new friend Rowley (and possibly to readers as well) that there is more to the relationship between the Earl and the clergyman than the brother is disclosing, but the secret is not easily guessed.

Beyond the bare bones of the narrative, what really matters here is the specificity and care Charles takes with setting--the finely drawn detail around Victorian culture and the natural and built environment of London-- and, above all, character. Clem and Rowley are indelible and vivid protagonists. They aren't aristocrats or hyper-masculine heroes, and that is a relief. They are ordinary, kind, fallible men made extraordinary in their connection, care and commitment to each other in the face of societal sanction. For Rowley it's simple: '“I’d like to make you happy,” Rowley said softly. “However that might be done.”' That is no small thing to Clem, a man used to either being overlooked or appreciated for his looks and little else: “Rowley, there are lots of people who think I’m worth looking at. Not so many who think I’m worth listening to. Not like you.”
Their love isn't showy. It can't be given their context. But in K. J. Charles's hands, it's undeniable and, in its own quiet way, profound:
I love you. Such small words to make such a huge change. Not the kind of change other people had, with a wedding in fine clothes and people cheering, but a change that would do very nicely for the two of them. Mr. Talleyfer and his lodger, privately and unobtrusively domestic, left to themselves. It was very close to Rowley’s idea of paradise.

Well, it's almost paradise. For the remainder of the series, we learn more and more about what the connection is between Clem's brother and the troublesome former reverend, and why it’s worth blackmailing and murdering people over. The underlying conflict spawns a sprawling but cohesive and mostly comprehensible mystery involving murder, legitimacy, inheritance and class and racial conflict. It’s really very good. An Unseen Attraction is an excellent introduction to a trio of books that I believe constitute a minor masterpiece (I'm not sure I've used that word before)— thoughtful and convincing both on the romantic and suspense elements.

View all my reviews

Review: The Bromance Book Club

The Bromance Book Club by Lyssa Kay Adams
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I loved the idea of this book. I liked its execution. The Bromance Book Club is a second chance love story with a twist. Gavin and Thea, the couple at the center of this story, love each other, but they met and married young, had twin girls and never took the time necessary to get to know each other, work through their own baggage and make their marriage work. The twist is that Gavin’s friends and colleagues on his professional baseball team have offered to coach him on how to get his wife back. Their secret weapon/guidebook? The traditional bodice ripper romance novels one would assume these traditional, hypermasculine men wouldn’t be caught dead reading under normal circumstances.

The setup reminds me of the refrain me of a Sheryl crow song: “are you strong enough to be my man?” because the story really does revolve around a specific type of strength, the internal fortitude it takes to push aside pride in the name of love and become a good partner. As the book shows, that kind of strength sometimes goes against the typical conventions of masculinity.

The logic of the book club is straightforward: if romance novels reflect women’s fantasies, then couldn’t a man use them to learn what women really want and adjust his wayward behavior accordingly? It’s a kind of social learning experiment—the men learn by observing and then emulating or avoiding the behaviors that work for or against the men in these stories.

The action mainly involves Gavin gaining insights from these novels and his friends coaching to work through a lot of mistrust, misunderstanding and misplaced pride that led to the separation in the first place. It’s a light and gimmicky but original premise and it’s fairly well executed. The everyday complications and hurdles the couple faces are recognizable and down to earth. Overall, the Bromance Book Club is a fun, engaging escape with a few original touches and sweet, engaging characters. It doesn’t stay with you long after you close the book, but it’s a nice ride while it lasts.

View all my reviews

Review: Muffin Top

Muffin Top by Avery Flynn
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Fat Heroines don't necessarily herald fat acceptance. This lesson was reinforced for me in spades with a spate of reading I did recently including Muffin Top by Avery Flynn. This is a story of Lucy, a fiercely smart but secretly insecure fat young woman (that's the language she uses) and Frankie, a hunky fireman, who’s tiring of being thought of as nothing more than a man whore. At the start, the two know each other through family connections, but they aren't really friends. When Frankie comes to Lucy's rescue in an ugly encounter at a bar, he offers to help her once more by accompanying her as her fake date/boyfriend for an upcoming high school reunion. Although Lucy's a high-profile crisis communication consultant and has a vibrant social life and she sort of wants to go, she's loathe to put herself back into a setting which was far from happy one as a single woman.

I had a hard time with this book even though I’m intentionally seeking stories with heroines who are characterized as plus-size or fat. The story is well told and engaging. But as in Take Me by Bella Andre and Never Sweeter by Charlotte Stein, the central conflict revolves around the fat heroine’s fragile sense of self and her inability to believe that a beautiful man could ever be attracted to let alone love her. Muffin Top is less brutal than Never Sweeter in which the hero used to be the heroine’s high school tormenter. But here, as in Misadventures of A Curvy Girl and Take Me, the outside world is loathe to accept the idea of a romantic relationship between a “curvy girl” and a handsome guy. Of course the guys are always not only handsome and attractive in an average way; they’re exceptional physical specimens, the kind of men who attract attention and resentment. Their attractiveness provides motivation for onlookers to object to the relationship and for other women to be rude to the heroine out of jealousy. A man's good looks, in other words, are the flame that lures angry moths to a fat woman who's just trying to get by in the world without too much attention. In Muffin Top for example, Lucy’s high school rival loudly and publicly proclaims there must be something wrong with Frankie for being with Lucy. This is not mere acknowledgment of lingering social stigma. There are multiple scenes like this of Lucy suffering personal insult and public humiliation.

Public humiliation and punishment are also a recurring theme in other books with larger women as heroines as well. In Sierra Simone’s Misadventures of a Curvy Girl, the heroine’s ex-boyfriend and a host of other people say terrible things about the two men the heroine is involved with. Though their relationship is passionate and fulfilling, the comments are so hateful she runs away, believing the world will never let them be together.

What I keep wondering is why so many of these books are so repetitive and what the effects might be. People are supposed to be happy about the representation of plus size women as lovable but is this really that? Negative self talk is damaging, but isn’t a diet of these types of stories a form of vicarious negative self talk that others fat people and reinforces negative associations and expectations?

This story was a little better than some others in its openness about Lucy’s size and the impact it has. I found it notable that this heroine was larger than other main characters who are categorized as fat or curvy— her specific dress size, which is 20, is mentioned — and she is unable to fit comfortably in airline seats and therefore chooses to drive across country. The text explicitly discusses the ways that society makes life difficult for larger sized people. Flynn is also particularly good at creating a credible dialog between Lucy and Frankie with regard to sex and sexuality and their physical relationship. It goes beyond enthusiastic consent. It’s character building. It helps us understand who they are, how they relate to each other, and how their chemistry evolves. As a result, Muffin Top reads as genuinely sex positive in a healthy way.

What I’m wondering is what readers prefer. How do women of similar size feel about the recurring insecure fat heroine saved by a hunk trope. Because in many ways even though it’s not the intention, as successful as she is in other ways, the heroine’s self worth is saved by the love of a conventionally attractive man, the kind society values. The underlying sense is that his status affirms and bolsters hers. That, ironically, reinforces social hierarchy and affirms damaging conventional beauty standards. Do these curvy women ever have men that aren’t stereotypical alpha men? Why not? Would that love be worth less? If what counts is social status conferred then yes, but why is romance affirming that? How are these narratives still considered progress?

There are alternative narratives that don’t reinforce traditional hierarchies, Olivia Dade’s work for one. Teach Me is wonderfully sensitive and the heroine isn’t entranced by traditional standards of masculinity or high status—the hero is not that kind of guy and she loves him for it— and it’s a wonderful reprieve.

View all my reviews