<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337</id><updated>2011-09-21T11:14:31.066-06:00</updated><category term='tearjerker'/><category term='widowed h/h'/><category term='historical - european regency'/><category term='meredith duran'/><category term='death'/><category term='weis-hickman'/><category term='robin mckinley'/><category term='grade C+'/><category term='chicklit'/><category term='wallflower series'/><category term='penny mccall'/><category term='lauren weisberger'/><category term='banning sisters trilogy'/><category term='dixie cash'/><category term='grade A'/><category term='historical - european medieval'/><category term='futuristic'/><category term='yearly review'/><category term='mystery'/><category term='alice'/><category term='celeste bradley'/><category term='suzanne collins'/><category term='grade B'/><category term='Amanda Quick'/><category term='tortured heroes'/><category term='kudos'/><category term='lisa jackson'/><category term='womens fiction'/><category term='jerry spinelli'/><category term='stephenie meyer'/><category term='grade B+'/><category term='hunky hero'/><category term='gripes'/><category term='dragons'/><category term='sophocles'/><category term='the hunger games series'/><category term='sci-fi'/><category term='FBI'/><category term='kresley cole'/><category term='anne gracie'/><category term='retelling'/><category term='grade A-'/><category term='penelope williamson'/><category term='treasure hunt'/><category term='school for heiresses series'/><category term='covers'/><category term='joanna bourne'/><category term='lisa kleypas'/><category term='holidays'/><category term='historical - medieval'/><category term='holiday stories'/><category term='time travel'/><category term='never trilogy'/><category term='dark queen series'/><category term='lucy monroe'/><category term='alice is a jerk'/><category term='elizabeth vaughan'/><category term='paranormal'/><category term='julie garwood'/><category term='gaelen foley'/><category term='animals'/><category term='young adult fiction'/><category term='short novel'/><category term='emily giffin'/><category term='joanne harris'/><category term='sophie kinsella'/><category term='travis siblings'/><category term='steele street series'/><category term='grade D-'/><category term='blue eyed devil'/><category term='susan carroll'/><category term='spies and espionage'/><category term='fables'/><category term='grade B-'/><category term='cowboys'/><category term='non-review'/><category term='ascension trilogy'/><category term='linda howard'/><category term='connie brockway'/><category term='greek tragedy'/><category term='101 books'/><category term='elizabeth adler'/><category term='medical thriller'/><category term='plain heroines'/><category term='twilight series'/><category term='horse racing'/><category term='comments'/><category term='update'/><category term='historical - american 1700s'/><category term='tess gerritsen'/><category term='ebooks'/><category term='elizabeth boyle'/><category term='with children'/><category term='chronicles of the warlands'/><category term='janet evanovich'/><category term='tara janzen'/><category term='jane austen'/><category term='non-romance'/><category term='stupid heroines'/><category term='laura lee guhrke'/><category term='alpha hero'/><category term='lauren willig'/><category term='redheaded heroes'/><category term='historical - american 1800s'/><category term='karen hawkins'/><category term='jill barnett'/><category term='tilly bagshawe'/><category term='the hathaways series'/><category term='grade A++'/><category term='katherine sutcliffe'/><category term='DNF'/><category term='sheri cobb south'/><category term='ranchers'/><category term='food stories'/><category term='classic'/><category term='BBC'/><category term='a little note'/><category term='guild hunter series'/><category term='herding cats'/><category term='assassin heros'/><category term='reading challenge'/><category term='dragonlance chronicles'/><category term='catherine anderson'/><category term='shannon hale'/><category term='thanksgiving'/><category term='movie-book'/><category term='Rizzoli-Isles series'/><category term='scottish highlands'/><category term='ereaders'/><category term='nora roberts'/><category term='siri mitchell'/><category term='chesapeake bay series'/><category term='fantasy'/><category term='current events'/><category term='historical india'/><category term='sweet temptation series'/><category term='redheaded heroines'/><category term='return to hometown'/><category term='heiress brides'/><category term='karen robards'/><category term='racism'/><category term='sex and booze'/><category term='tom godwin'/><category term='sophia nash'/><category term='jude deveraux'/><category term='deanna raybourn'/><category term='heroine insecurities'/><category term='historical - victorian'/><category term='the legend of the four soldiers'/><category term='fantasy-romance'/><category term='sandra brown'/><category term='jaclyn reding'/><category term='hideous cover art'/><category term='buchanan series'/><category term='susan wiggs'/><category term='Immortals After Dark series'/><category term='texas'/><category term='short story'/><category term='harper lee'/><category term='chicago stars series'/><category term='kendrick/coulter series'/><category term='sasha lord'/><category term='first love'/><category term='ann patchett'/><category term='gothic romance'/><category term='historical - regency'/><category term='contemp'/><category term='elizabeth hoyt'/><category term='AAR'/><category term='1st person pov'/><category term='candace camp'/><category term='bastard heroes'/><category term='grade F'/><category term='grade A+'/><category term='plum series'/><category term='loretta chase'/><category term='grade C-'/><category term='stephanie laurens'/><category term='grade F+'/><category term='murder'/><category term='nalini singh'/><category term='psy-changeling series'/><category term='napoleon era'/><category term='daniel keyes'/><category term='susan mallery'/><category term='romantic suspense'/><category term='non-category romance'/><category term='postapocalyptic'/><category term='excerpt'/><category term='amnesia'/><category term='favorites'/><category term='julia quinn'/><category term='rape'/><category term='reunion'/><category term='julia grey mystery series'/><category term='susan elizabeth phillips'/><category term='teen love'/><category term='grade D'/><category term='spice trilogy'/><category term='Cynster series'/><category term='philosophical junk'/><category term='domestic abuse'/><category term='top romances'/><category term='lauren royal'/><category term='sabrina jeffries'/><category term='pink carnation series'/><category term='rachel gibson'/><category term='wild series'/><category term='grade C'/><category term='funnyfunny'/><category term='liz carlyle'/><category term='lisa kleypas week'/><category term='love story'/><category term='ungraded'/><category term='fiction'/><category term='rambling'/><category term='book list'/><title type='text'>A Book Lover</title><subtitle type='html'>Just a collection of my thoughts on the books that I've read...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>156</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-5442805689642168258</id><published>2010-07-15T12:02:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2010-07-15T12:02:00.568-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alice'/><title type='text'>alice! it's not rocket science!</title><content type='html'>How difficult is it for Alice to borrow the correct book from the library for book club?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently, it is incredibly difficult.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two weeks ago, I reserved and picked up the book &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Devil in My Bed &lt;/span&gt;by Celeste Bradley. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh man! I'm &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;so &lt;/span&gt;going to read the book for this month's book club! &lt;/span&gt;I thought to myself. I had been horrible and had skimped on reading the book for the past two months, so now! now was the chance to redeem myself! More of, know what's going on when everyone else starts to talk about the book... it's a don't-be-completely-clueless survival technique.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I checked the evite a couple of days ago to get the address of the location of book club which is to be held this Saturday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hi Everyone!  Our book for July is&lt;strong&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"&gt;Rogue in My Arms&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; by  Celeste Bradley.  I hope to see you all there :)"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um.. what?!&lt;br /&gt;Gaaaah!&lt;br /&gt;*headdesk*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily, I had placed the correct book on hold too (I must have been confused. Or drunk. Why I would browse the library catalog while drunk is a story for another day.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fear not, readers! I will succeed in having this book read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shall prevail! &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-5442805689642168258?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/5442805689642168258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=5442805689642168258' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5442805689642168258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5442805689642168258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/07/alice-its-not-rocket-science.html' title='alice! it&apos;s not rocket science!'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-2024711099867825098</id><published>2010-07-15T10:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-07-15T10:02:00.167-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade D'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nalini singh'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='paranormal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='guild hunter series'/><title type='text'>Nalini Singh: Angels' Blood</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TD8p-pP0qeI/AAAAAAAAASA/CiJJzbHV83Q/s1600/singh+-+angels+blood.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TD8p-pP0qeI/AAAAAAAAASA/CiJJzbHV83Q/s200/singh+-+angels+blood.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494156226616142306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Angels' Blood:&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; D&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Elena Deveraux &amp;amp; Raphael&lt;br /&gt;Paranormal: angels, vampires&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;" class="style51"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vampire hunter Elena Deveraux knows she's the  best—but she doesn't know if she's good enough for this job. Hired by  the dangerously beautiful Archangel Raphael, a being so lethal that no  mortal wants his attention, only one thing is clear—failure is not an  option...even if the task is impossible.&lt;br /&gt;       &lt;br /&gt; Because this time, it's not a wayward vamp she has to track. It's an  archangel gone bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; The job will put Elena in the midst of a killing spree like no  other…and pull her to the razor's edge of passion. Even if the hunt  doesn't destroy her, succumbing to Raphael's seductive touch just may.  For when archangels play, mortals break… &lt;/span&gt;(&lt;a href="http://www.nalinisingh.com/angelsblood.html"&gt;author's website&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I think of Ms. Nalini Singh, I think of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Slave to Sensation,&lt;/span&gt; the first of the Psy-Changeling series and the book that shot her into authordom. I &lt;a href="http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/02/nalini-singh-slave-to-sensation.html"&gt;loved&lt;/a&gt; that book. Loved it. I thought it was innovative and that it featured such a wonderful love story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately... &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Angels' Blood&lt;/span&gt; was nothing like that. I mean, I want to like this book because I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;like &lt;/span&gt;Ms. Singh, but truth be told, I couldn't take the story seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think the first disconnect I felt with the story was because our hero, Raphael, is an arch&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;angel&lt;/span&gt;. Yes, the strongest and mightiest being, who has control over vampires, but still, he is an angel. He is goodly and drop-dead-gorgeous with blazing blue eyes and perfect, perfect features, but .... I didn't know angels had sex. I just couldn't get over this fact. When there was heavy "sexual tension" in the air, all I could think was, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;but... but! He has huge wings sprouting out of his back! &lt;/span&gt;I don't care if they're beautiful and covered with angel pixie dust... he has wings!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then again, what makes it normal to read about vampires (dead, immortal beings with animal-like fangs protruding from one's mouth) and not about angels? That, I can't really tell you. Regardless, I was still weirded out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hunt for the rogue archangel was good enough. The new fantasy world that Ms. Singh created was readable enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was the characterization that I found to be lacking, especially between Elena and Raphael. Minus the sexual attraction and lust they had between them, I couldn't really say much about either without sounding like a cliched mess: Elena is fierce. Raphael is deadly and cold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps there are only so many ways for character traits to be written, but really, the art of writing is in &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;how &lt;/span&gt;these traits are shown, and Ms. Singh has failed to justly portray each character.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line: Skip.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-2024711099867825098?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/2024711099867825098/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=2024711099867825098' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/2024711099867825098'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/2024711099867825098'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/07/nalini-singh-angels-blood.html' title='Nalini Singh: Angels&apos; Blood'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TD8p-pP0qeI/AAAAAAAAASA/CiJJzbHV83Q/s72-c/singh+-+angels+blood.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-1230944363199224115</id><published>2010-07-13T10:02:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2010-07-13T10:02:00.158-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='widowed h/h'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade B+'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sophia nash'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bastard heroes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - regency'/><title type='text'>Sophia Nash: Secrets of a Scandalous Bride</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TDvxH5M1TxI/AAAAAAAAAR4/K19S-rbaaq8/s1600/nash+-+secrets+of+a+scandalous.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 125px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TDvxH5M1TxI/AAAAAAAAAR4/K19S-rbaaq8/s200/nash+-+secrets+of+a+scandalous.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493249288424476434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Secrets of a Scandalous Bride:&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; B+&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Elizabeth Ashburton &amp;amp; Rowland Manning&lt;br /&gt;Historical - British Regency&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Elizabeth Ashburton&lt;/strong&gt; lives behind a charming, happy  façade           in an effort to forget her former life. But when she is forced  to confront           the devil from her past, her friends in the dowager duchess’s  widows           club can not save her, and Elizabeth turns to the last man on  earth willing         to help her…&lt;/p&gt;         &lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The extraordinarily powerful &lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Rowland Manning&lt;/strong&gt;  has never           pretended to be anything but a bastard, in every way  imaginable. Through           innate grit and determination, he built an astonishing empire  and he’ll           do anything and everything to save it. Yet, the one thing he  secretly craves           . . . something even he cannot name, can never be purchased  with his kingdom           of riches. &lt;/p&gt;         &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Each has something to win. Each has something to lose. Only  love will           determine if the price of redemption and sacrifice is too  high. (&lt;a href="http://www.sophianash.com/books/scandalous.htm"&gt;author's website&lt;/a&gt;) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Elizabeth Asbhurton has a secret. She is also running from someone who really wants to marry her, but he happens to be someone she cannot trust, so she runs into the arms of Mr. Rowland Manning (tall, dark, and handsome - why would you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not &lt;/span&gt;run into his arms?).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really remember the back-story with Rowland, but apparently he has done some low, scum-like things in previous books: something along the lines of kidnapping someone and trying to hold her ransom...from his legitimate, half-brother. But then, you find out Rowland's past and you realize why he is the way that he is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing that was really interesting was Rowland's dislike of food and of hunger, in general. When Elizabeth runs into his arms, he covers for her and demands that she repay her debt by temporarily working as a housekeeper and cook in his home. Rowland works hard and spares little time and resources for unimportant things like food. She sees this and cooks him (and his men) sumptuous meals, forcing him to eat it as he tries to deny it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's pretty much representative of the love he feels for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But in the end, all of the nastiness gets solved and Elizabeth gets him, despite having sacrificed herself (in having plans to marry untrustworthy man to save Rowland).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aw! Happily ever afters are awesome!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line: Good read. Alice recommends!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-1230944363199224115?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/1230944363199224115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=1230944363199224115' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/1230944363199224115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/1230944363199224115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/07/sophia-nash-secrets-of-scandalous-bride.html' title='Sophia Nash: Secrets of a Scandalous Bride'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TDvxH5M1TxI/AAAAAAAAAR4/K19S-rbaaq8/s72-c/nash+-+secrets+of+a+scandalous.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-8777319109733862466</id><published>2010-07-03T15:48:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2010-07-03T15:48:52.058-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-review'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='holidays'/><title type='text'>Happy 4th of July</title><content type='html'>I finished reading &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Secret Life of Bees&lt;/span&gt; yesterday while I waited for my sister to come back. It was a little difficult for me to get in to, but then... I got sucked in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The book was more than a story about race issues in the south during the 1960s, but reading about those times once again reminded me of the struggle that people had to go through for equal rights. There are still people who are working for their freedom: freedom for their rights and independence from their struggles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope that this Independence weekend will give you some of that freedom.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-8777319109733862466?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/8777319109733862466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=8777319109733862466' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8777319109733862466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8777319109733862466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/07/happy-4th-of-july.html' title='Happy 4th of July'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-4553555946099071985</id><published>2010-06-25T10:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-06-25T10:02:00.412-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='weis-hickman'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dragonlance chronicles'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fantasy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dragons'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A'/><title type='text'>Margaret Weis &amp; Tracy Hickman: Dragons of Autumn Twilight</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TCLqtQaThHI/AAAAAAAAARw/EuSks9uJIbM/s1600/weis,+hickman+-+dragons+of+autumn.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 122px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TCLqtQaThHI/AAAAAAAAARw/EuSks9uJIbM/s200/weis,+hickman+-+dragons+of+autumn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486205359310996594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Dragons of Autumn Twilight:&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; A&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fantasy; fiction&lt;br /&gt;Dragonlance Chronicles #1&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Lifelong friends, they went their separate ways. Now they are together again, though each holds secrets from the others in his heart. They speak of a world shadowed with rumors of war. They speak of tales of strange monsters, creatures of myth, creatures of legend. They do not speak of their secrets. Not then. Not until a sorrowful woman, who bears a magic crystal staff, draws the companions deeper into the shadows, forever changing their lives and shaping the fate of the world. &lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;No one expected them to be heroes. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Least of all, themselves. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(back cover)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's sad that fantasy and sci-fi books have such a bad rep because I think if written well, such stories are super fun to read. Besides, I don't discriminate: if the book tells a good story, I read!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The citizens of Krynn believe that their True Gods have abandoned them and in the True Gods' place, rises the Seekers and a group of friends are out to set right all the wrongs. This includes creepy Raistlin with hour-glass shaped eyes, the noble half-elf Tanis, the silly Tas, and the grumpy but fierce dwarf, Flint.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In pursuing this journey, they struggle with questions of honor, of love, of doing the right versus the wrong.. they go up and down mountains, meet elves, fight the evil draconian and reptilian Seekers, and essentially takes you through four hundred and something pages of adventure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently, the Dragonlance Chronicles inspired 90+ books to create this magical world of dragons. I don't think I'll read all ninety books just yet, but I do plan on reading the other three in this series.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hooray for fantastical reads!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-4553555946099071985?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/4553555946099071985/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=4553555946099071985' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4553555946099071985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4553555946099071985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/06/margaret-weis-tracy-hickman-dragons-of.html' title='Margaret Weis &amp; Tracy Hickman: Dragons of Autumn Twilight'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TCLqtQaThHI/AAAAAAAAARw/EuSks9uJIbM/s72-c/weis,+hickman+-+dragons+of+autumn.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-8316647638186437231</id><published>2010-06-24T10:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-06-24T10:02:00.209-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='assassin heros'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='redheaded heroines'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='karen robards'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade C'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='banning sisters trilogy'/><title type='text'>Karen Robards: Shameless</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TCGZThk0KbI/AAAAAAAAARo/aW8G2T_CzcM/s1600/robards+-+shameless.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 132px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TCGZThk0KbI/AAAAAAAAARo/aW8G2T_CzcM/s200/robards+-+shameless.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485834381823322546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Shameless:&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; C&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Elizabeth Banning &amp;amp; Neil Severin&lt;br /&gt;The Banning Sisters Trilogy #3&lt;br /&gt;Historical - Regency&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Lady Elizabeth, the youngest and most headstrong of the three Banning sisters, has been engaged three times, and has most scandalously broken off all three engagements. Her fear of becoming any man's property has kept her from marriage and earned a reputation in the &lt;/span&gt;ton &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;as a heartbreaking flirt. &lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Neil Severin is a wicked rogue, black of heart and black of reputation. A man of no morals, devoid of compassion, he is a government-sanctioned assassin. And his newest target is a man Beth holds dear. When the flame-haired beauty thwarts his plan, Neil exacts his own brand of spicy revenge. &lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Beth despises him. Neil doesn't care. But circumstances most unexpectedly throw them together, and with Beth's life in danger, Neil finds himself in the unexpected role of hero, racing to save her before it's too late... (back cover)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some facts:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;I have read all three of the stories about the Banning sisters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I loved the first one: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Scandalous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The second one, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Irresistible,&lt;/span&gt; was pretty cliched and uninteresting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The third - this story - is slightly more interesting but still pretty cliched.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;OK. End of review.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just kidding... sort of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What more to say about this novel other than the fact that I've been waiting years and years for Beth's story only to have it sort of peak and then plateau into an abyss of semi-blandness?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I liked Beth, though I couldn't really relate with her unwillingness to have any man be her master. I mean, I knew she was headstrong and stubborn, but when I read &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Scandalous &lt;/span&gt;(book 1), she was but 15. What 15 year old isn't headstrong and stubborn? Ms. Robards neglects to delve into Beth's psyche as to why she dislikes marriage. What we know about Beth's cruddy family situation is from past books... and authors cannot rely on back information from other books to support the current story. Besides, I never got Beth's perspective on it. (In this aspect, Meredith Durant did a better job in explaining Mina's absolute insistence on being her own person in &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Written on Your Skin. &lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I liked Neil, but only in the most vague and superficial manner possible. As in, he fulfilled the part of the cold, heartless assassin in a manner that was most expected. Cliched, I suppose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Surprisingly, the adventure was enough to keep me reading without sighing in irritation and without copious amounts of eye-rolling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HOWEVER!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The way Ms. Robards ended the novel was &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;bad&lt;/span&gt;. As in, without the epilogue, there would be no happily-ever-after. In essence, she didn't end the story: the epilogue was the last chapter of the novel. Why she labeled it as an epilogue is beyond me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Authors,&lt;/span&gt; 'epilogues' are not &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;used &lt;/span&gt;as last-chapters. It is a step &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;beyond &lt;/span&gt;the end of the story. It's the "what happened after the happily-ever-after? Where are they now?" chapter, not a "let me finish the story."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me explain myself another way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An epilogue is a bonus feature that can be taken out without adversely affecting the story. The story will still have an ending without the epilogue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without the epilogue at the end of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Shameless,&lt;/span&gt; it would have felt unfinished and would have been highly unsatisfying. This is the point I would add in the WTHeck?! This is Ms. Robard's, like, twentieth book. I would think she knows all this already......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Regardless, the entire story proves to be a most average sort of story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line: Read, I suppose, but don't buy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-8316647638186437231?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/8316647638186437231/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=8316647638186437231' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8316647638186437231'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8316647638186437231'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/06/karen-robards-shameless.html' title='Karen Robards: Shameless'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TCGZThk0KbI/AAAAAAAAARo/aW8G2T_CzcM/s72-c/robards+-+shameless.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-7840744871758188943</id><published>2010-06-23T10:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-06-23T10:02:00.158-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='joanne harris'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fiction'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A'/><title type='text'>Joanne Harris: Chocolat</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TCEzW8fXGJI/AAAAAAAAARg/ZojYWxP4b1U/s1600/harris+-+chocolat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 129px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TCEzW8fXGJI/AAAAAAAAARg/ZojYWxP4b1U/s200/harris+-+chocolat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485722290401777810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Chocolat: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fiction&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;When beautiful, unmarried Vianne Rocher sweeps into the pinched little French town of Lansquenet on the heels of the carnical and opens a gem of a chocolate shop across fro the square form the church, she begins to wreak havoc with the town's Lenten vows. Her uncanny ability to perceive her customers' private discontents and alleviate them with just the right confection coaxes the villagers to abandon themselves to temptation and happiness, but enrages Pere Reynaud, the local priest. Certain only a witch could stir such sinful indulgence and devise such clever cures, Reynaud pits himself against Vianne and vows to block the chocolate festival she plans for Easter Sunday, and to run her out of town forever. Witch or not (&lt;/span&gt;she'll &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;never tell), Vianne soon sparks a dramatic confrontation between those who prefer the cold comforts of the church and those who revel in their newly discovered taste for pleasure... (back cover)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I must say that this book was a gem to read. Ms. Harris' words are itself like warm, sweetened confections and completely succeed in making your insides tingle. She is one I would consider to be a poetic writer, with such beautiful taste and style.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The story is also very delightful, with the church pitted against Vianne's chocolate shop. Is it all right for one to indulge in their passions and desires? And what to do when one in a position of authority leads the people (or the congregation, in this case) in a direction that does not have so much to do with the people's well-being but has to do entirely with obtaining power? Are there absolute black and whites with no grays?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, the questions! (And you know how much I like books that ask thoughtful questions..!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides that, the entire book was about Vianne preparing delicious goodies that literally made my mouth water. Mmm..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If anything, read to see how Ms. Harris' sculpts her words to simply create a wonderful read.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-7840744871758188943?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/7840744871758188943/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=7840744871758188943' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/7840744871758188943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/7840744871758188943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/06/joanne-harris-chocolat.html' title='Joanne Harris: Chocolat'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TCEzW8fXGJI/AAAAAAAAARg/ZojYWxP4b1U/s72-c/harris+-+chocolat.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-7294172520065363235</id><published>2010-06-22T10:02:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2010-06-22T16:00:53.673-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='meredith duran'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - victorian'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='spies and espionage'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade C+'/><title type='text'>Meredith Duran: Written On Your Skin</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TCEyihNUJBI/AAAAAAAAARY/joSOouvzpSY/s1600/duran+-+Written-On-Your-Skin.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 125px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TCEyihNUJBI/AAAAAAAAARY/joSOouvzpSY/s200/duran+-+Written-On-Your-Skin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485721389725131794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Written On Your Skin: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;C+&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mina Masters &amp;amp; Phineas Granville, Earl of Ashmore&lt;br /&gt;Historical - Victorian&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The society beauty who saved his life...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Beauty, charm, wealthy admirers: Mina Masters enjoys every luxury but freedom. To save herself from an unwanted marriage, she turns her wiles on a darkly handsome stranger. But Mina's would-be hero is playing his own deceptive game. A British spy, Phin Granville has no interest in emotional entanglements... until the night Mina saves his life by gambling her own. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The jaded spy who vowed to forget her... