I Read That

I am a book snob. I will not lie about it to you or to anyone. I like to read obscure books, Canadian authors, and the books that the dude in Stratford recommends to Erin; books that pack a gut wrenching punch that won’t let you put it down.

So imagine my surprise when I gave in to read a…romance novel…because most of my books are in storage right now, and I’ve read through my small pile I kept out several times. She said “Just read it, it’s 800 pages and it will keep you occupied.” I took it home, I put it down, I covered it up with papers, sweaters, this and that. I finished the book I was reading, looked down at my pile of books and sighed…I just wanted something different.

I dug out the book. I resigned and crawled into bed. I read the back cover again. Yikes, how far fetched is this?? A woman who travels in time to the 1700s and fall in love with a Scottish Highlander? Well…I had it in my hands and decided to give it a go.

Now, I know that maybe I am just defending myself when I say that this book really is quite well written and researched. I enjoyed it. I liked reading a romance novel. There. I said out loud. (Or, I wrote it out loud??)

BUT NOTE THIS:

1. While I found the hero of the book (a strapping lad, muscles rippling, kilt swishing, heart of gold) enticing, I also thought to myself….Are you kidding??? This guy is nuts!!! He was so desperately in love with the heroine, I’d call him possessive and overbearing. True, it would be delightful to have a handsome man love and care for me, duel for my honour, and rescue me from certain death, I think I’d get fed up with his antics of ‘you are my wife, you are mine, and no one else can look at you/touch you, etc, etc...’ Which, to be fair, I suppose in the 1700s the notion of women’s lib was far from being, well, a notion.

2. As most romance novels are, this book was full of drama and sex. Pardon me, looooooove making. One would assume that the moments of pleasure are those scenes that find their way behind eyelids and into the dreams of reader. Not me. Instead, this fine book gave me nightmares. That is right. I had nightmares of torture. The torture that was inflicted upon the strapping hero. Lashings and burning, searing hot things placed against my skin. And in the background was the heroine of the book, crying out for me.

So. I am reading the sequel right now. And of course the sequel is never as good as the first one. Needless to say, I think this is my lone one night stand with romance novels. Once this second book is wrapped up (uh, I have to finish reading it now, I mean I’ve invested this much time already. It would be a waste not to finish.), I’ve got my next book lined up. From the dude in Stratford. Good business, I tell ya.