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Four years later, Phin inherits a title that frees him from the bloody game of espionage. But memories of the woman who saved him won't let Phin go. When he learns that Mina needs his aid, honor forces him back into the world of his nightmares. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;In lives built on lies, love is the darkest secret of all...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Deception has ruled Mina's life just as it has Phin's. But as the beauty and the spy math wits in a dangerous dance, their practiced masks begin to slip, revealing a perilous attraction. And the greatest threat they face may not be traitors or murderous conspiracies, but their own dark desires... (back cover)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the sequel to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Bound By Your Touch&lt;/span&gt; and Ms. Duran's third novel. I have only read her first, The Duke of Shadows, and if I'm remembering correctly, it was an enjoyable read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This one was a little harder for me to get through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, I read something and I wonder if I'm just not smart enough to comprehend what's happening. There were times when I was reading this story and I thought, my goodness, what on Earth is happening?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Essentially, Ms. Duran's writing is complex and all-together good, but is sometimes a little superfluous. The narration is roundabout and I'm not quite sure if this is because the characters happen to be super complex and I am just... not. This is highly plausible, and if this is the case, it's no wonder the wording of the novel took me a while to get through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whether this is the case or not is rather irrelevant here. When it comes down to it, the superfluous writing made it hard for me to truly get into the story and more importantly, to stay with the story. Most of the time, I manage to finish romances in one-sitting. This story took me days to get through, and even though everything else was fine, I cannot say that I felt a kinship with the story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end, that's what matters to me. I want to feel as though I'm walking away knowing the characters and their story without a haze of mild confusion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line: Read but only  if you're smart.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-7294172520065363235?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/7294172520065363235/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=7294172520065363235' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/7294172520065363235'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/7294172520065363235'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/06/meredith-duran-written-on-your-skin.html' title='Meredith Duran: Written On Your Skin'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TCEyihNUJBI/AAAAAAAAARY/joSOouvzpSY/s72-c/duran+-+Written-On-Your-Skin.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-3186384299927810678</id><published>2010-06-17T10:02:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-06-22T16:23:13.682-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='first love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='widowed h/h'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='with children'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='reunion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='liz carlyle'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A-'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - regency'/><title type='text'>Liz Carlyle: Beauty Like the Night</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TBnF55WWxbI/AAAAAAAAARQ/_u4Ubh9G9vE/s1600/beauty.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TBnF55WWxbI/AAAAAAAAARQ/_u4Ubh9G9vE/s200/beauty.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483631619738092978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Beauty Like the Night: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Helene de Severs &amp;amp; Camden Rutledge, Earl of Treyhern&lt;br /&gt;Historical -British Regency&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The daughter of London's wickedest widow, Helene de Severs left England in disgrace and has struggled to overcome her heritage. Renowned within Europe's emerging psychiatric field for her gift for healing children, she returns to England confident she has learned to govern her reckless emotions. &lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A disastrous marriage left notoriously ruthless Camden Rutledge, Earl of Treyhern, with a traumatized child and he decides to hire a governess so that he can concentrate on other family fires. Yet the moment Helene arrives, Treyhern's cold reserve is melted by desire he long thought dead. With her elegant clothing and mountain of luggage, the woman is not who he expected. Or is she? Sometimes the workings of the mind are as dangerous as those of the heart. And soon, danger is truly everywhere... (back cover) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like Ms. Carlyle. I feel that she stays true to the dialogue and the nuances of eighteenth and early nineteenth century Britain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also happen to love reunion stories. You know, the cheesy first-love, you're-the-only-one-for-me stories where years have passed and yet, the hero and heroine are still in love with each other. What is more romantic than that? (answer: nothing!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a novel with the two above-mentioned aspects, I devoured this rather lengthy (419 pgs) story in a matter of hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Helene and Cam grew up with each other due to the affair between Helene's mother and Cam's father. Both adult figures were less than stellar parents. Cam's father was inebriated most of the time, flitting from woman to woman while Helene's mother - well, she was a demimondaine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They fell in love in the wild, unrestrained way that seventeen/eighteen year olds do. But it was more than mere teenage histrionics; lo behold, eleven  long years have passed since Helene and Cam were separated and when they meet - Helene is hired as Cam's daughter's special governess -  it is hard for them to control their emotions. Whatever happened in the past ...is the past... right? (Wrong!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The angst that Helene and Cam face, I feel, is founded on realistic doubts and insecurities: both people work hard to avoid turning out like his/her respective parent, but at the same time, they struggle with the depths of their feelings they have for one another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I've stated in previous blog entries, I'm not fond of kids that play a vital part in the romance equation because the focus is then not on the hero and heroine, but on the child as well. And dammit, those children need a lot of attention! Though Beauty Like the Night featured Cam's little daughter, she played a cool and un-bratty character. I had no desire to, like, smack the child upside the head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is also a tiny little mystery-adventure at the end. It's as adventurous and thrilling as one might expect an adventure in a romance novel to be. (I mean, how can it be super duper mysterious if you know all's going to turn out well in the end?) I realize I'm being somewhat vague with the plot, but I can't help it. I dislike spoilers and so I will leave you with:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read. Be happy. Ignore the giggle-inducing cover.&lt;br /&gt;(Really, were gentlemen's breeches that tight? Because... uh... IthinkIseemalecoverartmodel'sbuttcrack. I can't ignore it, really - it's smack-dab front-center! See for yourselves!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-3186384299927810678?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/3186384299927810678/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=3186384299927810678' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/3186384299927810678'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/3186384299927810678'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/06/liz-carlyle-beauty-like-night.html' title='Liz Carlyle: Beauty Like the Night'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TBnF55WWxbI/AAAAAAAAARQ/_u4Ubh9G9vE/s72-c/beauty.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-6111856650623865020</id><published>2010-06-17T10:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-06-17T10:00:05.326-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-review'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='current events'/><title type='text'>on a completely off-topic note</title><content type='html'>I laughed so hard while I watched this... and then thought, We're fucked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um, I still can't figure out how to embed videos here. Alice, you are smarter than e-blogger. You are smarter than e-blogger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who'm I kidding? E-blogger is completely smarter than me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I figured it out! Hooray!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/2AAa0gd7ClM&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;rel=0&amp;amp;color1=0x234900&amp;amp;color2=0x4e9e00"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/2AAa0gd7ClM&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;rel=0&amp;amp;color1=0x234900&amp;amp;color2=0x4e9e00" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-6111856650623865020?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/6111856650623865020/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=6111856650623865020' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6111856650623865020'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6111856650623865020'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/06/on-completely-off-topic-note.html' title='on a completely off-topic note'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-6134558841959638706</id><published>2010-06-09T10:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-06-09T09:58:13.303-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='postapocalyptic'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='suzanne collins'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='young adult fiction'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the hunger games series'/><title type='text'>Suzanne Collins: The Hunger Games</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TA-5uE22WmI/AAAAAAAAARI/YUWZam__ifE/s1600/hunger-games.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 132px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TA-5uE22WmI/AAAAAAAAARI/YUWZam__ifE/s200/hunger-games.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480803472762100322" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Hunger Games: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A+&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;YA fiction&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh man, this book was good. It was really good. It was really, really good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The United States is no longer and has given way to a nation called Panem, split into twelve districts and its Capitol. In order to have the citizens of Panem remember the cost of rebellion, the Capitol hosts The Hunger Games annually, where two kids (ages 12-18) are sent from each district to fight to the death.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our heroine is Katniss, sixteen and toughened from the harsh conditions of living in Disctrict 12, a coal mining district. Her father passed away when she was young and when her mother went into serious depression, she took over as the head of the household, working hard to support her family. She adores Prim, her sister younger by four years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is time for The Reaping, and out of all applicants, Prim is the female tribute selected and Katniss quickly volunteers to go in her stead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So starts &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Hunger Games, &lt;/span&gt;a story that will really have you on your toes, but even greater is how it makes you think ...about life. What is love? What is death? And what do you do when you have to survive? Katniss sees the indulgence and excess in the Capitol - what is overindulgence and what is compassion? Of course, what had me in tangles was the love angle of this entire affair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simply put, it is quite a grand read. I rushed to Borders the next day, consumed the sequel in three-and-a-half short (but glorious) hours, and am counting down until the third is released.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's the kind of book that makes me remember why I love reading.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-6134558841959638706?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/6134558841959638706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=6134558841959638706' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6134558841959638706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6134558841959638706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/06/suzanne-collins-hunger-games.html' title='Suzanne Collins: The Hunger Games'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TA-5uE22WmI/AAAAAAAAARI/YUWZam__ifE/s72-c/hunger-games.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-1233475154737505704</id><published>2010-06-08T10:02:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2010-06-08T10:02:00.136-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='school for heiresses series'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade D-'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sabrina jeffries'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - regency'/><title type='text'>Sabrina Jeffries: Never Seduce a Scoundrel</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TAxQgd325XI/AAAAAAAAARA/k3e_S09arF0/s1600/never+seduce.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 117px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TAxQgd325XI/AAAAAAAAARA/k3e_S09arF0/s200/never+seduce.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479843365307999602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Never Seduce a Scoundrel: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;D-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lady Amelia Plume &amp;amp; Major Lucas Winter&lt;br /&gt;Historical - British Regency&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The School for Ladies series&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;Sometimes when books are bad, I finish reading it... just to see how the ends turns out. Usually, the end isn't enough for what I consider to "redeem" the book. As in, the end might be all right, but I still close the book thinking, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;whaaa? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think this book failed me on two different levels: the love scenes were pretty laughable and the plot was lame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amelia Plume is a decently wealthy young lady looking to get married. She dreams of adventures and passion: she spends her time reading raunchy romance novels (insert laugh here, LOL) and wants to get awaaaaay from England.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Major Lucas Winter comes to her in his completely tall, dark, and handsome form, but Amelia suspects Lucas to be up to something so she plays the part of a henwit (read: ditz). He is, in fact, looking to solve a mystery and to clear his name while at that. Some person has stolen all of his family fortunes, ruined his good family name, and Lucas wants to come down to the mystery for the sake of his family honor and for closure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bad news: Lucas suspects Amelia's step-mother is the bad person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then they go about trying to solve the mystery and then fall in love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, here enters the bad love scenes. Not that I'm looking for anything grand or special, but &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;gads&lt;/span&gt;, the things they say to each other as they... uh... "pleasure" each other... just.. is really laughable. It's silly enough for me to be thrown out of the nice, romance-y feeling and into a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;what just happened here? &lt;/span&gt;mood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And also enters the overly long solving the mystery plot. I lost track of what was happening and then just read it, hoping that something magnificent would happen so that I would be... oh, I don't know... romanced? But that didn't happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line: don't read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-1233475154737505704?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/1233475154737505704/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=1233475154737505704' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/1233475154737505704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/1233475154737505704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/06/sabrina-jeffries-never-seduce-scoundrel_08.html' title='Sabrina Jeffries: Never Seduce a Scoundrel'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TAxQgd325XI/AAAAAAAAARA/k3e_S09arF0/s72-c/never+seduce.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-5411350812085061355</id><published>2010-06-07T10:02:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2010-06-07T10:02:00.144-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A+'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='classic'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jane austen'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='101 books'/><title type='text'>Jane Austen: Persuasion</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TAst30Pi5VI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/iV7am-NsVGU/s1600/perusasion.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 129px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TAst30Pi5VI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/iV7am-NsVGU/s200/perusasion.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479523808566240594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Persuasion: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A+ &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anne Elliot &amp;amp; Captain Frederick Wentworth&lt;br /&gt;Historical - British Regency&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It would be untrue for me to say that I am a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;huge &lt;/span&gt;fan of Ms. Austen because the only other book of hers that I've read is... yes, you've guessed it: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Pride and Prejudice. &lt;/span&gt;And while I love Mr. Darcy with all my heart, I couldn't bring myself to read any other of her novels for the same reason I dislike reading classic literature (the whole hard, heavy, dramatic, and stiff issue).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I seem to have forgotten how delightful Ms. Austen's writing really is. It is witty. It is genuine. And she really speaks of the matters of the heart: real feelings, honest emotions, and humor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finished Persuasion over the weekend and I have pretty much made up my mind to go out all her other works (read: massive &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;glommage&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Persuasion in a nutshell would be as follows: Anne and Wentworth ("Wentworth" sounds so much better than "Frederick" to me. hehe..) were young loves, she nineteen and he twenty-three when he proposed to her. Because of Anne's snobbish and utterly idiotic family opposed the match (he was poor and was not of significant social standing), Anne turned Wentworth down. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heartbroken, betrayed, and angry, Wentworth departed for the navy where he worked up to the prestigious rank of Captain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eight years have now passed. Anne is a spinster, living underneath the shadows of her shallow father and older sister. Her younger sister, Mary, has married (a surprise to us all since she is completely whiny and annoying). Anne's father mismanaged his finances and the Elliots are required to move out of their home and put it up for rent. Surprisingly, Wentworth's sister and her husband move in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so! Wentworth comes back to town, to stay with his sister... and then! Anne and Wentworth meet again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With Austen, a happily-ever-after cannot be guaranteed. Her stories, though focused on love and relationships, are not category romances... which makes it even more delicious. Austen realized, two hundred something years ago, that a happily-ever-after is not what is important, it is the love story between the hero and heroine that make the story worthwhile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I lurve it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line: Read!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-5411350812085061355?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/5411350812085061355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=5411350812085061355' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5411350812085061355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5411350812085061355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/06/jane-austen-persuasion.html' title='Jane Austen: Persuasion'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TAst30Pi5VI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/iV7am-NsVGU/s72-c/perusasion.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-3363498927485333251</id><published>2010-06-04T10:02:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2010-06-05T22:52:58.667-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='elizabeth boyle'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='karen hawkins'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='candace camp'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade C'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - regency'/><title type='text'>review roundup</title><content type='html'>Instead of having an individual post for each average novel, I have decided to lump them together. For books that I felt were better or worse  than average, I will have a separate entry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Canda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TAg2zAK90BI/AAAAAAAAAQw/4fbVhdh97Zs/s1600/swept+away.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 116px; height: 187px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TAg2zAK90BI/AAAAAAAAAQw/4fbVhdh97Zs/s200/swept+away.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478689196543430674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;ce Camp: Swept Away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Grade: C+&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Historical - British Regency&lt;br /&gt;Julia Armiger &amp;amp; Deverel Grey, Lord Stonehaven&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deverel wrongly accuses Julia's brother of stealing funds from a trustee fund. After her brother's death, she is determined to clear his name by getting close to Stonehaven. Of course, the only way she can do this is to seduce him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though the mystery and Julia's pursuit to clear her brother's name wasn't an eyesore to read, the relationship between Julia and Deverel was slow and superfluous. It took so long for Julia to convince Deverel of her brother's innocence that I had already given up on the mystery: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;who cares &lt;/span&gt;about the mystery? Let's just get this show on the road. This, of course, is never a good feeling to have while reading a happy romance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line: read if bored.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TAg2nmZyHzI/AAAAAAAAAQo/gZrLPoVI-8A/s1600/this+rake+of+mine.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TAg2nmZyHzI/AAAAAAAAAQo/gZrLPoVI-8A/s200/this+rake+of+mine.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478689000647696178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Elizabeth Boyle: This Rake of Mine&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grade: C&lt;br /&gt;Historical - British Regency&lt;br /&gt;Miranda Mabberly &amp;amp; Lord Jack Tremont&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jack mistakes Miranda for his mistress, and in a very public place, kisses her, succeeding in ruining her. She disappears and comes back nine years later with as a decorum teacher with a new name at an academy for young ladies. She is given the responsibility of escorting three students home when they find themselves stranded at Jack's rundown estate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The three girls try to set Jack and Miranda up, Miranda suspects Jack of being involved in some shady business, and then a lot of things happen in which they discover their love for each other anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not especially fond of Ms. Boyle's writing style, but it was readable. What I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;am&lt;/span&gt; interested in are the books to follow this one. Clearly, each of Miranda's charges will get their own book and I'm curious about their story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TAg2YxP7YaI/AAAAAAAAAQg/J0CVGLRLXgo/s1600/an+affair.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 118px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TAg2YxP7YaI/AAAAAAAAAQg/J0CVGLRLXgo/s200/an+affair.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478688745861112226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Karen Hawkins: An Affair to Remember&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grade: C&lt;br /&gt;Historical - British Regency&lt;br /&gt;Anna Thraxton &amp;amp; Anthony Elliott, Earl of Greyley&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read this a month ago and I cannot really remember what happened... I think something about Anthony inheriting five unruly orphans and he hires Anna as their governess. She, who was once a peer, has to now work her for her wages since her grandfather (I think grandfather... some male figure) has wasted it away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I actually can't remember why Anna and Anthony are at odds with each other and why they don't just hop together in bed at the very beginning. It might have been Anna's independent and stubborn nature and it might be Anthony's.... I can totally be making this up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seeing that I can't remember what happened a mere couple weeks after having read it, the read itself wasn't entirely thrilling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Thursday!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-3363498927485333251?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/3363498927485333251/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=3363498927485333251' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/3363498927485333251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/3363498927485333251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/06/review-roundup.html' title='review roundup'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TAg2zAK90BI/AAAAAAAAAQw/4fbVhdh97Zs/s72-c/swept+away.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-5563640816447997463</id><published>2010-06-01T10:02:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2010-06-01T10:02:00.412-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - victorian'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laura lee guhrke'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A-'/><title type='text'>Laura Lee Guhrke: The Marriage Bed</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TASiI9FjLbI/AAAAAAAAAQY/i2zTUD_4J2U/s1600/the+marriage.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TASiI9FjLbI/AAAAAAAAAQY/i2zTUD_4J2U/s200/the+marriage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477681321509858738" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Marriage Bed: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;historical - Victorian&lt;br /&gt;Lady Viola Hammond &amp;amp; Viscount John Hammond&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The third book in an unofficial series, we have seen Lady Viola's estrangement from her husband in the books &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Guilty Pleasures &lt;/span&gt;and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;His Every Kiss. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Ms. Guhrke's blog, she stated that she had received many inquiries about Viola and her story. When was she going to kill off John (the lowly scumbag!) so that Viola would be able to get her own story? Ms. Guhrke decided to rekindle the romance between the two, something this blogger feels she did successfully.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After eight and a half long years of separation, John is in desperate need of a legitimate heir. His cousin, Percy, whom had been responsible for producing an heir, suddenly passes and John realizes he must make amends with his wife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One problem.&lt;br /&gt;She &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;absolutely &lt;/span&gt;hates him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they had married, she was a naive and innocent girl of seventeen who was madly in love with John. After all, he was charming, handsome, and paid the kind of attention to women that they desired. Unfortunately for Viola, John needed to marry someone with a large dowry, something Viola was in possession of with her older brother being a duke and all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They have six months of happiness.&lt;br /&gt;Then Viola realized John married her for her money, that he had never loved her, and he had even had a mistress until the day of their wedding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She shuts him out, devastated, and John found comfort in the arms of other women.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the start of the novel, John has had numerous (but not an excessive number) of mistresses. Viola has created a new life for herself. And society knew that Viola and John were to never be invited to the same social functions. Ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so begins this surprisingly emotional novel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Emotional for me because I completely felt for Viola. I have the greatest of admiration for any author who manages to make the main conflict of the book less than idiotic. (Like the heroes who are traumatized by a bee sting from their childhood, heroines who refuse to get with the hero because of, oh I don't know, something stupid). Had I been in Viola's situation, I would have been equally as appalled and devastated, but at the same time, I empathized for John.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also felt this novel managed to capture a sense of realism that a romance is generally unable to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did, however, have some disagreements with the way the author managed to end the book. Thirty pages left and she managed to throw some unnecessary stuff in that bungled the complete happiness I would've felt otherwise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line: a worthwhile read, disregarding the last two (stupid) chapters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS: I'm totally sneaking into Borders to read Lisa Kleypas' new novel, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Married by Morning.&lt;/span&gt; I refuse to buy it unless I know I like it. Yes, I'm cheap like that. That's how I roll. *dust shoulders off*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;=D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Tuesday!&lt;br /&gt;I hope your Memorial Day was safe and filled with fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mine was awesome:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pro: managed to get a tan&lt;br /&gt;Con: only from mid-thigh to the knees. I'll extraordinarily tan (and hot!) thighs. Ooh yes, just call me sexy....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-5563640816447997463?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/5563640816447997463/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=5563640816447997463' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5563640816447997463'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5563640816447997463'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/06/laura-lee-guhrke-marriage-bed.html' title='Laura Lee Guhrke: The Marriage Bed'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/TASiI9FjLbI/AAAAAAAAAQY/i2zTUD_4J2U/s72-c/the+marriage.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-1325047533445270099</id><published>2010-05-24T10:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-05-24T10:02:00.847-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='101 books'/><title type='text'>the pressure</title><content type='html'>So, I started my little 101 books in 1001 days challenge back in 2008 or so and for some reason far beyond me, I decided to put a bunch of classic, literature books on there. These books, you know - the acclaimed ones like &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Lolita &lt;/span&gt;and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;War and Peace - &lt;/span&gt;are good books... so I've been told. A definite must for a book whore like me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But as you also know, I dislike reading hard, heavy, dramatic, stiff books. I have enough stress in reality and when I read, I enjoy reading light-hearted, easy books - hence the love of the romance genre.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was a dilemma; how was I going to read all of the books on my "books to read before I die" list if I don't want to... well... &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;read &lt;/span&gt;it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ooh yes! Put a whole bunch of those books on my list for a book challenge (where I'd be forced to read it in order to complete the challenge). Yes! I would &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;have &lt;/span&gt;to read these delightful books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nooooooo!!&lt;br /&gt;Bad, bad idea!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just realized I now have months - eight? - to read, like, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;sixty&lt;/span&gt;, hard, heavy, dramatic, stiff books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Iliad&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Great Gatsby&lt;/span&gt; (nooooo!) and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Crime and Punishment &lt;/span&gt;and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;War and Peace&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Lolita&lt;/span&gt;...and ... and... curses!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not enough time! Not enough time! Getting through one of those honkers will undoubtedly depress, bore, or stress me. I'm hoping only for one of those options per book.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh dear.&lt;br /&gt;Wish me luck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-1325047533445270099?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/1325047533445270099/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=1325047533445270099' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/1325047533445270099'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/1325047533445270099'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/05/pressure.html' title='the pressure'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-8763083282744649368</id><published>2010-05-12T10:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-05-12T10:02:00.545-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='susan mallery'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade D-'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='food stories'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='contemp'/><title type='text'>Susan Mallery: Sweet Trouble</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/S-pfg5QmSiI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/he3qJV466dE/s1600/sweet.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/S-pfg5QmSiI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/he3qJV466dE/s200/sweet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470289716125780514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Sweet Trouble: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;D&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;contemp&lt;br /&gt;Jesse Keyes &amp;amp; Matthew Fenner&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Jesse Keyes has done some serious growing up. With a steady job and a  vibrant four-year-old son, Gabe, she's in a far better place than when  she left Seattle five years ago…pregnant and misunderstood by almost  everyone in her life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Now it's time to go home and face her demons.  But her sisters, Claire and Nicole, aren't exactly impressed with the  new and improved Jesse. And then there's Matt, Gabe's father, who makes  it clear that he never wants to see her again despite the lust that  still smolders between them.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Jesse doesn't know if she can make up  for all the mistakes of her past. But the promise of sweet nights with  Matt might just give her the extra incentive she needs to make it worth  the trouble.… (amazon)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I shall try to make this review sweet and simple. It's not so much a consideration for you, bloggers, but because of my own shortcomings: I read this book a couple weeks ago and I cannot really... recall... what happened. Why I'm writing a review in this state, I'm not so sure myself. But I cannot blame myself entirely for neither remembering the characters nor the plot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;This book was insignificant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It is like my favorite romance, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Paradise, &lt;/span&gt;but, like, fifty times worse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;There are some similarities between &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Paradise &lt;/span&gt;and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Sweet Trouble&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;1. Both books have heroes whose name is "Matthew."&lt;br /&gt;2. Both books are about lovers who reunite after years of separation.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And that is where the similarities end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Unlike Paradise, Sweet Trouble has a lackluster and unexciting plot(s). Not only is our heroine, Jesse, trying to win back the favors of her older sisters, she is also trying to win back the love of her life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Matt has come a far way from being the geek he was when he first met and fell in love with Jesse. Then something about a (really dumb and lame) misunderstanding that tore them apart which caused Jesse to run away and give birth to her son in secret.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And then she comes back in town after having matured.&lt;br /&gt;And then copious amounts of drama ensues because her sisters are dumb and Matt is even dumber: he loves her but cannot get over the past because... of his fear, I think. Though this sort of fear is not the sort to be laughed at, Ms. Mallery does not do her characters justice by writing about him/ them in a way that makes me... care.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Oh, wait. I do believe Matt's anger stems from the fact that Jesse kept from him the fact that he fathered a son. His anger is hard to sympathize with, as I felt she had valid reason to genuinely believe that Matt would have no interest in his son. Since I couldn't sympathize with Matt and the foundation of the central conflict, I just wanted to tell Matt to "get over it and move on."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Bottom line: reading about Jesse's secret brownie recipe made me want to have a brownie by the end of the book. Mmm... brownies..... &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-8763083282744649368?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/8763083282744649368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=8763083282744649368' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8763083282744649368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8763083282744649368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/05/susan-mallery-sweet-trouble.html' title='Susan Mallery: Sweet Trouble'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/S-pfg5QmSiI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/he3qJV466dE/s72-c/sweet.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-6723349204736170230</id><published>2010-04-29T10:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-04-29T10:02:00.411-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='catherine anderson'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ranchers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade D'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='contemp'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='animals'/><title type='text'>Catherine Anderson: Morning Light</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/S9anjmpfypI/AAAAAAAAAQI/1iXXRG_2t5A/s1600/morning+light.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/S9anjmpfypI/AAAAAAAAAQI/1iXXRG_2t5A/s200/morning+light.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464739427972532882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Morning Light: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;D&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;contemp&lt;br /&gt;Loni MacEwen &amp;amp; Clint Harrigan&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Crusty Clint Harrigan (of the same Harrigan clan as Anderson's &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Sun  Kissed&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;), is, at 37, a Catholic cowboy who's sworn off romance. The  arrival of a cute Catholic clairvoyant in his hometown of Crystal Falls,  Ore., challenges his resolve and his skepticism. Seer Loni Kendra  MacEwen, still a virgin at 31, is shocked when she bumps into Clint at  the grocery store. He's the dream cowboy she's had visions of her whole  life, and she has recently connected those visions to visions of Trevor,  an endangered boy who (along with his protective Saint Bernard) was  lost in the Shoshone Wilderness Area after a river accident killed his  mom and stepdad, an Oregon senator. Loni tells a resistant Clint he's  the only one who can save Trevor, and soon the hunt is on... (amazon)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a prelude to this especially snarky entry: I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;like &lt;/span&gt;Catherine Anderson... for the most part. I find that she writes about real characters, people who go through real hardships (not ones like, "I was unloved as a child so now I'm a heartless jerk."). Her traumatized and troubled characters are believable. I feel for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Buuuut...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This book wasn't fun to read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will surely go to hell for this - sorry, God!- but the main reason I disliked this book was because of the constant references to religion and the Catholic faith. Being a believer, I personally have nothing against Christianity or the Catholic faith. However, it grated on my nerves that the hero and heroine talked about their faith &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;all the time.&lt;/span&gt; I understand that topics like that require a lengthy and a hefty discussion. But that doesn't mean &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I &lt;/span&gt;want to read all about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the halfway mark, I wanted to pound on something (insert *headdesk*).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean, if (when??? oh drats, I'm getting old..) I am looking for a prospective husband, religion would be a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;huge &lt;/span&gt;(and quite possibly, the &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;only&lt;/span&gt;) factor. But ...but .... the constant praying on rosary beads, feeling touched about how each person kneeled to pray, the fact that she's a virgin at 31 (they might have just danced to VIRGIN! VIRGIN! VIRGIN!), the decision to not do the hanky-panky, then doing the hanky-panky (losing control), then talking about talking to Father Mike (Matt?) in confession for repentance... goodness gracious!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clint, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;dude&lt;/span&gt;. I get you. You're Catholic, you're ethically and morally  upright. You're a good citizen. But for the love of God, let's get over  that and talk about something else... yes? No? Oh.........dammit..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The book is a hefty one at 422 pgs &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;aaand &lt;/span&gt;I wasn't too interested after the halfway point. But I made myself finish... I need to develop more perseverance in finishing books (though I'm pretty good about it most of the time)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, most of the book is spent looking for Clint's newfound son (what is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;up &lt;/span&gt;with fathers being in the dark about their children? Females: horrible decision you made!), who is lost in the Oregon wilderness after a bad rafting accident. Loni, a psychic person of some sort, sees this, contacts Clint and tells him he needs to search for his son.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clint clearly thinks Loni is crazy since he doesn't even &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;have &lt;/span&gt;a son. (He is soon surprised.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Loni and Clint go trek through the wilderness together to search for the lost boy. They fall in love. They have epic discussions about their faith. Then they start talking about other things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pros in reading this story: I learned a lot about navigating my way through the woods, should I ever get lost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cons: their faith! It might have been better if they were both hedonists.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line: Not worth your read, though Clint is a hunky rancher.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-6723349204736170230?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/6723349204736170230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=6723349204736170230' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6723349204736170230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6723349204736170230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/04/catherine-anderson-morning-light.html' title='Catherine Anderson: Morning Light'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/S9anjmpfypI/AAAAAAAAAQI/1iXXRG_2t5A/s72-c/morning+light.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-318527341856491470</id><published>2010-04-27T10:02:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2010-04-27T10:02:00.571-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - victorian'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='laura lee guhrke'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A-'/><title type='text'>Laura Lee Guhrke: His Every Kiss</title><content type='html'>Hallo!&lt;br /&gt;I'm keeping true to my word and am back with reviews!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point, I should probably thank Jen, a book clubber, because I "borrowed" books she no longer wanted to keep, aka books she wasn't planning on rereading. She was going to donate it, but I took them instead. I have the big box in my trunk (it's easier to keep in there and take out several books instead of transporting the entire box). Fear not, I will donate it after I get through the books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, thanks Jen! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And without further ado:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/S9ab3UJB80I/AAAAAAAAAP4/F9KVxHAPnjA/s1600/his+every+kiss.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/S9ab3UJB80I/AAAAAAAAAP4/F9KVxHAPnjA/s200/his+every+kiss.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464726572462371650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;His Every Kiss: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Historical - Victorian&lt;br /&gt;Grace Cheval &amp;amp; Dylan Moore&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Everyone knows about Dylan Moore -- his brilliant talent and his  pleasure-seeking ways -- but no one knows the torment that lies beneath  his reckless veneer. Only one woman gets a glimpse of the forces that  drive Dylan's soul, a woman who haunts his dreams and evokes his  passions as no other woman ever has before. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Disgraced and  destitute, Grace Cheval wants nothing to do with the seductive man who  desires her. When Dylan offers her a position as governess to his  newfound daughter, she knows his true intentions are dishonorable. Yet  she finds this charismatic man hard to resist, and she returns his  passionate kisses with a fire that matches his own. Can Dylan dare hope  that this proud, spirited beauty will melt the ice around his heart? (amazon)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was first introduced to Mr. Dylan Moore in &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Guilty Pleasures. &lt;/span&gt;He is dark, wild, an utter rake, and ...tormented.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, it sounds so wrong to say that I like dark, "tortured" heroes, but it's true. I don't like foppish guys. I don't like effeminate, overly expressive guys who are wont to get dramatic and start up a sobfest. (Mr. Darcy &gt; Mr. Bingley..!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when we meet Moore in &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Guilty Pleasures, &lt;/span&gt;he is prolifically gambling, whoring, drinking, and smoking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then you start reading &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;His Every Kiss, &lt;/span&gt;and you find out that he has suffered a damage that causes him to hear a perpetual whining in his ears at all hours of the day, a tragic accident for Great Britain's greatest composer. He gives up hope, but our lovely heroine, Grace, steps in and saves him. He doesn't find out who she is, what her name is, and she has disappeared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Five years later, they meet again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moore also discovers he has a child - a daughter - one he has never known about. Isabel is the product of one of many affairs he's had, and when Isabel's mother dies from scarlet fever, Isabel is dropped off at Moore's house. He is, unsurprisingly, horrified.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seeing that Grace is living in a state of near poverty, he offers her a job as a governess to his daughter. She grudgingly accepts, knowing that Moore will try to hit on her and turn her into his mistress. But what can she do? She needs the money!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hence, their relationship starts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For one, I'm always wary of reading a story where there is a child/ children involved. Don't get me wrong. As mean and snarky as I am, I completely love children - how could I not? I'm surrounded by children since I tutor. But children are bratty and take up a lot of time, energy, and attention. I normally like my stories to focus solely on the hero and heroine, as I read romances for their journey into love. I &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;don't &lt;/span&gt;read romances to read about kids who throw temper tantrums and have issues only the most qualified therapists can being to unravel. Since most authors cannot do an adequate job writing about two people falling in love, I don't see why they feel the need to throw a kid into the mix.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily, Isabel is eight, not a full-fledged teenager (*shudder*) and I was surprised to find that she brought a unique aspect to the story. I enjoyed reading about her and I liked Moore's slow transformation into a caring and loving father.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also found Grace and Moore's story to be quite enjoyable. Grace has been badly burned from her previous marriage and unlike other dim-witted females, she works to apply what she's learned from her previous marriage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other words, she doesn't say "I'm not going to lose my heart as easily as I did last time!" and ten minutes later, professes her love to some random stranger on the street. She shows admirable restraint and self-control, two traits I admire greatly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though Moore is quite the dark, brooding figure, I must admit, I ended up giggling and rolling my eyes towards the end when he is so pathetically groveling on the ground. (The part where the two people gush about their love for each other..) He was turning the entire scene into an entirely dramatic sobfest... I guess it was an emotional thing for them both, but.... gad, man! Get a hold of yourself!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line: Despite the slight emo ending, it was a good read and I would recommend it as a fun, fast, light read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS: Read an excerpt &lt;a href="http://www.lauraleeguhrke.com/bookshelf/kiss.php"&gt;here. &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PPS: the back of the book is ridiculous. As long as I've been reading romances, I can &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;not &lt;/span&gt;get over the atrociousness of cover art.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/S9aeNQmFHII/AAAAAAAAAQA/Z_luNszpftc/s1600/back+cover.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 151px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/S9aeNQmFHII/AAAAAAAAAQA/Z_luNszpftc/s200/back+cover.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464729148490849410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eek, why is this dude shirtless in the middle of the night?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh right, to seduce the woman whose dress is falling off her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hotness!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, HI APRIL! I haven't followed up since my last entries, but I don't think I will be able to get an e-reader anytime soon. It's one of those greedy wants, haha. Your recommendations don't sound familiar to me, so I will (happily) look into it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, why erotica &gt; chick-lit?&lt;br /&gt;Is it because the chick-litty females are sometimes so ...dumb? :P&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-318527341856491470?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/318527341856491470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=318527341856491470' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/318527341856491470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/318527341856491470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/04/laura-lee-guhrke-his-every-kiss.html' title='Laura Lee Guhrke: His Every Kiss'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/S9ab3UJB80I/AAAAAAAAAP4/F9KVxHAPnjA/s72-c/his+every+kiss.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-6518672104801560727</id><published>2010-04-15T10:02:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2010-04-15T10:02:00.541-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ereaders'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ebooks'/><title type='text'>i sort-of... sort-of..</title><content type='html'>...want an e-kindle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There! I said it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(covers face in shame)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like books. I like holding it in my little hands, creasing the spine, and hearing the swishes as I flip the pages. I like my stories to be in my hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I realize that printing mass quantities of books uses a lot of paper. And the electronic readers offer something that books never will: the lightweight convenience of carrying multiple books around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I had an e-kindle, I wouldn't have had a suitcase full of books when I moved out of my dorm room several years ago. I wouldn't have had to lug around the weight of three fat babies when my family and I went on a cruise last summer. And when I start traveling (since that day will come..shortly!), it would be so easy to pull up books with a few, magical clicks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this means I would have to buy the e-book as opposed to borrowing it for free. Darn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'd be able to carry multiple books for only two-and-something lbs!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh the dilemma...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-6518672104801560727?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/6518672104801560727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=6518672104801560727' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6518672104801560727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6518672104801560727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/04/i-sort-of-sort-of.html' title='i sort-of... sort-of..'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-4757878033221455883</id><published>2010-04-13T10:02:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2010-04-13T10:02:00.361-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-review'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='rambling'/><title type='text'>erm, happy new year?</title><content type='html'>So I'm guessing it's a little late to wish you a happy new year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it's so right that I would wish you a happy 2010 in April (mid-April, to be exact) because 95% of the time, I'm un-punctual. (The word "late" just has a nasty ring to it.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The reason for my brief abandonment of this blog is because... it kills me to say it, but it's because I haven't been reading.&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt; I KNOW!&lt;/span&gt; Life and other weird stuff have kept me busy and I have not read. I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;still &lt;/span&gt;have not finished &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Pride and Prejudice and Zonbies &lt;/span&gt;(horrible because I need to give it back to a friend).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, why?!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Several reasons, in fact:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, reading non-romances take me twice as long to finish. Some books can be a real downer. Brilliant, but depressing. This means, I read a couple of pages, go watch some happy movies, eat some candy, play with my hair, and come back. Instead of finishing a book in three hours, it takes me three, five, seven, fourteen days. !!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second, the romance genre is pretty much going into two directions:&lt;br /&gt;1. erotica&lt;br /&gt;2. chick-lit&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dislike erotica and chick-lit is good, but in short amounts for short periods of time. What I am really searching for is a story, a love story, about two people who meet and fall in love, and their journey of this love. I don't care for the sex, unless it's blown out of place (someone told me it was amusing when I complained about the sex scenes - I complain because it was poorly written).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This makes finding genuine romances/ love stories that much harder. And I would start myself on Nicholas Sparks, except I've been reading about how he's kind of an &lt;a href="http://www.laineygossip.com/Nicholas_Sparks_Miley_Cyrus_interview_with_USA_Today__1apr10.aspx"&gt;arrogant&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100330/REVIEWS/100339997"&gt;prick&lt;/a&gt; he is, and so I hesitate. I know, I really need to separate authors from their works, but if some guy is an ass and a half, I don't want to support him. (Kanye, y'hear?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Third, the time issue. I simply don't have the time to read much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, here's hoping for that to change! :) Book club meets in two weeks....... &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;ohno,&lt;/span&gt; it's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;this &lt;/span&gt;weekend! Jeepers.........&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Change of plans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Book club meets this Saturday.&lt;br /&gt;I &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;will &lt;/span&gt;have the book read by Saturday afternoon, 1pm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will have a review of it... soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until then,&lt;br /&gt;XOXO Alice&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-4757878033221455883?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/4757878033221455883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=4757878033221455883' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4757878033221455883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4757878033221455883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2010/04/erm-happy-new-year.html' title='erm, happy new year?'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-8662553489938704496</id><published>2009-12-11T10:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-12-11T10:02:00.686-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fiction'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ann patchett'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love story'/><title type='text'>Ann Patchett: Bel Canto</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SyHroA5b3QI/AAAAAAAAAPw/5JCO5uzBGq0/s1600-h/bel-canto.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SyHroA5b3QI/AAAAAAAAAPw/5JCO5uzBGq0/s200/bel-canto.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413867299744242946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Bel Canto: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fiction, love story&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Somewhere in South America, at the home of the country's vice president, a lavish birthday party is being held in honor of Mr. Hosokawa, a powerful Japanese businessman. Roxanne Coss, opera's most revered soprano, has mesmerized the international guests with her singing. It is a perfect evening — until a band of gun-wielding terrorists breaks in through the air-conditioning vents and takes the entire party hostage. But what begins as a panicked, life-threatening scenario slowly evolves into something quite different, as terrorists and hostages forge unexpected bonds and people from different countries and continents become compatriots. Friendship, compassion, and the chance for great love lead the characters to forget the real danger that has been set in motion and cannot be stopped. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever read a book where your heart gets so involved, you're a little heartbroken when you finish reading the book?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's kind of what this read was for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was beautiful. The writing was lyrical, the characters were so real and so wonderful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really loved this story. I loved, loved Gen (the multilingual, genius translator) and I loved his love, Carmen, I loved Mr. Hosokawa and Roxane. I loved the terrorist group who attacked the group of special, important people in the rich estate in an unmentioned South American country.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You'd think that the story would get boring after the people have been trapped inside said rich estate for months, but it gets more intricate. Ms. Patchett is able to delve into the human consciousness so brilliantly, I forgive her for having two whole pages of writing without indenting for paragraphs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, the book wasn't perfect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was unsatisfied with the ending (which is why I wouldn't give the book an A+). It was very bittersweet and very... haunting. I couldn't get over the ending of the book, as in, I kept on thinking about it over and over again. In fact, I couldn't think about anything else for the next couple of days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe I scared some of my co-workers by groaning (out of the middle of nowhere), smacking my head, and going, "Augh, I cannot believe it ended like that!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Readers, it was a great work of fiction and you &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;must &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;read it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In fact, read it and let me know so that we can discuss the book *cough*theending*cough* together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-8662553489938704496?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/8662553489938704496/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=8662553489938704496' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8662553489938704496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8662553489938704496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/12/ann-patchett-bel-canto.html' title='Ann Patchett: Bel Canto'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SyHroA5b3QI/AAAAAAAAAPw/5JCO5uzBGq0/s72-c/bel-canto.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-6655607940652236329</id><published>2009-11-19T12:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T12:02:00.484-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-review'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alice'/><title type='text'>Thursday, November 19 2009</title><content type='html'>I cannot believe November is almost over!! There are Christmas decorations everywhere... I would know, I helped set up for it at work a couple days ago. I don't mind the festive mood; at least not until the Holiday music starts to play. Christmas music is okay two, three weeks before the special day. Playing it before Thanksgiving means the Holidays change into HELLidays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SwRybbc7rkI/AAAAAAAAAPo/QIx5Wyexhtc/s1600/010.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SwRybbc7rkI/AAAAAAAAAPo/QIx5Wyexhtc/s200/010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405571268302581314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've also just committed myself to the fact that my desk will always, always be skanklike. How I get any work done on it is a mystery to me (and to the rest of humanity).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately, I've been watching online episodes of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;How I Met Your Mother &lt;/span&gt;and I love it. I realize how much I've been missing out on wonderful shows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, book lovers, it might come to you as a surprise that I've been a very deprived child and growing individual. I'm not familiar with hit bands like The Beatles or singers such as Frank Sinatra, and I am not remotely familiar to any of the classic movie stars: Audrey Hepburn (though I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;have &lt;/span&gt;seen some stuff - and have loved!), Gregory Peck, Katherine something or another...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heck, I didn't even know Jimi Hendrix was black until... well.. that's really a story for another day. (LOL!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But in order to culture myself, I've signed up for this really wonderful thing called &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;NETFLIX.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Really, the moral of that random tidbit about myself was to ask you for your recommendations (and you know how much I love recs!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What are movies that you think I &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;must &lt;/span&gt;see?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far on my Queue list, I have:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind&lt;br /&gt;Fight Club&lt;br /&gt;Little Miss Sunshine&lt;br /&gt;La Femme Nikita Season 1&lt;br /&gt;Mad Men season 1&lt;br /&gt;Julie &amp;amp; Julia (when it comes out)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and classics like:&lt;br /&gt;An Affair to Remember&lt;br /&gt;Singin' in the Rain&lt;br /&gt;West Side Story&lt;br /&gt;It's a Wonderful life&lt;br /&gt;The Godfather&lt;br /&gt;Scarface&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and wonderful things like:&lt;br /&gt;I love Lucy Season 1 (love love love!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What other movies &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;must I watch? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-6655607940652236329?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/6655607940652236329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=6655607940652236329' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6655607940652236329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6655607940652236329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/11/thursday-november-19-2009.html' title='Thursday, November 19 2009'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SwRybbc7rkI/AAAAAAAAAPo/QIx5Wyexhtc/s72-c/010.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-2032920639019452292</id><published>2009-11-19T10:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T10:02:00.711-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade B-'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the legend of the four soldiers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - regency'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='elizabeth hoyt'/><title type='text'>Elizabeth Hoyt; To Desire a Devil</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Sv3F5CMH3WI/AAAAAAAAAPg/aCjnfTUMxvI/s1600-h/to+desire+a+devil.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Sv3F5CMH3WI/AAAAAAAAAPg/aCjnfTUMxvI/s200/to+desire+a+devil.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403692711545396578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;To Desire a Devil:&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; B-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beatrice Corning &amp;amp; Reynaud St. Aubyn&lt;br /&gt;Legend of Four Soldiers, book 4 (last)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;NOTHING IS MORE INTOXICATING—&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;                    &lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Reynaud St. Aubyn has spent the last seven years in hellish captivity. Now half mad with fever he bursts into his ancestral home and demands his due. Can this wild-looking man truly be the last earl’s heir, thought murdered by Indians years ago? &lt;/p&gt;                    &lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt; OR DANGEROUS—&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;                    &lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Beatrice Corning, the niece of the present earl, is a proper English miss. But she has a secret: No real man has ever excited her more than the handsome youth in the portrait in her uncle’s home. Suddenly, that very man is here, in the flesh—and luring her into his bed.&lt;/p&gt;                    &lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt; THAN SURRENDERING TO A DEVIL.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;                  &lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Only Beatrice can see past Reynaud’s savagery to the noble man inside. For his part, Reynaud is drawn to this lovely lady, even as he is suspicious of her loyalty to her uncle. But can Beatrice’s love tame a man who will stop at nothing to regain his title—even if it means sacrificing her innocence? (&lt;a href="http://www.elizabethhoyt.com/books/devil.php"&gt;author's website&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;To Desire a Devil is the last of Ms. Hoyt's Legend of the Four Soldiers series. Appropriately, the mystery as to who betrayed the English soldiers is finally solved in an anti-climactic end. At the end of book 3 (To Beguile a Beast), the former soldiers (and the men who were betrayed) had a very telling clue to the identity of the traitor. *HIGHLIGHT FOR SPOILER* &lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"&gt;We discover that the traitor is a man with a French mother.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fingers are pointed at Reynaud St. Aubyn, but that doesn't make much of a difference since Reynaud had died in the battle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much to everyone's surprise (and horror?), a wild, dangerous man bursts into Beatrice Corning and her Uncle Reggie's (now, the Earl of Blanchard) room. This man claims to be Reynaud and the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;true &lt;/span&gt;Earl of Blanchard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beatrice, who has admired Reynaud (from a painted picture of him) for years, is strangely attracted to him, knowing that if what "Reynaud" claims is true, then her Uncle would be stripped of his title and home. Uncle Reggie has cared for her since she was young and she cannot help but to be loyal to him, however, she cannot resist Reynaud...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Readers, I'm not going to lie: I was hoping for more from this book. I was a little annoyed at Beatrice and Reynaud, a little bored by the mystery (though I had started the book really wanting to know who the traitor was), and overall, a little unsatisfied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beatrice is a lovely, proper English lady with a romantic nature. The kind of English girl who wants a boy to love her - to really, passionately love her. She imagines Reynaud St. Aubyn is this type of a man. When she meets him, she's intrigued and vexed by his stubbornness and his change in ...everything. Reynaud is no longer the mischievous carefree boy; instead, he is war-torn, has been tortured, and has come to know one of the harsher realities of life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The problem I had with Beatrice was her lack of conviction in what she wanted, or needed. Or maybe it was just the way Ms. Hoyt wrote about Beatrice and her actions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sexual tension has been leading up.... something bad happens and Beatrice is shattered. She is mourning, and right then!, Reynaud decides he wants her. You know, wanting in the bedroom-tango, hanky-panky type of way. (Jerk!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beatrice, while she is grieving, realizes life is short and she needs to grab it for all its worth... and even though she is saddened by the fact that Reynaud doesn't love her (she doesn't even know if he &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;likes&lt;/span&gt; her much), she goes, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;YES! Sleep with me because I'm sad and lonely and emotionally overwhelmed. It doesn't matter that I've been wanting to do this with a really special person, one who loves me because Reynaud, I think you're smokin' hot! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...erm...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, let's, for the sake of well... giving Beatrice a chance, let's say she really needed to feel alive that night and being with Reynaud was the only way she was going to feel this. Fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She does it &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;again &lt;/span&gt;the next night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Woman!&lt;br /&gt;Have you no dignity?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More than anything, it comes down to control. Beatrice couldn't control herself, couldn't say no to Reynaud (didn't want to say no to Reynaud even though she did. You know what I mean..) despite all else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate that.&lt;br /&gt;I hate it when men or women are portrayed to have no control over one's actions. You can control yourself, no matter how hot and Brad Pitty he is. It's a good thing Reynaud ended up loving her by the end of the book (LOL, though did we ever doubt it...?).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides from that major beef, I'd say that the ending was a little lackluster. Not that the book was really read for the mystery, but since the mystery spanned four books, it should have ended with a bigger pizzazz...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line: read but don't be expecting to experience the greatest love story.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-2032920639019452292?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/2032920639019452292/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=2032920639019452292' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/2032920639019452292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/2032920639019452292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/11/elizabeth-hoyt-to-desire-devil.html' title='Elizabeth Hoyt; To Desire a Devil'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Sv3F5CMH3WI/AAAAAAAAAPg/aCjnfTUMxvI/s72-c/to+desire+a+devil.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-4680433985931519985</id><published>2009-11-12T10:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-12T10:02:00.511-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='julia grey mystery series'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gripes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='a little note'/><title type='text'>cover complaint</title><content type='html'>I've made my way through the Julia Grey Mystery series by Deanna Raybourn. Though these books are thoroughly enjoyable, I have a gripe I'd like to share:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who in the world decided it was all right for the covers to go from awesome to skanktastic? (By skanktastic I mean "lame." Why I don't simply write "lame".. that, readers, is a question for another day.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look below for references.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Svpp1dnf10I/AAAAAAAAAPI/qRDnPnoxCMw/s1600-h/silentin+the+grave.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Svpp1dnf10I/AAAAAAAAAPI/qRDnPnoxCMw/s200/silentin+the+grave.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402747070188607298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Svpp1icH90I/AAAAAAAAAPQ/V9jB_4acAEE/s1600-h/silent-in-the-sanctuary.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 128px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Svpp1icH90I/AAAAAAAAAPQ/V9jB_4acAEE/s200/silent-in-the-sanctuary.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402747071483082562" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Svpp1-vFE4I/AAAAAAAAAPY/fAxeAeRTiGA/s1600-h/silent+on+the+moor.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 128px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Svpp1-vFE4I/AAAAAAAAAPY/fAxeAeRTiGA/s200/silent+on+the+moor.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402747079078777730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Books 1 &amp;amp; 2 are awesome. Classy and interesting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the third... is... what? Some dude (Brisbane?) clutching some dudette (Julia Grey??).&lt;br /&gt;It might be because the third book came out not as a mass paperback but as a Trade Paperback, those blasted books with the awkward heights. But why, oh why, did the publishers condone such monstrosity on the covers?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These books are shelved in the MYSTERY section of the bookstores, not in the romance section, though there is a continuous love story in the books. So &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;why &lt;/span&gt;is there a bosom-clutching cover on the last book? It doesn't even match the first two covers!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gah!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dumb marketers trying to target the romance-reading audience, I curse you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grumbling unhappily,&lt;br /&gt;Alice&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS:&lt;br /&gt;Readers, I've figured out how to &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;follow &lt;/span&gt;blogs! Hooray! I know, it only took me two years and something...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Furthermore, Sally, I'm feeling a little left out that I'm not invited to your blog. *ahem*..*nudge*... *cough*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, my little CURRENTLY READING widget is working thanks to Namoi and Princess April. Hooray for DNs!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-4680433985931519985?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/4680433985931519985/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=4680433985931519985' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4680433985931519985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4680433985931519985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/11/cover-complaint.html' title='cover complaint'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Svpp1dnf10I/AAAAAAAAAPI/qRDnPnoxCMw/s72-c/silentin+the+grave.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-2341653829978698996</id><published>2009-11-11T10:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-11T10:02:00.427-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='with children'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade B+'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the legend of the four soldiers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tortured heroes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - regency'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='elizabeth hoyt'/><title type='text'>Elizabeth Hoyt: To Beguile a Beast</title><content type='html'>Happy Wednesday and Happy Veterans' Day, readers!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="500" height="373"&gt;&lt;param name="wegifplayer" value="http://media.wegif.com/assets/wegif_player.swf"&gt;&lt;param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;param name="flashVars" value="wid=131677"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.wegif.com/assets/wegif_player.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" flashvars="wid=131677" width="500" height="373"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.wegif.com/gifs/luciana/131677/"&gt;good morning kitty&lt;/a&gt; by &lt;a href="http://www.wegif.com/home/luciana/"&gt;luciana&lt;/a&gt; on &lt;a href="http://www.wegif.com/"&gt;WeGIF&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't like cats or kittens much, but the one above is so darling... I just had to share!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With that, I shall proceed to Ms. Hoyt's third book in the Legend of the Four Soldiers series,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Svpi2rtZObI/AAAAAAAAAPA/cf4b6N9BN44/s1600-h/to+beguile.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Svpi2rtZObI/AAAAAAAAAPA/cf4b6N9BN44/s200/to+beguile.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402739394569910706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;To Beguile a Beast: B+&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Helen Fitzwilliam &amp;amp; Sir Alistair Munroe&lt;br /&gt;Legend of the Four Soldiers #3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;CAN A WOUNDED BEAST . . .&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;                   &lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Reclusive Sir Alistair Munroe has hidden in his castle ever since returning from the Colonies, scarred inside and out. But when a mysterious beauty arrives at his door, the passions he's kept suppressed for years begin to awaken.&lt;br /&gt;                   &lt;br /&gt;                    &lt;strong&gt;TRUST A BEAUTY WITH A PAST . . .&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;                   &lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Running from past mistakes has taken legendary beauty Helen Fitzwilliam from the luxury of the ton to a crumbling Scottish castle . . . and a job as a housekeeper. Yet Helen is determined to start a new life and she won't let dust-or a beast of a man-scare her away.&lt;br /&gt;                   &lt;br /&gt;                    &lt;strong&gt;TO TAME HIS MOST SECRET DESIRES? &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;                 &lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Beneath Helen's beautiful façade, Alistair finds a courageous and sensual woman. A woman who doesn't back away from his surliness-or his scars. But just as he begins to believe in true love, Helen's secret past threatens to tear them apart. Now both Beast and Beauty must fight for the one thing neither believed they could ever find--a happy ever after. (back of book)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This novel was unique in several aspects, which I greatly appreciated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like to think this novel is one of a higher level than the regular mass romances on the bookshelves, mainly because the both the hero and the heroine are &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not &lt;/span&gt;squeaky clean. Helen Fitzwilliam is a great beauty and surprise, paramour to a high-standing someone in the London ton. She has been with this man for so long, she has two children fathered by this less than spectacular gentleman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alistair Munroe, on the other hand, has holed himself up in his castle since returning from fighting in the Colonies. It was there that he was severely tortured. Not a whipped-back has-knife-wound kind of tortured, Munroe is missing an eye and two fingers from one hand, among other "disfigurements." If this story were to be paralleled to the story of Beauty &amp;amp; the Beast, I am fairly certain Alistair would fall under the Beast category (not the Beauty. I think that would be Ms. Helen Fitzwilliam).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Helen finds herself running for her life. She and her children end up on Munroe's doorstep (er.. castlestep) and announces herself his new housekeeper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He, undoubtedly, is appalled by her bravado and is stunned by her beauty.&lt;br /&gt;She is intimidated by his scars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there starts the story of how these two characters fall in love. Why is Helen running for her life? Glad you asked. Something about an overpossessive certain-somebody...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You also get to find out more about the mystery as to who betrayed the British during that war. It wasn't Alistair, as he was tortured the way he was... so who...?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt the characters came to life in this story. While the whole Helen-in-grave-danger part wasn't particularly exciting nor interesting, seeing Alistair and Helen interact was fun. And... I don't see how a hero can be more tortured or "wounded" (physically and mentally) than our very own Alistair Munroe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line: Recommended reading.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Side Question: So... does it make anyone else laugh that the men's woohoo is referred to as a "prick?" I understand that this might be culturally and historically accurate from the Regency era, but a prick? I almost prefer "throbbing manhood" to it... okay, not so much, but you get what I'm saying.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-2341653829978698996?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/2341653829978698996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=2341653829978698996' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/2341653829978698996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/2341653829978698996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/11/elizabeth-hoyt-to-beguile-beast.html' title='Elizabeth Hoyt: To Beguile a Beast'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Svpi2rtZObI/AAAAAAAAAPA/cf4b6N9BN44/s72-c/to+beguile.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-1249331623238295248</id><published>2009-11-10T14:48:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T14:59:30.064-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alice'/><title type='text'>Your reviewer, Alice</title><content type='html'>This is a late post, but believe me, I have a good reason for posting late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today's my birthday!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, readers, twenty-something years ago, this exact day, my mother suffered to bring me into this world... most likely for the sole reason of reading romance (and other) novels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm going to be vain and share stuffs about me. Awesome, yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alice; 5'1.5", brown eyes, black hair, shoe size - 6,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Occupation: In addition to being a superstar, a tutor, part-time barista, a student (in an abstract sense), closet dancer, and a book reviewer!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Loves:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Movies - Anastasia, Beauty and the Beast, Sweet Home Alabama, The Matrix, Mulan, Legally Blonde,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Books - this list will take forever, but Paradise, Almost Heaven, Again the Magic, Scandalous, Bel Canto, The Alchemist, The Time Traveler's Wife, Wuthering Heights, Like Water For Chocolate&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Food - butter and fried goodness... and fries, sushi, great salads, paininis, pineapples, pastas, Korean ramen..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dessert - Creme Brulee and ice cream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Curse word of preference: shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Makeup must haves: Shu Uemura eyelash curler, Maybelline turbo boost waterproof mascara in very black,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perfume: Bright Crystal by Versace&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All right, good readers, I'm going to have a cup of coffee with my sister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your dutiful reviewer,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alice&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-1249331623238295248?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/1249331623238295248/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=1249331623238295248' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/1249331623238295248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/1249331623238295248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/11/your-reviewer-alice.html' title='Your reviewer, Alice'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-5048245665798385205</id><published>2009-11-09T10:02:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-09T10:02:00.175-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade C'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='julia quinn'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - regency'/><title type='text'>Julia Quinn: What Happens in London</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Svfduqke9QI/AAAAAAAAAO4/NyblhWrdh4Y/s1600-h/what+happens+in+london.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Svfduqke9QI/AAAAAAAAAO4/NyblhWrdh4Y/s200/what+happens+in+london.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402030071825233154" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;What Happens in London: C&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olivia Bevelstoke &amp;amp; Hero (Harry Valentine)&lt;br /&gt;sequel to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="productDescriptionWrapper"&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;When Olivia Bevelstoke is told that her new neighbor may have killed his fiancee, she doesn't believe it for a second, but, still, how can she help spying on him, just to be sure? So she stakes out a spot near her bedroom window, cleverly concealed by curtains, watches, and waits . . . and discovers a most intriguing man, who is definitely up to something. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Sir Harry Valentine works for the boring branch of the War Office, translating documents vital to national security. He's not a spy, but he's had all the training, and when a gorgeous blonde begins to watch him from her window, he is instantly suspicious. But just when he decides that she's nothing more than an annoyingly nosy debutante, he discovers that she might be engaged to a foreign prince, who might be plotting against England. And when Harry is roped into spying on Olivia, he discovers that he might be falling for her himself . . . &lt;/p&gt;        &lt;div class="emptyClear"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I happen to think What Happens in London is a very average book. It has average characters with average writing, with an average... well, average everything. The characters are so forgettable, I've actually forgotten the hero's name. This almost never happens... well, unless the characters are forgettable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do remember Olivia Bevelstoke as the heroine. She's pretty and as as a pretty girl in London during the regency times, she has to hide the fact that she has a brain. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;But &lt;/span&gt;she meets the unnamed hero (all right, I'll look up his name for you..!) in a very unsmart, albeit funny, manner: hearing rumors that hero might be a psychopathic killer prompts her to spy on him when he moves in next to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He catches her spying on him, they are acquainted, and then somehow, he ends up being her bodyguard. The details are failing me, but something about one of Olivia's suitors (a Russian prince!) being suspicious... in any case, they're around each other all the time and the flames of passion ignite!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other than the entertaining way in which she spies on hero, I can't remember any significant things about the story... other than the fact that Olivia and hero's sex scene (you know, that ultimate, cataclysmic scene in which both realize they've found the love of each others' lives because of the amazing sex and etc) is the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;worst &lt;/span&gt;sex scene I've ever read. It's worse than an unwritten sex scene (in which you imagine hero and heroine has a soul-shattering moment) and this scene, readers, was so laughable and uncool, I promptly forgot why I found it so horrible; I'm only left with the thought of, '&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Worst sex scene ever!!'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;I think this is a good place to say that I'm not a huge fan of Ms. Quinn's writing style.&lt;br /&gt;She aims for the cutesy, witty, intelligent style that is lacking in details (of all kinds, including characters, plot, setting...) and fails to be humorous. It just... tries too hard? is unfunny? witty but not really witty? If paired with a decent plot (I did enjoy her &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Lost Duke of Wyndham &lt;/span&gt;and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Mr. Cavendish, I Presume&lt;/span&gt; though it had the same unfunny writing style) I think the book is enjoyable enough, but without it, the book is just an average read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With that, I'll end this very average book review.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh! While searching for the book's synopsis, Amazon tells me hero's name is Mr. Harry Valentine. Ah yes... Harry Valentine...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-5048245665798385205?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/5048245665798385205/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=5048245665798385205' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5048245665798385205'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5048245665798385205'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/11/julia-quinn-what-happens-in-london.html' title='Julia Quinn: What Happens in London'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/Svfduqke9QI/AAAAAAAAAO4/NyblhWrdh4Y/s72-c/what+happens+in+london.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-2567048879394827349</id><published>2009-11-06T10:02:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T10:02:00.291-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='julia grey mystery series'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - victorian'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mystery'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='deanna raybourn'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='romantic suspense'/><title type='text'>Deanna Raybourn: Silent In the Grave</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SvPMh8LNh6I/AAAAAAAAAOw/u6Z5e6rFiNE/s1600-h/silentin+the+grave.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SvPMh8LNh6I/AAAAAAAAAOw/u6Z5e6rFiNE/s200/silentin+the+grave.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400885261608257442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Silent in the Grave: A&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lady Julia Grey &amp;amp; Nicholas Brisbane&lt;br /&gt;Victorian-era mystery, romance&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Let the wicked be ashamed, and let them be silent in the grave."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;These ominous words, slashed from the pages of a book of Psalms, are the last threat that the darling of London society, Sir Edward Grey, receives from his killer. Before he can show them to Nicholas Brisbane, the private inquiry agent he has retained for his protection, Sir Edward collapses and dies at his London home, in the presence of his wife, Julia, and a roomful of dinner guests. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Prepared to accept that Edward's death was due to a longstanding physical infirmity, Julia is outraged when Brisbane visits and suggests that Sir Edward has been murdered. It is a reaction she comes to regret when she discovers the damning paper for herself, and realizes the truth.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Determined to bring her husband's murderer to justice, Julia engages the enigmatic Brisbane to help her investigate Edward's demise. Dismissing his warnings that the investigation will be difficult, if not impossible, Julia presses forward, following a trail of clues that lead her to even more unpleasant truths, and ever closer to a killer who waits expectantly for her arrival.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've decided to start off on a happy note and decided to have my first review from my (slackingness) vacation be a read I enjoyed immensely. I cannot take credit for having "found" the book since I heard of it through a fellow reader friend in Book Club (thanks MeganB!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having only mediocre thoughts of the book from last month's Book Club (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;What Happens in London&lt;/span&gt; by Julia Quinn), I wasn't particularly desperate to read &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Silent in the Grave. &lt;/span&gt;My only consolation was that I was told it was a mystery, a genre I am also a fan of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a good thing I'm &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;so &lt;/span&gt;open-minded about bookstuffs (LOL) because this one was wonderful to read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Julia Grey's husband convulses and dies before Julia and a dark, mysterious stranger (hehe!). Later, it is suggested to her that husband's death is not a natural death as they all presumed and suddenly, Nicholas Brisbane is talking of murder and dark motives. He is dismissed, but then Julia finds reason to suspect Brisbane is in fact, telling the truth. Soon enough, Julia and Brisbane are working to discover the truth of the matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loved this book for several reasons, the first being Ms. Raybourn's writing style. The book &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;is &lt;/span&gt;written in the first person - Julia's - but unlike other horrible, poorly written, undeserving first person POV books *cough*theTWILIGHTseries*cough*, this one is beautifully crafted with wit and descriptive observations. Though you only get Julia's thoughts, you pretty much get to know all of the other characters in-depth (including her nine brothers and sisters). You do &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;not &lt;/span&gt;get Brisbane's anything at all... that man is an enigma.. which brings me to my second point...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The chemistry between Julia and Brisbane is delicious. Unlike regular mass market paperbacks where the hero and heroine &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;must &lt;/span&gt;end up together at the end of the short three-hundred pages, this story is the first of the Julia Grey mystery series. This means interactions between Julia and Brisbane are spread out and realistic, doing wonders to build tension between the two characters. The romance is there, but it is budding and in the baby stages, unlike a fast track meet-love-have sex-be happy romance. Granted, there were times when I wanted to throttle Brisbane for not being cliched like the other heroes ("JUST KISS HER, you dolt!), but you will come to appreciate their relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Third, the characters. Julia's family - the March family - is. so. weird. !! In the most amusing and insightful way, that is.&lt;br /&gt;The characters are real characters, from her batty aunts and uncles, to her Shakespeare-quoting father; from her once-married-turned-lesbian older sister to her gypsy laundress... it's so much fun to read about all of them and get to know their stories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, of course, the mystery is compelling to read. Very twisty and turny.&lt;br /&gt;Think &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;In Death &lt;/span&gt;series by JD Robb (Nora Roberts) ... and actually, most mass paperback "suspense" novels but 100x better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Verdict: Read! Read! Then tell me about it. I don't bite.&lt;br /&gt;Well, for the most part... (unless you have H1N1. Then I definitely won't bite.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Naturally, you shouldn't be surprised to discover that I read this book in practically one sitting - despite having had to work all Thursday morning. When I finished two nights ago, I went to the library ten minutes before closing time to borrow the sequel, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Silent in the Sanctuary&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm happy to say that I had the sequel in my grubby, little hands and after reading it all day (minus the working thing again), I've finished it. No hoorays for me yet: I am trying to get a hold of the third, Silent in the Moor... SILM, donde estas?? Public library of my city, why are you failing me so?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read an excerpt of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Silent in the Grave&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.deannaraybourn.com/sitg_excerpt.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt; or below:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(I hope I'm not infringing on copyright laws by posting here for your convenience. Retrieved from Deanna Raybourn's website.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La~ enjoy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span class="bookdefault"&gt;To say that I met Nicholas Brisbane over my husband’s dead body is not entirely accurate. Edward, it should be noted, was still twitching upon the floor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stared at him, not quite taking in the fact that he had just collapsed at my feet. He lay, curled like a question mark, his evening suit ink-black against the white marble of the floor. He was writhing; his fingers knotted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I leaned as close to him as my corset would permit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Edward, we have guests.  Do get up. If this is some sort of silly prank—”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“He is not jesting, my lady.  He is convulsing.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An impatient figure in black pushed past me to kneel at Edward’s side. He busied himself for a few brisk moments, palpating and pulse-taking, while I bobbed a bit, trying to see over his shoulder. Behind me the guests were murmuring, buzzing, pushing closer to get a look of their own. There was a little thrill of excitement in the air. After all, it was not every evening that a baronet collapsed senseless in his own music room. And Edward was proving rather better entertainment than the soprano we had engaged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Through the press, Aquinas, our butler, managed to squeeze in next to my elbow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“My lady?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at him, grateful to have an excuse to turn away from the spectacle on the floor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Aquinas, Sir Edward has had an attack.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“And would be better served in his own bed,” said the gentleman from the floor. He rose, lifting Edward into his arms with a good deal of care and very little effort, it seemed. But Edward had grown thin in the past months. I doubted he weighed much more than I.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Follow me,” I instructed; although, Aquinas actually led the way out of the music room. People moved slowly out of our path, as though they regretted the little drama ending so quickly. There were some polite murmurs, some mournful clucking. I heard snatches as I passed through them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“The curse of the Greys, it is—”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“So young.  But of course his father never saw thirty-five.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Never make old bones—”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Feeble heart. Pity, he was always such a pleasant fellow.” I moved faster, staring straight ahead so that I did not have to meet their eyes. I kept my gaze fixed on Aquinas’ broad, black-wool back, but all the time I was conscious of those voices and the sound of footsteps behind me, the footsteps of the gentleman who was carrying my husband. Edward groaned softly as we reached the stairs, and I turned. The gentleman’s face was grim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Aquinas, help the gentleman—”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I have him,” he interrupted, brushing past me. Aquinas obediently led him to Edward’s bedchamber. Together they settled Edward onto the bed, and the gentleman began to loosen his clothes. He flicked a glance toward Aquinas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Has he a doctor?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Yes, sir.  Doctor Griggs, Golden Square.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Send for him.  Although, I dare say it will be too late.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aquinas turned to me where I stood, hovering on the threshold. I never went into Edward’s room. I did not like to do so now. It felt like an intrusion, a trespass on his privacy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Shall I send for Lord March as well, my lady?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I blinked at Aquinas.  “Why should Father come?  He is no doctor.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Aquinas was quicker than I. I had thought the gentleman meant that Edward would have recovered from his attack by the time Doctor Griggs arrived. Aquinas, who had seen more of the world than I, knew better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He looked at me, his eyes carefully correct, and then I understood why he wanted to send for Father. As head of the family he would have certain responsibilities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I nodded slowly. “Yes, send for him.” I moved into the room on reluctant legs. I knew I should be there, doing whatever little bit that I could for Edward. But I stopped at the side of the bed. I did not touch him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“And Lord Bellmont?” Aquinas queried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought for a moment.  “No, it is Friday.  Parliament is sitting late.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That much was a mercy. Father I could cope with, but not my eldest brother as well. “And I suppose you ought to call for the carriages. Send everyone home. Make my apologies.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He left us alone then, the stranger and I. We stood on opposite sides of the bed, Edward convulsing between us. He stopped after a moment, and the gentleman placed a finger at his throat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“His pulse is very weak,” he said finally.  “You should prepare yourself.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did not look at him. I kept my eyes fixed on Edward’s pale face. It shone with sweat, its surface etched with lines of pain. This was not how I wanted to remember him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I have known him for more than twenty years,” I said finally, my voice tight and strange. “We were children together. We used to play pirates and knights of the Round Table. Even then, I knew his heart was not sound. He used to go quite blue sometimes when he was overtired. This is not unexpected.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked up then to find the stranger’s eyes on me. They were the darkest eyes I had ever seen, witch-black and watchful. His gaze was not friendly. He was regarding me coldly, as a merchant will appraise a piece of goods to determine its worth. I dropped my eyes at once.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Thank you for your concern for my husband’s health, sir.  You have been most helpful.  Are you a friend of Edward’s?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He did not reply at once. Edward made a noise in the back of his throat, and the stranger moved swiftly, rolling him onto his side and thrusting a basin beneath his mouth. Edward retched, horribly, groaning. When he finished, the gentleman put the basin to the side and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. Edward gave a little whimper and began to shiver. The gentleman watched him closely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Not a friend, no.  A business associate,” he said finally.  “My name is Nicholas Brisbane.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I am—”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I know who you are, my lady.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Startled at his rudeness, I looked up, only to find those eyes again, fixed on me with naked hostility. I opened my mouth to reproach him, but Aquinas appeared then. I turned to him, relieved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Aquinas?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“The carriages are being brought round now, my lady. I have sent Henry for Doctor Griggs and Desmond for his lordship. Lady Otterbourne and Mr. Phillips both asked me to convey their concern and their willingness to help should you have need of them.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Lady Otterbourne is a meddlesome old gossip and Mr. Phillips would be no use whatsoever.  Send them home.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was conscious of Mr. Brisbane behind me, listening to every word. I did not care. For some unaccountable reason, the man thought ill of me already. I did not mind if he thought worse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aquinas left again, but I did not resume my post by the bed. I took a chair next to the door and remained there, saying nothing and wondering what was going to happen to all of the food. We had ordered far too much in any event. Edward never liked to run short. I could always tell Cook to serve it in the servants’ hall, but after a few days even the staff would tire of it. Before I could decide what to do with the lobster patties and salad molds, Aquinas entered again, leading Doctor Griggs. The elderly man was perspiring freely, patting his ruddy face with a handkerchief and gasping. He had taken the stairs too quickly. I rose and he took my hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I was afraid of this,” he murmured. “The curse of the Greys, it is. All snatched before their time. My poor girl.” I smiled feebly at him. Doctor Griggs had attended my mother at my birth, as well as her nine other confinements. We had known each other too long to stand on ceremony. He patted my hand and moved to the bed. He felt for Edward's pulse, shaking his head as he did so. Edward vomited again, and Doctor Griggs watched him carefully, examining the contents of the basin. I turned away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried not to hear the sounds coming from the bed, the groans and the rattling breaths. I would have stopped my ears with my hands, but I knew it would look childish and cowardly. Griggs continued his examination, but before he finished Aquinas stepped into the room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Lord March, my lady.”  He moved aside and Father entered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Julia,” he said, opening his arms. I went into them, burying my face against his waistcoat. He smelled of tobacco and book leather. He kept one arm tucked firmly around me as he looked over my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Griggs, you damned fool.  Julia should have been sent away.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor made some reply, but I did not hear it. My father was pushing me gently out the door. I tried to look past him, to see what they were doing to Edward, but Father moved his body and prevented me. He gave me a sad, gentle smile. Anyone else might have mistaken that smile, but I did not. I knew he expected obedience. I nodded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I shall wait in my room.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“That would be best.  I will come when there is something to tell.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My maid, Morag, was waiting for me. She helped me out of my silk gown and into something more suitable. She offered me warm milk or brandy, but I knew I would never be able to hold anything down. I only wanted to sit, watching the clock on the mantel as it ticked away the minutes left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Morag continued to fuss, poking at the fire and muttering complaints about the work to come. She was right about that. There would be much work for her when I put on widow’s weeds. It was unlucky to keep crepe in the house, I reminded myself. It would have to be sent for after Edward passed. I thought about such things—crepe for the mirrors, black plumes for the horses—because then I did not have to think about what was happening in Edward’s room. It was rather like waiting for a birth, these long, tense minutes of sitting, straining one’s ears on tiptoe for the slightest sound. I expected to hear something, but the walls were thick and I heard nothing. Even when the clock struck midnight, the little voice on my mantel chiming twelve times, I could not hear the tall case clock in the hall. I started to mention the peculiarity of it to Morag, because one could always hear the case clock from any room in the house, when I realized what it meant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Morag, the clocks have stopped.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She looked at me, her lips parted to speak, but she said nothing. Instead she bowed her head and began to pray. A moment later, the door opened. It was Father. He said nothing. I went to him and his hand cradled my head like a benediction. He held me for a very long time, as he had not done since . . . &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-2567048879394827349?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/2567048879394827349/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=2567048879394827349' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/2567048879394827349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/2567048879394827349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/11/deanna-raybourn-silent-in-grave.html' title='Deanna Raybourn: Silent In the Grave'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SvPMh8LNh6I/AAAAAAAAAOw/u6Z5e6rFiNE/s72-c/silentin+the+grave.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-5917313273738282203</id><published>2009-10-14T10:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-14T10:02:00.309-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-review'/><title type='text'>back from the dead</title><content type='html'>I am back from the dead! This blog seems to reveal the worst in me. Really, I am not &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;this &lt;/span&gt;horrible in real life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But good news is that I have a little more time to read... which means, more stuffs to base my mean reviews on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though I'm not reading nearly as much romance as I did, I'm reading a little of it, with genuine and earnest efforts in breaking out into the non-romance fiction world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Book suggestions are always welcome, though if you recommend me your favorite book and I bash it via blog, don't hate. Books are not necessarily a reflection of us... and our intelligence.... &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;most &lt;/span&gt;of the time. LOL =D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Viva los libros!&lt;br /&gt;(erm, did that make any sense? I definitely "made it up." hehe)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-5917313273738282203?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/5917313273738282203/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=5917313273738282203' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5917313273738282203'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5917313273738282203'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/10/back-from-dead.html' title='back from the dead'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-4812497127382198178</id><published>2009-07-23T10:02:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T10:02:00.613-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-review'/><title type='text'>Kicking the bandwagon</title><content type='html'>Not that I like to stir up trouble, but I always feel compelled to dislike the things that everyone else likes. Like the "totally in" huge necklaces and gaudy baubles, or the huge rings (the ones that come up to my knuckles) worn on the index finger. Or the trendy, new haircuts. I feel morally opposed to the new and the trendy. Why should I like something because the girl next door likes it? And why should I follow the dictates and whims of society?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find that the same happens with books, but on a deeper level. I don't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hate &lt;/span&gt;books because everyone else loves it; I am more critical of books that everyone else loves, and usually don't feel the "oh-my-gawd-you-totally-need-to-read"&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; compulsions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then come the books that everyone else &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;loves... &lt;/span&gt;and for the love of pearl, I just don't see why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are some of those books:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Janet Evanovich's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Plum &lt;/span&gt;series - all of them. Bad books, uninteresting characters. Maybe it's because I think Stephanie Plum is a bit of a dipwad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sherrilyn Kenyon's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dark-Hunter &lt;/span&gt;series - I got through 4.5 and called it quits. Maybe it was because of the book I was reading. I didn't like&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Night Embrace - &lt;/span&gt;I didn't even want to finish it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stephenie Meyer's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Twilight &lt;/span&gt;series - I can say that this one is the worst pseudo-romance I've read in a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;long &lt;/span&gt;time, and Bella to be the most idiotic "heroine" - ever. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Twilight &lt;/span&gt;wasn't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so &lt;/span&gt;bad (I'd give it a C), but &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;New Moon &lt;/span&gt;- mother of pearl - was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so &lt;/span&gt;bad, I am aghast at the fact that it was published - and then devoured by so many. !?!! Bottom line is: Meyer is &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;not &lt;/span&gt;a good writer. The writing itself sucks! And Bela is an idiot. The cons outweigh the single pro: Edward Cullen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tolkien's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Lord of the Rings  &lt;/span&gt;- I'm surprised I didn't like this one since I love fantasies, but I might be a little ahead of myself: I've only actually tried to read &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Hobbit &lt;/span&gt;which is the prequel to the LOTR series, but &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Hobbit &lt;/span&gt;was so boring, I gave up after 50 pages, and since that fated day eight years ago, I haven't been able to tell myself to give the actual trilogy a chance. Maybe I will....................&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;J. R. Ward's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Black Dagger Brotherhood &lt;/span&gt;vampire series: I read the first four, until Vishous's story. The first two aren't particularly stimulating and the fourth (V's book) was just awful. (However,  Zsadist's was enjoyable.) After that, I had no desire whatsoever to invest any more of my time into Phury's story (which sounded dumb) or Rehvenge's story... or Xhex + John Matthew's story (if it ever comes to be that they are together). Goodness, I think I just gave myself nightmares by thinking of Xhex and John Matthew. (insert shudder here)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other honorable mentions:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;books that aren't &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;ghastly &lt;/span&gt;but are, in this lady's opinion, overrated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Julia Quinn's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bridgerton &lt;/span&gt;series: I read all eight and it wasn't horrendous. But it also wasn't great. It's a bit like the same story being retold eight times. They're books that are entertaining to read (no intense plot, no intense characters, no intense love stories..) but after you've read it, you immediately forget the characters' names and what the story was about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Loretta Chase's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lord of Scoundrels: &lt;/span&gt;It was a good read, but not fabulous, as everyone else cried. Definitely not a must-read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lee Harper's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;To Kill a Mockingbird: &lt;/span&gt;What is all the fuss about? Sure, it's a good book, but it was s-l-o-w and meaningless until the last 1/4th of the novel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kim Edward's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Memory Keeper's Daughter&lt;/span&gt;: The ending felt so unsatisfactory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lauren Weisberger's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Devil Wears Prada&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;: &lt;/span&gt;Funny, but not hysterical. Enjoyable but not read-or-die.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lisa Kleypas's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Smooth Talking Stranger: &lt;/span&gt;This won't go on the "what's all the hype about - kicking the bandwagon" list... yet. If the fourth novel is as bad as this, I will cry sad tears and put it there. LK, I have faith in you..!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Agree?&lt;br /&gt;Agree to disagree?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-4812497127382198178?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/4812497127382198178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=4812497127382198178' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4812497127382198178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4812497127382198178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/07/kicking-bandwagon.html' title='Kicking the bandwagon'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-6642073641054893484</id><published>2009-07-22T10:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T10:02:00.504-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade C+'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='chicklit'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='emily giffin'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='womens fiction'/><title type='text'>Emily Giffin: Something Blue</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SmC30RIGwCI/AAAAAAAAAOo/FQ33GuEqXpQ/s1600-h/something+blue.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 132px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SmC30RIGwCI/AAAAAAAAAOo/FQ33GuEqXpQ/s200/something+blue.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359485665149370402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Something Blue: C+&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darcy Rhone&lt;br /&gt;chick-lit, women's fiction&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Giffin's sophomore effort-which tells the story that her bestselling Something Borrowed did from a different character's point of view-stars such an unsympathetic narrator that it's a little like reading a Cinderella story featuring one of the wicked stepsisters. Perhaps beautiful Darcy Rhone isn't really wicked, but she is one of the most shallow, materialistic, self-centered and naïve 29-year-olds around. Ostensibly a high-powered PR person in Manhattan (though she never seems to work), Darcy spends most of her time shopping, partying and getting ready for her wedding to perfect guy Dex. But an alcohol-fueled Hamptons fling with one of Dex's pals, Marcus, starts to break Darcy's perfect life down; and discovering Dex hiding in her best friend Rachel's closet really shatters it. Pregnant with Marcus's baby, Darcy decamps for London, where she crashes in high school pal Ethan's flat and annoys the heck out of him with her endless shopping and complete disregard for her impending motherhood. But after a good lecture from Ethan, whom Darcy has started to fall for a little, Darcy embarks on a self-improvement plan, thereby demonstrating she can think about someone besides herself...&lt;br /&gt;(publisher's weekly)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The funny thing about this book is that I actually read it. Considering all things, I was sure I would fling it to my wall and have it be a thing of the past... and yet, there I sat, on my family cruise, flipping through the pages.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As you know from my (scathing? unpleasant? hate-love-hate?) relationship with the first novel in the series, Something Borrowed, that I pretty much hated all of the characters in this (and that) story. Rachel for being a vile home-wrecker (though the home was on its way to being wrecked), Dex for being a nimwad (who proposes to a loved one if the loved one isn't really loved?), and Darcy for being a superficial, callow bee-atch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Something Borrowed&lt;/span&gt; ends with the calling off of Darcy and Dex's wedding, Darcy pregnant with Marcu's child (Marcus, as you know, was Dex's best man and the one she had been cheating with while Dex was with Rachel. Egh...), and with Rachel and Darcy's friendship in the pooper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Something Blue&lt;/span&gt; starts out with Darcy still being her usual, selfish, spoiled (but beautiful!) self. In reality, 3/4 of the book is about her, her selfishness, and her spoiledness. Realistic, I suppose. Though I would expect any normal human being - after having experienced the kind of drama (and trauma?) she went through to critically analyze herself and to examine &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;why &lt;/span&gt;things happened the way they did... Darcy doesn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She proves to be an insecure individual who thrives on the attention of others to feed her "ego." She fools herself in thinking she's in love with Marcus, so that her child will have a father, and so &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;she &lt;/span&gt;will have someone to lean on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually, Darcy's idiocy drives Marcus away (and let's be honest here, Marcus was no fine catch to begin with..). He tells her, in no short words, that he wants out of the relationship, and that he can care less about the child whose DNA he's supplied half of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Panicked, she decides to go to London and stay with her (and Rachel's) friend, Ethan. She packs her bag with the largest misconceptions of London and of motherhood and jets on over to Ethan, who is less than pleased to see her; Ethan (correctly) remembers Darcy as the selfish, spoiled, likes-to-party, center-of-attention (but beautiful!) girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once in London, she spends most of her savings buying designer outfits, trying to fit in, assuring herself of her beauty, despite the ever increasing baby bump.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not until 3/4 of the way through the novel that Darcy miraculously comes to her senses, with the help of patient Ethan... and a little bit of blossoming love..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As with &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Something Borrowed&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Something Blue&lt;/span&gt; is a book that uncovers human nature to its dirtiest and grittiest, and is shows, perhaps, the most honest part of ourselves. It makes you think and it exasperates you.. and shows you the consequences of reality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read with caution!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-6642073641054893484?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/6642073641054893484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=6642073641054893484' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6642073641054893484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6642073641054893484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/07/emily-giffin-something-blue.html' title='Emily Giffin: Something Blue'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SmC30RIGwCI/AAAAAAAAAOo/FQ33GuEqXpQ/s72-c/something+blue.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-3349235504109261845</id><published>2009-07-21T10:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T10:02:00.238-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='book list'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='BBC'/><title type='text'>BBC's Big Read</title><content type='html'>I am marking the pitiful low numbers of books (classics? semi-classics? popular novels?) that I've read. It is my goal to read every single book on this list before I die... even if it kills me. Which, in retrospect, it probably will since I don't even want to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;touch &lt;/span&gt;Tolkien's books. Bleh!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BBC's Big Read (2003)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  &lt;a name="lordoftherings"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;The Lord of the Rings&lt;/strong&gt;, JRR Tolkien&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  2.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="prejudice"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Pride and Prejudice&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, Jane Austen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  3.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="darkmaterials"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;His Dark Materials&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, Philip Pullman&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  4.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="hitchhikers"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, Douglas Adams&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  5.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="goblet"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, JK Rowling&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  6.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="mockingbird"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;To Kill a Mockingbird&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, Harper Lee&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 7.  &lt;a name="winnie"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Winnie the Pooh&lt;/strong&gt;, AA Milne&lt;br /&gt; 8.  &lt;a name="1984"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Nineteen Eighty-Four&lt;/strong&gt;, George Orwell&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  9.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="wardrobe"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, CS Lewis&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 10. &lt;a name="janeeyre"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Jane Eyre&lt;/strong&gt;, Charlotte Brontë&lt;br /&gt; 11. &lt;a name="catch22"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Catch-22&lt;/strong&gt;, Joseph Heller&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  12. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="wuthering"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Wuthering Heights&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, Emily Brontë&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 13. &lt;a name="birdsong"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Birdsong&lt;/strong&gt;, Sebastian Faulks&lt;br /&gt; 14. &lt;a name="rebecca"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Rebecca&lt;/strong&gt;, Daphne du Maurier&lt;br /&gt; 15. &lt;a name="catcher"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;The Catcher in the Rye&lt;/strong&gt;, JD Salinger&lt;br /&gt; 16. &lt;a name="willows"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;The Wind in the Willows&lt;/strong&gt;, Kenneth Grahame&lt;br /&gt; 17. &lt;a name="expectations"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Great Expectations&lt;/strong&gt;, Charles Dickens&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  18. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="littlewomen"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Little Women&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, Louisa May Alcott&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 19. &lt;a name="mandolin"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Captain Corelli's Mandolin&lt;/strong&gt;, Louis de Bernieres&lt;br /&gt; 20. &lt;a name="warandpeace"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;War and Peace&lt;/strong&gt;, Leo Tolstoy&lt;br /&gt; 21. &lt;a name="gonewiththewind"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Gone with the Wind&lt;/strong&gt;, Margaret Mitchell&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  22. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="philosophers"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Harry Potter And The Philosopher's Stone&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, JK Rowling&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  23. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="chamber"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, JK Rowling&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  24. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="azkaban"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, JK Rowling&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 25. &lt;a name="hobbit"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;The Hobbit&lt;/strong&gt;, JRR Tolkien&lt;br /&gt; 26. &lt;a name="tess"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Tess Of The D'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy&lt;br /&gt; 27. &lt;a name="middle"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Middlemarch, George Eliot&lt;br /&gt; 28. &lt;a name="prayer"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  29. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="grapes"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Grapes Of Wrath&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, John Steinbeck&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 30. &lt;a name="alice"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Alice's Adventures In Wonderland&lt;/strong&gt;, Lewis Carroll&lt;br /&gt; 31. &lt;a name="story"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Story Of Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson&lt;br /&gt; 32. &lt;a name="one"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez&lt;br /&gt; 33. &lt;a name="pillars"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett&lt;br /&gt; 34. &lt;a name="david"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;David Copperfield&lt;/strong&gt;, Charles Dickens&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  35. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="charlie"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Charlie And The Chocolate Factory&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, Roald Dahl&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 36. &lt;a name="treasure"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  37. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="townlikealice"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 38. &lt;a name="persuasion"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Persuasion, Jane Austen&lt;br /&gt; 39. &lt;a name="dune"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Dune&lt;/strong&gt;, Frank Herbert&lt;br /&gt; 40. &lt;a name="emma"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Emma&lt;/strong&gt;, Jane Austen&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  41. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="anne"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Anne Of Green Gables&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, LM Montgomery&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 42. &lt;a name="watership"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Watership Down, Richard Adams&lt;br /&gt; 43. &lt;a name="greatgatsby"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;The Great Gatsby&lt;/strong&gt;, F Scott Fitzgerald&lt;br /&gt; 44. &lt;a name="count"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;The Count Of Monte Cristo&lt;/strong&gt;, Alexandre Dumas&lt;br /&gt; 45.  &lt;a name="brideshead"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Brideshead Revisited&lt;/strong&gt;, Evelyn Waugh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  46. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="animalfarm"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Animal Farm&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, George Orwell&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 47. &lt;a name="carol"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;A Christmas Carol&lt;/strong&gt;, Charles Dickens&lt;br /&gt; 48. &lt;a name="far"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Far From The Madding Crowd&lt;/strong&gt;, Thomas Hardy&lt;br /&gt; 49. &lt;a name="goodnight"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Goodnight Mister Tom&lt;/strong&gt;, Michelle Magorian&lt;br /&gt; 50. &lt;a name="shell"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;51. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="garden"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 52. &lt;a name="mice"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Of Mice And Men, John Steinbeck&lt;br /&gt; 53. &lt;a name="stand"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Stand, Stephen King&lt;br /&gt; 54. &lt;a name="anna"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Anna Karenina&lt;/strong&gt;, Leo Tolstoy&lt;br /&gt; 55. &lt;a name="suit"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  56. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="bfg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The BFG&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, Roald Dahl&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 57. &lt;a name="swallows"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Swallows And Amazons, Arthur Ransome&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;  58. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-style: italic;" name="blackbeauty"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal; font-style: italic;"&gt;Black Beauty&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;, Anna Sewell&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  59. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="artemis"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Artemis Fowl&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, Eoin Colfer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 60. &lt;a name="crime"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Crime And Punishment&lt;/strong&gt;, Fyodor Dostoyevsky&lt;br /&gt;  61. &lt;a name="noughts"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman&lt;br /&gt; 62. &lt;a name="geisha"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Golden&lt;br /&gt; 63. &lt;a name="twocities"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;A Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dickens&lt;br /&gt; 64. &lt;a name="thornbirds"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough&lt;br /&gt; 65. &lt;a name="mort"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Mort, Terry Pratchett&lt;br /&gt; 66. &lt;a name="faraway"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton&lt;br /&gt; 67. &lt;a name="magus"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Magus, John Fowles&lt;br /&gt; 68. &lt;a name="goodomens"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Good Omens&lt;/strong&gt;, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman&lt;br /&gt; 69. &lt;a name="guards"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Guards! Guards!&lt;/strong&gt;, Terry Pratchett&lt;br /&gt; 70. &lt;a name="flies"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Lord Of The Flies, William Golding&lt;br /&gt;  71. &lt;a name="perfume"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Perfume, Patrick Süskind&lt;br /&gt; 72. &lt;a name="ragged"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell&lt;br /&gt; 73. &lt;a name="nightwatch"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Night Watch, Terry Pratchett&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;74. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="matilda"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Matilda, Roald Dahl&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 75. &lt;a name="bridget"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Bridget Jones's Diary&lt;/strong&gt;, Helen Fielding&lt;br /&gt; 76. &lt;a name="secret"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Secret History, Donna Tartt&lt;br /&gt; 77. &lt;a name="woman"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins&lt;br /&gt; 78. &lt;a name="ulysses"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Ulysses, James Joyce&lt;br /&gt; 79. &lt;a name="bleak"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Bleak House&lt;/strong&gt;, Charles Dickens&lt;br /&gt; 80. &lt;a name="double"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Double Act&lt;/strong&gt;, Jacqueline Wilson&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  81. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="twits"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Twits, Roald Dahl&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 82. &lt;a name="castle"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;I Capture The Castle&lt;/strong&gt;, Dodie Smith&lt;br /&gt; 83. &lt;a name="holes"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Holes&lt;/strong&gt;, Louis Sachar&lt;br /&gt; 84. &lt;a name="gormenghast"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Gormenghast&lt;/strong&gt;, Mervyn Peake&lt;br /&gt; 85. &lt;a name="smallthings"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;The God Of Small Things&lt;/strong&gt;, Arundhati Roy&lt;br /&gt; 86. &lt;a name="vicky"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  87. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="brave"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Brave New World&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, Aldous Huxley&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 88. &lt;a name="comfort"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Cold Comfort Farm&lt;/strong&gt;, Stella Gibbons&lt;br /&gt; 89. &lt;a name="magician"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Magician, Raymond E Feist&lt;br /&gt; 90. &lt;a name="road"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;On The Road, Jack Kerouac&lt;br /&gt;  91. &lt;a name="godfather"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;The Godfather&lt;/strong&gt;, Mario Puzo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;   92. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="clan"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Clan Of The Cave Bear&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, Jean M Auel&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 93. &lt;a name="colour"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;The Colour Of Magic&lt;/strong&gt;, Terry Pratchett&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;  94. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" name="alchemist"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Alchemist&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;, Paulo Coelho&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; 95. &lt;a name="katherine"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Katherine, Anya Seton&lt;br /&gt; 96. &lt;a name="kane"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Kane And Abel, Jeffrey Archer&lt;br /&gt; 97. &lt;a name="cholera"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez&lt;br /&gt; 98. &lt;a name="girls"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;Girls In Love&lt;/strong&gt;, Jacqueline Wilson&lt;br /&gt;  99. &lt;a name="princess"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot&lt;br /&gt;  100. &lt;a name="midnight"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Midnight's Children, Salman Rushdie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24/100&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-3349235504109261845?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/3349235504109261845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=3349235504109261845' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/3349235504109261845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/3349235504109261845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/07/bbcs-big-read.html' title='BBC&apos;s Big Read'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-902847971454412437</id><published>2009-05-25T10:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-25T10:02:00.609-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ungraded'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-romance'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sophocles'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='101 books'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='greek tragedy'/><title type='text'>Sophocles: Antigone</title><content type='html'>&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ShZLLhYLBNI/AAAAAAAAAOg/7PaViDtJ6Mc/s1600-h/antigone.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 153px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ShZLLhYLBNI/AAAAAAAAAOg/7PaViDtJ6Mc/s200/antigone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338537069604701394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Antigone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's awkwardly turn to another book that I read last month.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not a romance, not a fiction (well, not really), not a non-fiction, not a contemporary, not... many things, it is not, however, it is a book from my &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;101 books in 1001 days&lt;/span&gt; challenge. Hooray! (point for Alice.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A brief background of the story (this is going to get even more awkward), starting with &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oedipus&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Antigone is the daughter and sister of Oedipus, who killed his father and married his mother. It goes like this - Oedipus was fated to kill his father and marry his mother. His father, King Laius, heard and was horrified (rightfully so) and ordered for him to be left to die. His mother, Jocasta, gave him to a servant because she couldn't bear to kill her son, and the servant carried Oedipus to the next county, or kingdom, (or what-not) where he became the adopted son of the king and queen there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oedipus is unaware that the parents who raised him are not his biological parents and when he hears of his own fate, he is horrified (rightfully so) and runs away from "home."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While running away, he comes across an old man at a crossroads. They get into a fight and Oedipus kills the old man (aka Laius).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Times passes, and he solves a riddle from the sphinx that has been tormenting his homeland. It's solved, the sphinx is gone, and he wins the prize, which is the hand of the queen of the land, Jocasta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They marry (ew!) and have four kids (double ew!): Eteocles, Polyneices, Ismene, and our star, Antigone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oedipus finds out what he's done, is horrified (duh) and flees the country. He later gouges out his eyes. Jocasta hangs herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Eteocles and Polyneices fight - and kill - each other. Ismene and Antigone are horrified and unhappy (once again, this isn't rocket science).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Antigone, Jocasta's brother, Creon, is king of the land. He orders Polyneices' body to remained unburied because he was a traitor to the country, however, Antigone desires a proper burial her brother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Creon has declared anyone who buries Polyneices to be a traitor, a crime that will be harshly punished, but Antigone does it anyway. She is taken before Creon where she argues her point of view and her loyalty to the law of the gods, not to Creon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She later hangs himself and Haemon, fiance of Antigone and Creon's son, argues with dad. Then he stabs himself. Creon's wife, upon hearing of Haemon's suicide, kills herself as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Creon is left, "humbled" and horrified by what has happened (rightfully so).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not the happiest of stories, this Greek Tragedy was great in that Antigone, who previously seemed an unlikely candidate to be a heroine, proves herself worthy. She is aware of what she does and does not believe in, and most importantly, is able to act in a manner that reflects her beliefs. She is willing to take the consequences of her actions - not shying away from Creon when she is brought before him - and she argues with him (you go girl!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cons of this story: written in play form (kind of a pain), almost everyone commits suicide (did someone say Hamlet?), it is full of negativity, and I still don't understand the role of the chorus. I feel like they have more purpose than to provide with background info and current mood. (What's an antistrophe and strophe?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was fun to read something besides romance and I enjoyed the story.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-902847971454412437?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/902847971454412437/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=902847971454412437' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/902847971454412437'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/902847971454412437'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/05/sophocles-antigone.html' title='Sophocles: Antigone'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ShZLLhYLBNI/AAAAAAAAAOg/7PaViDtJ6Mc/s72-c/antigone.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-8194441973427814377</id><published>2009-05-22T10:02:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-21T23:59:55.014-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade B-'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='travis siblings'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='contemp'/><title type='text'>Lisa Kleypas: Smooth Talking Stranger</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ShY-qnNXH2I/AAAAAAAAAOY/5BhdWpAYuHo/s1600-h/sts.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 131px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ShY-qnNXH2I/AAAAAAAAAOY/5BhdWpAYuHo/s200/sts.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338523310094753634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Smooth Talking Stranger: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;B-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ella Varner &amp;amp; Jack Travis&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Ella Varner grew up with a troublesome mother and an insecure sister, but she has managed to come out of it reasonably sane, with a good (if vegan) boyfriend, Dane, and a job as an advice columnist. All of this gets turned upside down when her sister disappears and sticks Ella with her newborn, Luke. Determined to find Luke's father, Ella tracks down a likely suspect—millionaire playboy Jack Travis. The encounter results in Travis and Ella unexpectedly engaged in an irrepressible attraction. Meanwhile, Ella grows fond of baby Luke and fears what will happen when Tara returns. As Ella grapples with conflicting desires, she learns some important lessons about love and trust... (amazon)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is another installment of a Travis man, Jack Travis, and though the book had great potential, as do all the Travis men, it fell short of the greatness I was expecting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I normally love love Lisa Kleypas' books because she is able to develop the characters and really portray the growth of the hero and heroine's relationship. The journey is as wonderful as the end, since we all know endings to romance novels are happy. Even knowing that the hero and heroine will end up together, LK makes it exciting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This one, however, was a combination of unpleasantness, on several different levels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1, the hero and heroine have chemistry (as Jack is hot hot!) but they don't really develop their relationship because...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2, Ella is taking care of the damned baby. I have nothing against babies, however, the fact that LK is sticking babies into romance stories left and right is starting to irritate me. Taking care of a child is a HUGE responsibiilty and needs to be of the utmost priority. But in this story, Ella is thrown into her new role as a mother around the same time she meets Jack. Things are crazy, no doubt about it, but with duties as a new mother, where is the time for romance? For love? I'm sure it happens in reality, but not in the way LK portrayed it. There needed to be more details, more development, especially because the story is not only handling a love story, it's handling a story about a mother and child. She did neither story justice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3, Um, the ending? What was that? It was rushed and lame. And &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;rushed. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kind of like: "Ohhh, we have twenty pages left, so I love you Jack!"&lt;br /&gt;"Oh yea, I forgot to tell you that I love you, too."&lt;br /&gt;"Yay!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4, Lack of development of Ella. She obviously grows up in a very dysfunctional family. So... I can kind of assume how she became the woman she is, but I don't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;want &lt;/span&gt;to assume. I want you write your beautiful prose, LK, and tell me, dang it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5, Excess sex scenes. ...which, for me, without relationship development, is like too much icing. Unsatisfying and uncool to swallow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was decently fun to read and Jack is hot hot, but don't expect a stunner out of this one.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-8194441973427814377?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/8194441973427814377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=8194441973427814377' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8194441973427814377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8194441973427814377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/05/lisa-kleypas-smooth-talking-stranger.html' title='Lisa Kleypas: Smooth Talking Stranger'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ShY-qnNXH2I/AAAAAAAAAOY/5BhdWpAYuHo/s72-c/sts.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-5540084534639474868</id><published>2009-05-22T09:02:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-22T09:02:01.766-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-review'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='update'/><title type='text'>hi bloggers!</title><content type='html'>Greetings, earthlings!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, I know. I'm sucking at updating. I don't know what's wrong with me... wait, there are many reasons, but we are not going to get into that now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's been going on in my life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Well... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm almost done with higher education. HOORAY!&lt;br /&gt;I'm starting to read more - the past five months have been reading suicide. (I think I read four books, total.)&lt;br /&gt;I read &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Smooth Talking Stranger &lt;/span&gt;by Lisa Kleypas.... andohgoshIdon'twanttosaythisandadmitit but I was disappointed. Yes, disappointed. Not up-to-par to her other works. Sadness!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other books I'm waiting for:&lt;br /&gt;LK's third (fourth?) book in the Hathaways series with Poppy and the *mysterious* Harry (?) Rutledge; Elizabeth Hoyt's fourth and last in the "Legend of the Four (?) Soldiers" series, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;To Beguile a Beast &lt;/span&gt;(talk about tortured hero!)... and that's it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, I realize that I SUCK at remembering stuff. I used to be so good, especially with my beloved romance novels. What happened?! (I think it's my age. Sigh! LOL)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second, I know I said I wouldn't read any more romances, but after these two, I'm done! Well, I bet I'll keep reading LK's... dang it, it's like an addiction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Third, I will try my very, very best to update at least three times a week. (we're starting out small and working to greatness.) I'm thinking Mon-Wed-Fri. And, if you haven't noticed, I time-stamp so that all my entries are at 10:02 am. 10:02 is a good time, I say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fourth, I have followers! (What does that mean? I'm still not familiar with eblogger....) But HOORAY! Someone kind of wants to read all of the douchebaggy and jerkish things I have to say! Thanks, you guys :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fifth, I need to erase my nail polish. It's cracking. Goshdarnit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With that, I bid you a wonderful Friday and a book review, which will, amazingly, be in &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;exactly &lt;/span&gt;an hour. Hooray!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;xoxo,&lt;br /&gt;Alice&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-5540084534639474868?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/5540084534639474868/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=5540084534639474868' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5540084534639474868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5540084534639474868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/05/hi-bloggers.html' title='hi bloggers!'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-9211214593271805595</id><published>2009-05-08T10:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-07T22:07:46.170-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-romance'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='chicklit'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='womens fiction'/><title type='text'>Emily Giffin: Something Borrowed</title><content type='html'>&lt;a style="font-weight: bold;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SgKOz8whNoI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/DmPaSxd0Za0/s1600-h/something+borrowed.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 125px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SgKOz8whNoI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/DmPaSxd0Za0/s200/something+borrowed.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332981931894191746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Something Borrowed: C+&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chick-lit, women's fiction&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;An unexpected love affair threatens a long-lived friendship in this soap opera–like debut from Atlanta ex-lawyer Giffin. Since elementary school, Rachel and Darcy have been best friends, with Darcy always outshining Rachel. While single Rachel is the self-confessed good girl, an attorney trapped at a suffocating New York law firm, Darcy is the complete opposite, a stereotypical outgoing publicist, planning a wedding with the handsome Dex. After Rachel's 30th birthday party, she knocks back one drink too many and winds up in bed with Dex. Instead of feeling guilty about sleeping with her best friend's fiancé, Rachel realizes that Dex is the only man she's really loved, and that she's always resented manipulative Darcy. Rachel and Dex spend a few weekends in the city together "working" while Darcy's off with friends at a Hamptons beach share, but finally Rachel realizes she'll have to give Dex an ultimatum...&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Publisher's Weekly)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is a book that I loathed to read. Really, really loathed. There are many reasons as to why I would have never even &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;touched &lt;/span&gt;this novel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I hate reading about cheaters&lt;br /&gt;2. Rachel, the heroine, cheats with her &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;best friend's fiance. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I hate cheaters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But Alice," my book buddy Nancy said to me, "just &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;try &lt;/span&gt;it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so, I did, with mixed feelings. And all through the book, I read with mixed feelings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This book is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not &lt;/span&gt;a romance. It, however, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;is &lt;/span&gt;a book about friendship, about relationships, and about self and on discovering who you are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The gist of the story is this: Rachel turns thirty. She has a party, with of course, her best friend, Darcy, who is gorgeous and everything Rachel is not. Rachel is smart and intelligent, but more Plain Jane than anything else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So she turns thirty. She gets pretty drunk. She and Darcy's fiance, Dex, are on their way home when ...one step after another, they get to her place, and they do the unthinkable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What was so hard for me to read about this book was not that they cheat once and own up to their mistakes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's that they repeatedly sleep with each other - and the "mistake" turns into a full-fledged affair. A &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;secret &lt;/span&gt;affair. It's the fact that they both knew what they were doing, and yet they did the wrong thing.. over and over and over again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gritty. Dirty. Ugly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reality?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Griffin explains why the affair happens: that Rachel had always had feelings for Dex but never felt she was good enough, how Dex really loved Rachel, too, but got caught up with Darcy, how Darcy is selfish and pretty-much spoiled...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..and it's through this affair that Rachel is finally able to say, "Darcy, I love you because you're my best friend, but I love myself and I care about what I want, too." - and hence the affair. Rachel &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;wants &lt;/span&gt;it and she &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;wants &lt;/span&gt;Dex.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, good citizens of the earth, we cannot all have what we want. And no matter what anyone tells me, getting involved with a man who is already &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;in &lt;/span&gt;a relationship is wrong on so many different levels. Have more respect for yourself: if I was Rachel and Dex claims to love me, why can't he love me enough to leave Darcy? Why does our relationship - our love - have to be something clandestine?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not a healthy way to start - or be in a relationship, and I don't care what your heart tells you. Listen to your rational &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;brain! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, I &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;will &lt;/span&gt;give Emily Giffin credit in that... the book sucks you in. I read it, partially cringing, partially intrigued - in the same way a fatal car accident is (minus someone dying). And it &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;did &lt;/span&gt;give me much to think about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What would&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; I&lt;/span&gt; have done if I was in Rachel's position?&lt;br /&gt;What would&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; I&lt;/span&gt; do if I was in love with my sister's (with whom I'm very close with) or best friend's fiance?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As much as I would love to jump up and yell, NO, I WOULD NEVER DO WHAT RACHEL DID!, I cannot be 100% sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I can hope is that I wouldn't do what Rachel did: I hope I would be woman enough to find myself - and respect myself - to walk away and do what is right to myself, no matter how delectable the boy is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In conclusion: read if you want to think about these issues. But don't read if you want a snuggle, feel-good romance. It's definitely &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not &lt;/span&gt;that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A B+ for writing style - she really is marvelous at telling the story, but D for the overall content of story.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-9211214593271805595?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/9211214593271805595/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=9211214593271805595' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/9211214593271805595'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/9211214593271805595'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/04/emily-giffin-something-borrowed.html' title='Emily Giffin: Something Borrowed'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SgKOz8whNoI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/DmPaSxd0Za0/s72-c/something+borrowed.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-749148807627651125</id><published>2009-03-09T10:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-09T10:02:00.128-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='murder'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='medical thriller'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade B+'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tess gerritsen'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Rizzoli-Isles series'/><title type='text'>Tess Gerritsen: The Keepsake</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SbTSJ-2hqxI/AAAAAAAAAOI/ETroAk56d1M/s1600-h/the+keepsake.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SbTSJ-2hqxI/AAAAAAAAAOI/ETroAk56d1M/s200/the+keepsake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311100929509010194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Keepsake&lt;/span&gt;: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;B+&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jane Rizzoli &amp;amp; Maura Isles series, book 7&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y'all know how much I love Tess Gerritsen and her lovely writing. I got my grubby little hands on her latest novel, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Keepsake, &lt;/span&gt;and read the day away - finishing it in something like five hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, of course, I liked it, though her descriptions of psychopaths and sociopaths really scare me. This might be a good place to state that if you're the owner of a weak heart, this is not a read for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A mummy is found in the basement of an eclectic museum in Boston. Dr. Maura Isles, semi-reclusive medical examiner, is present at the CT scan to determine more specifics of the mummy. When they discover that the mummified body dubbed Madam X is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not &lt;/span&gt;2,000 years old and instead is a modern-day murder victim, the Boston PD step in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tough woman and Boston PD homicide expert, Jane Rizzoli steps in with her team to investigate when they find yet another victim, a keepsake of another sort. It's discovered that the killer, the "Archaeology Killer," is obsessed with preserving its victim. It's when a third body is found, along with the disappearance of a beautiful but suspicious Egyptologist that the situation intensifies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was engrossed in my novel - the dark scene where Rizzoli is investigating when my sister knocked on my door. My heart tripped. "I'm reading a murder thriller... &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;leave me alone!&lt;/span&gt;" (LOL)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a huge fan of archaeology (I wanted to be an archaeologist when I was younger.) The digging, the discovery... Egypt with its pyramids and hieroglyphics - awesome! (Plus, the whole sexy-swagger-of-Indiana-Jones didn't hurt.) It's no surprise that I was entranced by &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Keepsake &lt;/span&gt;from the very beginning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...and now, I really want to be an archaeologist! (Similar to how I wanted to be a doctor when I was watching Grey's Anatomy. Me persuaded by media? No way Jose!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The story moves fast, the characters are complex, and the thrill is disturbing, but enticing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The further development of Daniel and Maura's illicit and forbidden relationship had me gripping the book even tighter. Dang it, I want to know what happens! Dang it! Dang it! And, I was a little disappointed that there wasn't more interaction between Gabriel and Jane, but that's just me being selfish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ending was a little predictable, but good, regardless. If you can stand the blood and gore - and you are thirsting for some good 'ol action, read this one. It's fun, I tell ya!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-749148807627651125?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/749148807627651125/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=749148807627651125' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/749148807627651125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/749148807627651125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/03/tess-gerritsen-keepsake.html' title='Tess Gerritsen: The Keepsake'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SbTSJ-2hqxI/AAAAAAAAAOI/ETroAk56d1M/s72-c/the+keepsake.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-4507674406974036552</id><published>2009-03-04T10:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-04T10:02:00.290-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='excerpt'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-review'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='contemp'/><title type='text'>Lisa Kleypas's SMOOTH TALKING STRANGER excerpt</title><content type='html'>From the wonderful ladies at the Judith McNaught Bulletin Board, here is an excerpt of Lisa Kleypas's new book, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Smooth Talking Stranger&lt;/span&gt;, that was printed in the Romantic Times Magazine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only twenty-seven more days! Hooray!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Excerpt&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="body0"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span id="body0"&gt;Jack Travis kissed me until the sensations flowed in directions I couldn't go, spilling and sliding darkly. As I felt a desperate ache cambering low in my body, I finally understood that if I slept with this man, he would take everything. All the defenses I had built would be destroyed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shaking, I pushed at him and managed to turn my head long enough to gasp, "I can't. No. That's enough, Jack."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He stopped at once. But he kept me against him, his chest moving hard and fast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't look at him. My voice was hoarse as I said, "That shouldn't have happened."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I've wanted this since the first second I saw you. His arms tightened, and he bent over me until his mouth was close to my ear. Gently he whispered, "You did too."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I didn't. I don't."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You need some fun, Ella."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I let out an incredulous laugh. "Believe me, I don't need fun, I need--" I broke off with a gasp as he pressed my hips closer to his. The feel of him was more than my dazzled senses could handle. To my mortification, I hitched up against him before I could stop myself, heat and instinct winning out over sanity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Feeling the reflexive response, Jack smiled against my scarlet cheek. "You should take me on. I'd be good for you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You are so full of yourself . . . and you would not be good for me, with your steaks and power tools and your attention-deficit libido, and . . . I'll bet you're a card-carrying member of the NRA. Admit it, you are." I couldn't seem to shut up. I was talking too much, breathing too fast, jittering like a wind-up toy that had been wound to the limits of its mechanism.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jack nuzzled into a sensitive place behind my ear. "Why does that matter?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is that a yes? It must be. God. It matters because--stop that. It matters because I would only go to bed with a man who respected me and my views. My--" I broke off with an inarticulate sound as he nibbled lightly at my skin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I respect you," he murmured. "And your views. I think of you as an equal. I respect your brains, and all those big words you like to use. But I also want to rip your clothes off and have sex with you until you scream and cry and see God." His mouth dragged gently along my throat. I jerked helplessly, muscles jolting with pleasure, and his hands gripped my hips, keeping me in place. "I'm gonna show you a good time, Ella. Starting with some take-no-prisoners sex. The kind when you can't remember your own name after."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I've been with Dane for four years," I managed to say. "He understands me in a way you don't."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I can learn you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seemed as if something inside me had started to unravel, weakness spreading, all my body tightening against it. I closed my eyes and bit back a whimper. "When you offered me the apartment," I said weakly, "you implied you had no ulterior motives. I don't appreciate the position this puts me in, Jack."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His head lifted, and his lips brushed the tip of my nose. "What position would you prefer?" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's gonna be good... I can feel it in my bones. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-4507674406974036552?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/4507674406974036552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=4507674406974036552' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4507674406974036552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4507674406974036552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/03/lisa-kleypass-smooth-talking-stranger.html' title='Lisa Kleypas&apos;s SMOOTH TALKING STRANGER excerpt'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-7519826677019105071</id><published>2009-02-10T10:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T10:02:00.516-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='DNF'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='siri mitchell'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - european medieval'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='1st person pov'/><title type='text'>Siri Mitchell: A Constant Heart</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SZE9moPzX8I/AAAAAAAAAN4/U9mCZyH4CYE/s1600-h/a+constant+heart.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 129px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SZE9moPzX8I/AAAAAAAAAN4/U9mCZyH4CYE/s200/a+constant+heart.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301085970239807426" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;A Constant Heart: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;DNF&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some girl and some guy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Y'all know how hard I try not to be a hater.&lt;br /&gt;I try hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Really &lt;/span&gt;hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, actually, that's a lie. I don't try hard when the writer writes something that is complete monkey poop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In most cases, I force myself to read half the book before I toss it out the window. I got about twenty pages in when, in exasperation, I banged my head on the desk several times. So not only did I have a bitter mental experience from reading this book, I had a large forehead-bruise to show for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A Constant Heart&lt;/span&gt; takes place in the medieval times, when ladies and gentlemen paid their respects to the King or Queen by going to court.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some Girl, with the face of an angel, is to marry Some Guy... an earl, if I'm remembering correctly. She is well prepared for the task, but is still scared, reasonably so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some Guy is some earl who has had a very bad experience of marriage because of the cheating ways of his first wife. He is determined to hate everything about Some Girl and Some Girl's business, and every aspect of married life.. better yet, he doesn't even want to marry her. He just needs her dowry to buy back his family's estate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So off starts their brilliant and very charming marriage. Then they go to court. Some Girl is scared and she discovers that the Queen hates her. We don't know why. (Actually, it's just me since I didn't finish..)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not so bad of a start to a medieval romance, you might be thinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do not be fooled!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;writing style &lt;/span&gt;of the book that threatened to eat my soul. It is a book written in the first person POV, which normally doesn't bother me at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, it switches off between Some Guy and Some Girl's point of view... &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;indistinguishably! &lt;/span&gt;It would switch off between the Some Girl's first person POV and then Some Guy's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is an example and interpretation of a scene from the book and what Alice was thinking as she read through this jungle of point-of-views.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I was unhappy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I was unhappy at the world and everything that was happening. Did I do something wrong? What was I doing wrong? I needed to talk to someone... I knew this wasn't a good idea. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;Alice: who is talking? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;--&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I was unhappy. Was this supposed to be happening? Unfortunately for the both of us, we were in this situation whether we liked it or not. It would be in our interest to make the best of everything. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;Alice: Right. Unhappy. Who?? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;-- &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Unhappy. I'm unhappy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;Alice: I'm unhappy too. Who are you? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Unhappy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I wished I had never married. I wanted to talk to my best friend (insert Another Girl's name). &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;Alice: We know that both of them are unhappy, damn it! Who the he--... oh.... *reads Another Girl's name)... this is &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Some Girl! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;*Goes back up to the very front of the page to reread, keeping in mind that the first person who talked had been Some Girl.*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now imagine doing this every two or three pages. The little dotted line (---) indicated a change in the perspective, but never revealed who was talking. The font was the same. The color of the font was the same. The I's and you's were the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when a new chapter began (every two or three pages), sometimes it was the POV of the person who had been talking/ thinking at the end of the previous chapter... or it was the start of the other person's POV.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You had to read in order to figure out who was talking, and then go back to re-read everything in context.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How aggravating!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It not only took me twice as long to read everything, I was tired of reading the same scene twice - once in Some Girl's POV and the other time in Some Guy's POV. For the love of mother earth, I don't need to know both character's thoughts for &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;each. and. every. single. action &lt;/span&gt;they commit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's dreary. And boring. And dull. And uninteresting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moral of review:&lt;br /&gt;If you're an author, don't write like this. It sucks.&lt;br /&gt;If you're a reader, don't read this. It sucks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-7519826677019105071?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/7519826677019105071/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=7519826677019105071' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/7519826677019105071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/7519826677019105071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/02/siri-mitchell-constant-heart.html' title='Siri Mitchell: A Constant Heart'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SZE9moPzX8I/AAAAAAAAAN4/U9mCZyH4CYE/s72-c/a+constant+heart.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-2061218302255994437</id><published>2009-01-26T16:25:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T16:27:34.129-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funnyfunny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-review'/><title type='text'>not in any way book related</title><content type='html'>...but I practically peed in my pants reading this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SX5GqrDEsiI/AAAAAAAAANw/PLXsYJkHw88/s1600-h/horseyride.png"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 341px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SX5GqrDEsiI/AAAAAAAAANw/PLXsYJkHw88/s400/horseyride.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295747910758347298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy end-of-Monday!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-2061218302255994437?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/2061218302255994437/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=2061218302255994437' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/2061218302255994437'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/2061218302255994437'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/01/not-in-any-way-book-related.html' title='not in any way book related'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SX5GqrDEsiI/AAAAAAAAANw/PLXsYJkHw88/s72-c/horseyride.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-4717099412380323827</id><published>2009-01-15T10:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-14T17:00:11.731-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-review'/><title type='text'>kind-of sad news</title><content type='html'>I wish you had a wonderful New Year and that you kept warm during your holidays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've decided, after much thinking, to not (really) read category romances this year and instead, focus on the books I've listed on my '101 books in 1,001 days' challenge - which are (sadly) littered with classics and other "noteworthy" books of literature.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm also very busy this semester with my five (!!) classes... which means Alice's time for reading has gone from &lt;----------------&gt; to &lt;--&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will try to update this blog with useful tidbits and reviews of books that I've read last year, but I will not be focusing on romance new releases (minus the new Elizabeth Hoyt and Lisa Kleypas that I've been selling my soul for).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sincere apologies. I'm sure you'll now go home and cry into your pillow, but fear not... I shall remain being my &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;extremely &lt;/span&gt;interesting self and I will continue to blog about bookish stuff. What can I say?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a booknerd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With that said, I'm almost done with &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um. Well. It's different... and hilarious. I laughed a lot - not that it really takes a to get me to laugh - but I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Review will come. Shortly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-4717099412380323827?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/4717099412380323827/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=4717099412380323827' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4717099412380323827'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4717099412380323827'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2009/01/kind-of-sad-news.html' title='kind-of sad news'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-8652381490439983951</id><published>2008-12-28T10:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-28T10:02:01.397-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - victorian'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade B-'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas week'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the hathaways series'/><title type='text'>Lisa Kleypas: Mine Till Midnight</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SVXwqiOeSmI/AAAAAAAAANg/y66AVEAD9nA/s1600-h/mine+till.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 116px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SVXwqiOeSmI/AAAAAAAAANg/y66AVEAD9nA/s200/mine+till.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284394351321827938" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Mine Till Midnight&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; B-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amelia Hathaway &amp;amp; Cam Rohan&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A little spin-off of the Wallflower series, Lisa Kleypas takes us into the world of chaos and of the Roma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Hathaways are a family of misfits, with four sisters (Amelia, Poppy, Beatrix, and Winnifred), one brother (Leo), and a gypsie (Kev Merripen). They are truly a strange bunch, with Leo cynical and bitter from losing his first love to the scarlet fever, Beatrix's problem of stealing things - albeit accidentally and her curious collection of animals, including her pet ferret, Dodger; Win's weakness as a result from contracting scarlet fever; and Kev - the wordless and almost menacing gypsie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In charge is Amelia, practical and steadfast Amelia, spinster but too busy worrying about the state of the family to truly think about herself. Besides, she had given her heart away before, only to have it be smashed into a thousand pieces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She meets Cam when she searches through brothels for her brother, Leo, who is a complete mess after the death of his first love. He saves her from drunken fools, fighting for her, because he is attracted to her, for some strange reason. She is unlike the other women he's had, perhaps the reason why Amelia is so intriguing to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He then shows up on the Hathaway estate - the estate that had not been taken care of for years - and offers to help Amelia out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is attracted by his different, part Roma looks and his suave way of handling difficult situations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cam Rohan is a hero unlike any other. He is ridiculously wealthy, but it is wealth that he has no desire for because of the bad stigma the Roma associate with money, especially a white man's money. He is in the strange limbo of not being accepted by the British and yet not being accepted by the Roma because of his mixed bloodlines. Trying to figure out his identity - who he really is - is an endeavor, and he finds himself at peace with the Hathaways, who are all far from being conventional.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loved that Cam was the hero for Amelia; he was her knight in shining armor, even though she was fully capable of handling things on her own. Not to say that all women need men to save them or any foolish things like that (*grin*), but sometimes, it's nice to have someone take care of you, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;even if &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;you can do it yourself. It's always nice to know that someone is watching out for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;you. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't as into the Hathaways as I'd hoped, but it was a good read, full of surprises and laughs. I'm especially excited for Win and Kev's book, which is next in the series - and also the next review for LK week!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-8652381490439983951?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/8652381490439983951/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=8652381490439983951' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8652381490439983951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8652381490439983951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/12/lisa-kleypas-mine-till-midnight.html' title='Lisa Kleypas: Mine Till Midnight'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SVXwqiOeSmI/AAAAAAAAANg/y66AVEAD9nA/s72-c/mine+till.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-8657748898686033800</id><published>2008-12-27T14:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-27T03:15:45.735-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wallflower series'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - victorian'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A'/><title type='text'>Lisa Kleypas: Scandal in Spring</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/images/n32/n161517.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/images/n32/n161517.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Here is my review of the fourth Wallflower novel from a couple months ago, being reposted for LK extravaganza!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, I really want to do a reread of it now. ASAP.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Scandal in Spring: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daisy Bowman &amp;amp; Matthew Swift&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Wallflower series 4 (last)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;“I want you to do everything you’ve ever imagined doing with me…” With those scandalous words, Daisy Bowman, the sole “Wallflowre” yet to be married, seals her fate with the last man she ever expected to tempt her. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;After spending three London seasons searching for a husband, Daisy Bowman’s father has told her in no uncertain terms that she must find a husband. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Now. &lt;i style=""&gt;And if Daisy can’t snare an appropriate suitor, she will marry the man he chooses – the ruthless and aloof Matthew Swift. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Daisy is horrified. A Bowman never admits defeat, and she decides to do whatever it takes to marry someone…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;anyone&lt;i style=""&gt;… other than Matthew. But she doesn’t count on Matthew’s unexpected charm…or the blazing sensuality that soon flares beyond both their control. And Daisy discovers that the man she has always hated just might turn out to be the man of her dreams. But right at the moment of sweet surrender, a scandalous secret is uncovered…one that could destroy both Matthew and a love more passionate and irresistible than Daisy’s wildest fantasies. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Since I’ve been proclaiming my love for Lisa Kleypas, I’ve decided to write a haiku dedicated to her. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Oh, Lisa Kleypas&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please write your novels faster&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love your stories&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;I should become a poet, you say? So I’ve been told my entire life. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;I’m kidding. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;But I do love 99% of Ms. Kleypas’s stories, and &lt;i style=""&gt;Scandal in Spring &lt;/i&gt;was a fabulous end to the Wallflower series.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Daisy is romantic. She loves to read. She is also very short. (At this point, I’m thinking I can substitute in Daisy’s name and put in Alice.) Her father is a mean hag. (What’s the male form of hag?) He orders that she marry – soon. Or else she will have to marry the self-made super-wealthy American Matthew Swift.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;It can’t be too bad, right?&lt;br /&gt;It isn’t, except for the fact that her father ordered her to do it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;So her lovely (but kinda naggy and kinda bossy) older sister Lillian (book 3: &lt;i style=""&gt;It Happened One Autumn) &lt;/i&gt;hosts a hunting/fishing/ some-sort of a cool party where lots of eligible gentlemen (and few ladies) are invited for Daisy’s choosing pleasure. It’s been three years since Daisy has last seen Matthew, and to her, he remains an awkward but ambitiously avaricious type of fellow, one who reminds her greatly of her own unpleasant father.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;But when she finds out the mysterious man who has been on her mind is Matthew – her mind is opened to a world of possibilities. She and …Matthew…!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;I love how Daisy and Matthew meet – it’s a bit of a tease and sigh-worthy.&lt;br /&gt;I love how there is chemistry in the air between them – you can practically hear crackling. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love how she seduces him – hot hot hot! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Spoiler:&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;The whole locking-the-door, dropping key-down-bodice was &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;so&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt; hot. Seriously!! Ingenious of Daisy and something I so would not have the guts for, unfortunately.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;End notes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;        &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love how he’s loved her ever since way back when – aw!! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love how he tries to stop himself from loving her because he’s so damn honorable. Okay, I don’t really love this, but it’s still endearing. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love how they love each other. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also love the little cameos of the other Wallflowers. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don’t particularly particularly love it when the scandal explodes since it was a little predictable, but I still kind-of love it because well… I just do! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Read &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;this book and the other Wallflower books. (Well, you might be able to skip the first because I remember &lt;i style=""&gt;not &lt;/i&gt;being so fond of it, but I might have to re-read it. I might have been delusional.) &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;The Wallflower series&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;ol style="margin-top: 0in;" start="1" type="1"&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Secrets of a Summer Night - Annabelle&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;It Happened One Autumn - Lillian&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;The Devil in Winter - Evie&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Scandal in Spring - Daisy&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Have fun reading! Cheers to good friends and great books.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-8657748898686033800?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/8657748898686033800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=8657748898686033800' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8657748898686033800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8657748898686033800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/08/lisa-kleypas-scandal-in-spring.html' title='Lisa Kleypas: Scandal in Spring'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-2696080097847115539</id><published>2008-12-27T12:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-27T12:02:00.973-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wallflower series'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - victorian'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas week'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A'/><title type='text'>Lisa Kleypas: Devil in Winter</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SVXsGPJJjpI/AAAAAAAAANY/_0Nk-Kmg_ZY/s1600-h/devil.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SVXsGPJJjpI/AAAAAAAAANY/_0Nk-Kmg_ZY/s200/devil.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284389329677422226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Devil in Winter:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; A&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Evanegeline Jenner &amp;amp; Sebastian, Viscount St. Vincent&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt; A devil's bargain &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Easily the shyest Wallflower, Evangeline Jenner stands to become the wealthiest, once her inheritance comes due. Because she must first escape the clutches of her unscrupulous relatives, Evie has approached the rake Viscount St. Vincent with a most outrageous proposition: marriage! &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Sebastian's reputation is so dangerous that thirty seconds alone with him will ruin any maiden's good name. Still, this bewitching chit appeared, unchaperoned, on his doorstep to offer her hand. Certainly an aristocrat with a fine eye for beauty could do far worse. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; But Evie's proposal comes with a condition: no lovemaking after their wedding night. She will &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style="font-style: italic;"&gt;never&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; become just another of the dashing libertine's callously discarded broken hearts -- which means Sebastian will simply have to work harder at his seductions...or perhaps surrender his own heart for the very first time in the name of true love. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;At the end of the last book - &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;It Happened One Autumn, &lt;/span&gt;we discover that Sebastian is in need of a bride - the wealthier the better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Evie's father is seriously ill and her awful relatives treat her like a pile of cow dung, so she escapes and proposes to Lord St. Vincent, hoping that marriage will grant her the freedom to tend to her ailing father.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sebastian finds the proposal is highly comical. Evie is the shyest Wallflower, with the painful tendency to stutter when talking. While she is unconventionally beautiful with her flame-red hair and freckled face, speaking with her is known to be a trying ordeal. So to have her propose to the cynical Sebastian is unheard of!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, she asks that they not do the dirty deed in bed, a condition that Sebastian isn't hard-pressed to agree to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So off they go to Gretna Green!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is the months after the marriage that is completely fun to read. St. Vincent needs to manage Evie's father's famous gaming business - Jenner's - and look over Evie. He is surprised to find that there is so much more underneath her stuttering and he is strangely attracted to her tenderness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I first read the Wallflower series, I loved this Evie and Sebastian's story the most. LK stays true to Evie's shy nature, while bringing out the core of who she (and he) really is (are). One can really see the dramatic change in Sebastian and when they both make their love known to each other - oh, it's grand!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A great read, I'm always thrilled to snap open their story and reread it, just for old times sake.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-2696080097847115539?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/2696080097847115539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=2696080097847115539' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/2696080097847115539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/2696080097847115539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/12/lisa-kleypas-devil-in-winter.html' title='Lisa Kleypas: Devil in Winter'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SVXsGPJJjpI/AAAAAAAAANY/_0Nk-Kmg_ZY/s72-c/devil.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-7764621504976900523</id><published>2008-12-27T10:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-27T10:02:00.997-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wallflower series'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - victorian'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas week'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A'/><title type='text'>Lisa Kleypas: It Happened One Autumn</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SVXp5KJmTNI/AAAAAAAAANQ/ymjazjOx8oc/s1600-h/it+happened.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SVXp5KJmTNI/AAAAAAAAANQ/ymjazjOx8oc/s200/it+happened.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284386905975573714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;It Happened One Autumn: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;Lillian Bowman &amp;amp; Marcus Marsden, Lord Westcliff&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Continuing with the Wallflower series, is Lillian Bowman's story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Wallflowers are back at Stony Cross, the home of Lord Marcus Marsden, a duke with bloodlines greater than any other's. A progressive peer, he is the definition of conventional and honorable, with a small dash of 'uptight' mixed in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He is horrified, absolutely horrified, with Lillian Bowman. She's loud, rambunctious, and hell - he's seen her playing rounders (baseball) in her undergarments! He's convinced she's in England to wreak havoc. And the more they come across with each other, the more she gets on his nerves. Why did she have to talk and walk so funny? Why couldn't she be like everyone else? Spectacularly, Lillian feels the same way about Marcus as he does for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he loses self control and kisses her, she uses it as a means to trap him into agreeing to get his mother to sponsor her and Daisy into society. After all, it means nothing that they are mega-rich; their social graces are &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;atrocious&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Frustratingly, Marcus grows increasingly attracted to Lillian, and is upset when she catches the eye of the ultimate devilish rake - Lord St. Vincent, a gorgeous but cynical peer. And when he finds her completely and adorably drunk in his library, one autumn afternoon...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read on to find out!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love that LK's characters are flawed and realistic, and yet, readers grow to love them. Lillian is bossy and impulsive; Marcus high-handed and domineering - and yet when they are together, they soften each other by first infuriating the other person (LOL) and then bringing out the side of the person that is hidden from the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loved the scene where Lillian unknowingly seduces Marcus, I also love the perfume motif in the story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And of course, I loved seeing them fall in love. Their 'hatred' for one another (the hatred that each freely express towards each other) is full of chemistry and tension, and while they bicker like cats and dogs, it is so adorable how they cannot get enough of each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*sigh*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-7764621504976900523?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/7764621504976900523/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=7764621504976900523' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/7764621504976900523'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/7764621504976900523'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/12/lisa-kleypas-it-happened-one-autumn.html' title='Lisa Kleypas: It Happened One Autumn'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SVXp5KJmTNI/AAAAAAAAANQ/ymjazjOx8oc/s72-c/it+happened.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-4905537412682893224</id><published>2008-12-27T09:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-27T09:02:01.063-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-review'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas week'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas'/><title type='text'>more Lisa Kleypas</title><content type='html'>I guess when I wrote that it was going to be Lisa Kleypas week, I failed to mention that it was going to be Lisa Kleypas week&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;s&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope your Christmas went well and that it was as hectic as mine - lol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trekking onward, with our LK glory: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;It Happened One Autumn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-4905537412682893224?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/4905537412682893224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=4905537412682893224' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4905537412682893224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4905537412682893224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/12/more-lisa-kleypas.html' title='more Lisa Kleypas'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-5409795201823603949</id><published>2008-12-22T12:02:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-27T01:41:59.252-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wallflower series'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - victorian'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alpha hero'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas week'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A'/><title type='text'>Lisa Kleypas: Secrets of a Summer Night</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9LJs_h3eI/AAAAAAAAALA/S1PuxgOiH_s/s1600-h/secrets.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9LJs_h3eI/AAAAAAAAALA/S1PuxgOiH_s/s200/secrets.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282523517997407714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Secrets of a Summer Night:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annabelle Peyton &amp;amp; Simon Hunt&lt;br /&gt;The Wallflowers Series #1&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annabelle and Simon's story is the first in the Wallflower series. I read it ages ago and didn't like it because I didn't like Annabelle. whom I viewed as a shallow, greedy, money-grubbing punk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But in honor of I-love-Lisa-Kleypas-week, I re-read it and to my surprise, loved it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How could I have not liked it the first time around? There &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;must &lt;/span&gt;have been a misunderstanding!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annabelle Peyton is a gorgeous on-the-wall spinster at twenty-five years of age. Without a dowry and the poor economic state of her family, she finds it impossible to find an adequate suitor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is at a ball that she finally speaks with three other young ladies who have also been labeled as "outcasts" in the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ton. &lt;/span&gt;They choose to call themselves the Wallflowers and agree to help themselves find husbands. Of the young ladies, there are the Bowman sisters - Lillian and Daisy, whose family is ridiculously wealthy but to everyone's chagrin, the Bowmans are &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;American &lt;/span&gt;and uncultured. The last is Evangeline Jenner, the daughter of the man who owns a famous gaming house in London. She has flame colored hair and a freckled face; unconventionally beautiful but is horribly shy and speaks with a stutter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Annabelle realizes the dire situation she, her mother, and younger brother are in, she decides to marry wealthy and a peer, no matter the cost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately for her, she has caught the eye of Simon Hunt, a son of a butcher ...from the working class! He is handsome, tall, and arrogantly aggressive. His alpha attitude intrigues her, but she knows she cannot marry him because he is of the working class.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simon Hunt has worked his way up, amassing ludicrous amounts of money as a businessman. He finds himself in a limbo when he realizes he is neither accepted by the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ton &lt;/span&gt;(because of his family origins, and because he works for his living) nor his true middle-class peers (because he is so wealthy and he interacts with the British peers).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He sees Annabelle and immediately falls for her. He senses that she is the one for him... except for the fact that she continuously rejects him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Wallflowers decide that since Annabelle is the oldest, they ought to work together to find her a husband first. They all venture to Stony Cross, Lord Marcus Marsden's country home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annabelle meets Simon there and is horrified. But excited.&lt;br /&gt;At Stony Cross, Annabelle deems Lord Kendall to be the best candidate as her husband, knowing that he is all wrong for her and her for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And things get serious when Lord Kendall develops an interest in Annabelle....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I love about LK's novels is that usually the heroes are self-made. They're from ordinary background and make something out of themselves. Simon is an excellent example of this. He works his tail of, knowing that he would never be satisfied as a butcher's son.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another characteristic I love about Simon is his determination in making Annabelle his. He genuinely cares for her and expresses this to Annabelle. He speaks to her and shows her that he knows who &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;she &lt;/span&gt;is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annabelle is another story; she cares for her family and therefore decides to marry wealthy, however, her stubbornness and pride prevent her from pursuing her attraction to Simon. Even after they are together, she seems to be embarrassed of Simon's humble origins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, this is remedied and she redeems herself when.. *spoilers - highlight to read*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;she shows her love for Simon by &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;risking &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;her life for him. She redeems herself 1000%&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*end spoiler*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... how can you &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;not &lt;/span&gt;love her and Simon both?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The end of the story is &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;fabulous. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;All the lead-up to the ending is worth it and wonderful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I can say is: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Secrets of a Summer Night&lt;/span&gt; is what a love story ought to look like.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-5409795201823603949?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/5409795201823603949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=5409795201823603949' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5409795201823603949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5409795201823603949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/12/lisa-kleypas-secrets-of-summer-night.html' title='Lisa Kleypas: Secrets of a Summer Night'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9LJs_h3eI/AAAAAAAAALA/S1PuxgOiH_s/s72-c/secrets.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-8120071943964331419</id><published>2008-12-22T10:32:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-22T10:32:01.199-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='comments'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-review'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the legend of the four soldiers'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='elizabeth hoyt'/><title type='text'>Is it  May yet??</title><content type='html'>On a non-Lisa Kleypas note...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9S8jncV2I/AAAAAAAAANI/pk7qmDYcBUU/s1600-h/to+tastee.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9S8jncV2I/AAAAAAAAANI/pk7qmDYcBUU/s200/to+tastee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282532088235186018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9SoPoc_xI/AAAAAAAAAM4/_EJrb5I-5nY/s1600-h/to+beguile.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9SoPoc_xI/AAAAAAAAAM4/_EJrb5I-5nY/s200/to+beguile.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282531739273330450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9SyDy0pYI/AAAAAAAAANA/CowRollv65k/s1600-h/to+seducee.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9SyDy0pYI/AAAAAAAAANA/CowRollv65k/s200/to+seducee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282531907894289794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just finished Elizabeth Hoyt's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;To Seduce a Sinner&lt;/span&gt;. It was just okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;But!!! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;I am &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;so &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;excited for the third in her The Legend of the Four Soldiers series, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;To Beguile a Beast. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It. Sounds. Amazing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*squeal!!*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...I just want May to come. Is it May yet?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you think if I emailed Elizabeth Hoyt profusely, she would pity me and send me the text or send me an ARC?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...sigh...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-8120071943964331419?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/8120071943964331419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=8120071943964331419' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8120071943964331419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8120071943964331419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/12/is-it-may-yet.html' title='Is it  May yet??'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9S8jncV2I/AAAAAAAAANI/pk7qmDYcBUU/s72-c/to+tastee.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-5114452647492107301</id><published>2008-12-22T10:02:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-27T01:42:37.797-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wallflower series'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas week'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='holiday stories'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A'/><title type='text'>Lisa Kleypas: A Wallflower Christmas</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSvSi5iWtEI/AAAAAAAAAIs/e8JSTHq7rE0/s1600-h/a+wallflower.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 132px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSvSi5iWtEI/AAAAAAAAAIs/e8JSTHq7rE0/s200/a+wallflower.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272539285769598018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;A Wallflower Christmas: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hannah Appleton &amp;amp; Rafe Bowman&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;The Wallflowers are four young ladies in London who banded together in their wild and wickedly wonderful searches for true love. Now happily married, they join together once again to help one of the world’s most notorious rogues realize that happiness might be right under the mistletoe.…&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;It’s Christmastime in London and Rafe Bowman has arrived from America for his arranged meeting with Natalie Blandford, the very proper and beautiful daughter of Lady and Lord Blandford. His chiseled good looks and imposing physique are sure to impress the lady in waiting and, if it weren’t for his shocking American ways and wild reputation, her hand would already be guaranteed. Before the courtship can begin, Rafe realizes he must learn the rules of London society. But when four former Wallflowers try their hand at matchmaking, no one knows what will happen. And winning a bride turns out to be more complicated than Rafe Bowman anticipated, especially for a man accustomed to getting anything he wants. However, Christmas works in the most unexpected ways, changing a cynic to a romantic and inspiring passion in the most timid of hearts... (amazon)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;YAY for Lisa Kleypas!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It's a little strange singing praises for Ms. Kleypas, especially when I haven't read all of her novels. However, she has become one of my most favorite authors, who is unlikely to disappoint through her charming and sensual novels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A Wallflower Christmas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt; is&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;perfect for the HOLIDAY SEASON (and upcoming Christmas, in a scant three days!!) and also perfect to start off my I-Love-Lisa-Kleypas extravaganza!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;For those of you unfamiliar with the Wallflower series, it is a story of four young ladies who were the outcasts - the wallflowers - during their debut. They quickly befriend each other and strive to marry, and coincidentally fall in loooove.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The Wallflower series are as follows:&lt;br /&gt;1. Secrets of a Summer Night&lt;br /&gt;2. It Happened One Autumn&lt;br /&gt;3. Devil in Winter&lt;br /&gt;4. Scandal in Spring&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Reviews for these novels will be here in the days to come, however, in &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A Wallflower Christmas,&lt;/span&gt; we are introduced to Rafe Bowman, Lillian(book 2) and Daisy's (book 4) eldest brother. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He is a magnetic "rake" from the United States, as is the rest of the Bowman family, and comes to London to secure a marriage that his parents have deemed worthwhile and pleasing to them and everyone else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The chosen bride is Lady Natalie, beautiful but uninteresting. Rafe quickly loses interest in her, but acknowledges the fact that she would be a "good match" because of their dull compatibility.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He, however, meets her chaperone and a common woman, Hannah, and is utterly intrigued with her wit and personality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;They try to resist each other, however, sparks fly and the chemistry between them in intense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Rafe is left to make a difficult decision: marry Natalie and live without the one whom he loves, or marry Hannah and be cut out from his family (aka parents).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It is surprising that I was able to relate to these characters since the novel itself is quite short.&lt;br /&gt;Unsurprisingly, one of the qualms I had with this story was that it was too short. Too short too short too short! Boo!! If I have to wait another several months for her next contemporary release, she might as well have made the story some five-hundred pages, or something along those lines...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;But I digress. In a meager two-hundred something pages, I fell in love with "common and plain" Hannah and the devilish Rafe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I loved how Rafe loved Hannah and how Hannah loved Rafe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And, ohmygosh, I'm a total sucker for heroes who write passionate love letters to or about the woman they love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Rafe did so and the letter was magical.&lt;br /&gt;If I was Hannah, I pretty much would have been like, "See ya! I'm going to elope with Rafe." or maybe even, "Sure Rafe, I'll sleep with you. Right now? Okay, let's go!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;(um.. TooMuchInfo? Sorry folks.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Anyway, this story was beautiful and Christmas-y, so it left me feeling all gooey and mushy and all holiday-seasony. I also loved seeing all of the former Wallflowers (especially Daisy and Matthew) and how (unrealistically) happy they are in their marriages.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;What a (sigh) delicious read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-5114452647492107301?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/5114452647492107301/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=5114452647492107301' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5114452647492107301'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/5114452647492107301'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/12/lisa-kleypas-wallflower-christmas.html' title='Lisa Kleypas: A Wallflower Christmas'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSvSi5iWtEI/AAAAAAAAAIs/e8JSTHq7rE0/s72-c/a+wallflower.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-4643885409415146377</id><published>2008-12-22T09:02:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-27T01:42:30.257-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas week'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lisa kleypas'/><title type='text'>It's Lisa Kleypas week!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9LfaafG6I/AAAAAAAAALI/fdqQhhHekUc/s1600-h/secrets.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9LfaafG6I/AAAAAAAAALI/fdqQhhHekUc/s200/secrets.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282523890967321506" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9Lfs3GdrI/AAAAAAAAALQ/kwZ5oR1mkxY/s1600-h/it+happened.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9Lfs3GdrI/AAAAAAAAALQ/kwZ5oR1mkxY/s200/it+happened.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282523895919179442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9Lf-lpBTI/AAAAAAAAALY/N1wHBRq6s-M/s1600-h/devil.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9Lf-lpBTI/AAAAAAAAALY/N1wHBRq6s-M/s200/devil.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282523900677784882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9Lf0T5WKI/AAAAAAAAALg/N6t1dEwiG2I/s1600-h/scandal.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 115px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9Lf0T5WKI/AAAAAAAAALg/N6t1dEwiG2I/s200/scandal.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282523897919002786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9LgHF0DTI/AAAAAAAAALo/B0krxVGXXpk/s1600-h/a+wallflower.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 132px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9LgHF0DTI/AAAAAAAAALo/B0krxVGXXpk/s200/a+wallflower.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282523902960209202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9L9W9Fd8I/AAAAAAAAAMQ/nJ4bRIs2vgc/s1600-h/where+dreams.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9L9W9Fd8I/AAAAAAAAAMQ/nJ4bRIs2vgc/s200/where+dreams.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282524405434775490" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9L9WnEJNI/AAAAAAAAAMI/OkZ4H2ubVcE/s1600-h/stranger+in.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 120px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9L9WnEJNI/AAAAAAAAAMI/OkZ4H2ubVcE/s200/stranger+in.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282524405342414034" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9L9BEHIaI/AAAAAAAAAMA/UqvenB4His8/s1600-h/worth+any.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9L9BEHIaI/AAAAAAAAAMA/UqvenB4His8/s200/worth+any.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282524399558664610" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9L89oSr6I/AAAAAAAAAL4/AcytdJrVIQc/s1600-h/lady+sophias.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9L89oSr6I/AAAAAAAAAL4/AcytdJrVIQc/s200/lady+sophias.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282524398636674978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9L8D6miXI/AAAAAAAAALw/05YpFntcS5o/s1600-h/again+the.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9L8D6miXI/AAAAAAAAALw/05YpFntcS5o/s200/again+the.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282524383144216946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9PRElZNyI/AAAAAAAAAMg/N89M2ZUHwAM/s1600-h/seduce+me.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 123px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9PRElZNyI/AAAAAAAAAMg/N89M2ZUHwAM/s200/seduce+me.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282528042635835170" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9PQ-zJaGI/AAAAAAAAAMY/2ELaKaIJL_g/s1600-h/mine+till.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 116px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9PQ-zJaGI/AAAAAAAAAMY/2ELaKaIJL_g/s200/mine+till.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282528041082906722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've declared this coming week (December 15-22) to be Lisa Kleypas week!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, I probably should have done this when one of her novels this fall (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Seduce Me at Sunrise&lt;/span&gt; or &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A Wallflower Christmas&lt;/span&gt;) , but ..um... I like to be different and unique!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Regardless, I've decided that my task this winter is to glom LK's books, even though I'll probably be depressed after I finish. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;What will I have to keep me company if I fall into a book slump??&lt;/span&gt; However, this glomming must be done!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this week will be full of Lisa Kleypas reviews and probably love letters to the author, herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My wish is that she never come upon this blog. I would be mortified......and thrilled because I'm a punk like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let the LK love begin!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-4643885409415146377?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/4643885409415146377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=4643885409415146377' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4643885409415146377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4643885409415146377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/12/its-lisa-kleypas-week.html' title='It&apos;s Lisa Kleypas week!'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SU9LfaafG6I/AAAAAAAAALI/fdqQhhHekUc/s72-c/secrets.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-4891447159559303593</id><published>2008-12-17T10:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-17T10:02:00.090-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='julia quinn'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - regency'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade C-'/><title type='text'>Julia Quinn: The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSvQ3cvVDWI/AAAAAAAAAIM/p7-YsEVow6w/s1600-h/the+secret+diaries.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSvQ3cvVDWI/AAAAAAAAAIM/p7-YsEVow6w/s200/the+secret+diaries.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272537439793384802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;C-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miranda Cheever &amp;amp; Nigel Bevelstoke, Viscount Turner&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;              &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: right; font-style: italic;"&gt;At the age of ten, &lt;span class="bodytext_bold"&gt;Miranda                  Cheever&lt;/span&gt; showed no signs of Great Beauty. And even at                  ten, Miranda learned to accept the expectations society held                  for her--until the afternoon when Nigel Bevelstoke, the handsome                  and dashing &lt;span class="bodytext_bold"&gt;Viscount Turner&lt;/span&gt;,                  solemnly kissed her hand and promised her that one day she would                  grow into herself, that one day she would be as beautiful as                  she already was smart.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: right; font-style: italic;"&gt;And even at ten, Miranda knew she would love him                forever.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;most &lt;/span&gt;disappointing read, and I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why this book won the 2007 Best Regency Historical Romance in the Romance Writers of America's annual RITA Awards. (But then again, I don't understand how JQ won it for her novel, On the Way to the Wedding because that one wasn't too great either...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The breakdown of the story, short and un-sweet. Miranda Cheever writes in her diary every day. (I like that. Yay, journals!) She is not a Great Beauty. She accepts this. She meets Nigel Bevelstoke, older brother of her best friend...and she falls in looove.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Years later, Nigel has gone through a nasty marriage and is now a widow. His wife was a total loser, cuckolder, and what-not. Unsurprisingly, he's grown bitter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He sees Miranda when she hangs out with her still-best friend, Olivia. He doesn't really notice her, but she's having heart palpitations from being in his presence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then one day he notices her.&lt;br /&gt;And then he marries her because ...hm, I can't remember the reason.&lt;br /&gt;But then after the marriage - they have great sex.&lt;br /&gt;And then some more time passes, and she's about to give birth and is having complications. (She might &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;die)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;He realizes he loves her... *yawn*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Definitely not one of JQ's best novels. Not very interesting and not too romantic. No post-reading obsession of the book. In fact, I do believe I read this book in September... and a mere three months later, I fail to remember the details. This usually &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;never &lt;/span&gt;happens to me. (Perhaps the tears of boredom made the words blurry to me - too blurry for me to remember...?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With that said, I shall leave with the unanswerable question: since TSDOMMC won the 2007 RITA..... are the RITA awards rigged?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Think about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-4891447159559303593?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/4891447159559303593/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=4891447159559303593' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4891447159559303593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4891447159559303593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/12/julia-quinn-secret-diaries-of-miss.html' title='Julia Quinn: The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSvQ3cvVDWI/AAAAAAAAAIM/p7-YsEVow6w/s72-c/the+secret+diaries.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-3605177887266854645</id><published>2008-12-10T10:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T10:02:00.500-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-review'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dixie cash'/><title type='text'>SQUEAL!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ST-BXujnfxI/AAAAAAAAAKg/wby1WsIyPec/s1600-h/1st.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ST-BXujnfxI/AAAAAAAAAKg/wby1WsIyPec/s200/1st.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278079532935905042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ST-BX_3zL1I/AAAAAAAAAKo/Zzs4mvJLu5c/s1600-h/2ndd.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 132px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ST-BX_3zL1I/AAAAAAAAAKo/Zzs4mvJLu5c/s200/2ndd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278079537583959890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ST-BX6A-gGI/AAAAAAAAAKw/591kyT1ZciA/s1600-h/3rd.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ST-BX6A-gGI/AAAAAAAAAKw/591kyT1ZciA/s200/3rd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278079536011837538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ST-BYKisXsI/AAAAAAAAAK4/5ytzt1fs3OM/s1600-h/4th.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ST-BYKisXsI/AAAAAAAAAK4/5ytzt1fs3OM/s200/4th.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278079540448222914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think I've ever blogged about the sister-duo, Dixie Cash (Pamela Cumbie and Jeffery McClanahan), but let me just say that their books are wickedly funny. (By wicked, I mean "very." LOL)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first thing that caught my eye was Cash's book's title.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;My Heart May Be Broken But My Hair Still Looks Great&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...um, awesome!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Intrigued, I checked the book out, giggling to myself. When I cracked open the spine and started reading - I laughed aloud at the hilarity of Debbie Sue and Edwina.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MYMBBBMHSLG (lmao) was fabulous so then I borrowed the 'prequel' to it: &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Since You're Leaving Anyway, Take Out the Trash.&lt;/span&gt; Oh goodness, who comes up with these amazing titles? It's a wonderful advertising ploy - the titles alone are enough to entice an innocent victim into purchasing the novel!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Their third, one that I haven't read yet, is called &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I Gave You My Heart But You Sold it Online.&lt;/span&gt; I have yet to read because the novel entails the antics of a 12-year old girl... and pre-pubescent teenagers tend to mildly irritate me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However - here's the reason for the squeal - Cash's fourth novel is out (HOORAY!) and awesomely titled, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Don't Make Me Choose Between You and My Shoes. &lt;/span&gt;Just for the title... just for the title, I shall read IGYMHBYSIO and then proceed to devour DMMCBYAMS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, readers, if you have a niggling for big-haired, hairdressers who also manage a private detective business (The Domestic Equalizers), or hunger for a light-but-hilarious romance, read Dixie Cash.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note: I heartily recommend MYMBBBMHSLG (the second).&lt;br /&gt;[A review will be coming shortly.]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-3605177887266854645?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/3605177887266854645/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=3605177887266854645' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/3605177887266854645'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/3605177887266854645'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/12/squeal.html' title='SQUEAL!'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ST-BXujnfxI/AAAAAAAAAKg/wby1WsIyPec/s72-c/1st.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-1244669689516666031</id><published>2008-12-09T10:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T10:02:00.607-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A+'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='chicklit'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='emily giffin'/><title type='text'>Emily Giffin: Love the One You're With</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ST3SCTaSGCI/AAAAAAAAAKY/M_UymiRg3e0/s1600-h/emily.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 132px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ST3SCTaSGCI/AAAAAAAAAKY/M_UymiRg3e0/s200/emily.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277605275360172066" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Love the One You're With: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A+&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The &lt;em&gt;New York Times &lt;/em&gt;bestselling author of SOMETHING BORROWED, SOMETHING BLUE, and BABY PROOF delivers another captivating, straight-from-the heart novel. This is a story for everyone who has ever wondered: How can I truly love the one I'm with, when I can't forget the one who got away? &lt;/p&gt;      &lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Ellen and Andy's marriage doesn't just seem perfect, it is perfect. There is no question how deep their devotion is, and how naturally they bring out the best in each other. But one fateful afternoon, Ellen runs into Leo for the first time in eight years. Leo, the one who brought out the worst in her. Leo, the one who left her heartbroken with no explanation. Leo, the one she could never quite forget. When his reappearance ignites long-dormant emotions, Ellen begins to question whether the life she’s living is the one she's meant to live. &lt;strong&gt;LOVE THE ONE YOU'RE WITH&lt;/strong&gt; is a powerful story about one woman at the crossroads of true love and real life.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me rave of a book I just recently finished that I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;love. &lt;/span&gt;It's the fourth novel of chick-lit writer, Ms. Emily Giffin. Giffin shot to the bestseller lists with her debut novel, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Something Borrowed&lt;/span&gt;, and then &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Something Blue&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my book buddy, Nance, told me about how much she loved Giffin, I quickly jumped onto amazon to investigate these amazing books. I was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;horrified &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;when I read the synopsis of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Something Borrowed.&lt;/span&gt; The heroine gets drunk at a party-thing and wakes up the next morning next to her &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;best friend's fiance&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Adultery is a &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;big&lt;/span&gt; no-no for Alice.&lt;br /&gt;Adultery with your best friend's lover is an even &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;bigger&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; no-no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, Nance, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;no&lt;/span&gt; way jose," I told her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple months ago, she texted me, telling me how much she loved &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Love the One You're With.&lt;/span&gt; "You have &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;got&lt;/span&gt; to read it, Alice!" LTOYW is a story of what happens when your old love - the one that got away - reappears in your life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I agreed and told Nance I'd read it, if only to discuss with her. I read... and loved it.&lt;br /&gt;I. Could. Not. Put. It. Down.&lt;br /&gt;I got no sleep the night I started the story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ellen is a thirty-three year old newlywed. Her marriage to her husband, Andy, is perfect; he is a wonderful, wonderful man who is incredibly thoughtful, handsome, caring, and loving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a couple of months into their marriage when Ellen sees her ex, Leo. The one with whom she had a flaming, passionate relationship. The one who she loved with everything she had. The one who was probably 'the love of her life.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it's after she sees Leo, after she start re-talking to him, that she starts to question her marriage - and the love - she has for Andy. She wonders if she made the correct decision in marrying him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was reading this, praying that she would make the correct decision. It's really a compliment for Giffin - as an author, you know you have talent when your reader is rooting for both Andy &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;and &lt;/span&gt;Leo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh, if only Ellen hadn't married Andy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh, if only Leo had appeared sooner.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh, if only Ellen hadn't seen Leo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Andy! Leo! Andy! Leo!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...see, it's chaos. Absolute chaos.&lt;br /&gt;And I loved it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Giffin's words are powerful and you can feel - almost tangibly feel - the love, frustration, aggravation, and confusion pouring out from Ellen. She is an excellent writer - a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;smart &lt;/span&gt;chick-lit writer (sorry, I kind-of think chick-lit authors write less-than-great, with all the italicized words and parantheses and what-not) and one whose words you want to keep on reading.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you've ever had a 'the one that got away' type experience, or have felt the slow crumble of a relationship with one whom you've loved deeply - you'll relate to this story. And you'll love it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In short: READ!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-1244669689516666031?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/1244669689516666031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=1244669689516666031' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/1244669689516666031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/1244669689516666031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/12/emily-giffin-love-one-youre-with.html' title='Emily Giffin: Love the One You&apos;re With'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/ST3SCTaSGCI/AAAAAAAAAKY/M_UymiRg3e0/s72-c/emily.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-6352601457715800169</id><published>2008-12-02T10:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-02T10:02:00.363-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='catherine anderson'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='DNF'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kendrick/coulter series'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='contemp'/><title type='text'>Catherine Anderson: Baby Love</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS50yD5b-mI/AAAAAAAAAKI/DI5AXDQtQsY/s1600-h/baby+love.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 122px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS50yD5b-mI/AAAAAAAAAKI/DI5AXDQtQsY/s200/baby+love.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273280617085925986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Baby Love: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;DNF&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maggie Stanley &amp;amp; Rafe Kendrick&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Kendrick/ Coulter series 1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though I usually love Catherine Anderon's novels, I found this one to be most uninteresting. It is the beginning of her series (one with many, many novels - like eight or nine?) and I'm glad I read some of the other books in the series before reading this one or else I would have given up on the entire series.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From reading roughly half the book (approximately 160 pages), this is what I got:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rafe lost his beloved wife and child.&lt;br /&gt;He proceeded to lose himself and "ran away" from his home and duties, traveling around to different cities on trains.&lt;br /&gt;He meets Maggie on one of these trains.&lt;br /&gt;She's a damsel in distress.&lt;br /&gt;He falls in love with her - almost overnight.&lt;br /&gt;He takes care of her when she needs to be taken care of at the hospital.&lt;br /&gt;He immediately makes amends with his estranged family - and they welcome him back with open arms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..and then I stopped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First, I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hate &lt;/span&gt;second-love stories.&lt;br /&gt;Like, when the hero or heroine has desperately and passionately loved XYZ and XYZ dies. They're heartbroken. Then the new hero/ heroine steps in and takes the place of the former love. (Ex: Susan Elizabeth Phillip's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dream a Little Dream, &lt;/span&gt;Lisa Kleypas's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Where Dreams Begin&lt;/span&gt;..)&lt;br /&gt;I am a huge advocate of first-love stories and therefore, losing one's first love only to move on and love a second love, though realistic, is not something I'm chum chum with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second, how unrealistic is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;this &lt;/span&gt;story?&lt;br /&gt;Not that I look for realism in a romance, per se, but the whole journey of falling in love (aka the reason why I read romances) was lost in this story. Rafe falls in love with Maggie ...just there and then. No real explanations. And even after the story progresses with him loving her, it never really explains why he loved her. Bogus!!, I say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Third, I flat-out lost interest. I put it down - in mild exasperation - and never wanted to pick it back up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sadly, this one is a no-go, DNF.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-6352601457715800169?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/6352601457715800169/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=6352601457715800169' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6352601457715800169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6352601457715800169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/12/catherine-anderson-baby-love.html' title='Catherine Anderson: Baby Love'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS50yD5b-mI/AAAAAAAAAKI/DI5AXDQtQsY/s72-c/baby+love.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-7338523486142540405</id><published>2008-12-01T10:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-01T10:02:00.758-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='joanna bourne'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='napoleon era'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='spies and espionage'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - regency'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade C-'/><title type='text'>Joanna Bourne: My Lord and Spymaster</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSvRksM5tlI/AAAAAAAAAIU/mP1pE_y5k0c/s1600-h/my+lord+and.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSvRksM5tlI/AAAAAAAAAIU/mP1pE_y5k0c/s200/my+lord+and.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272538217038067282" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My Lord and Spymaster: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;C-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jessamyn Whitby &amp;amp; Captain Sebastian Kennett&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Bourne's latest espionage-based series historical (following &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Spymaster's Lady&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;) entices with subtle subterfuge and heated romance. Jess Whitby, daughter of suspected spy Josiah Whitby, is doing everything in her power to exonerate her imprisoned father. In order to free him, she must prove that someone other than her father is the Cinq, a notorious mole. But Jess has met her match in Capt. Sebastian Kennett, wealthy bastard son of an English nobleman, equally as clever at keeping tabs on Jess as she is at tracking him. Sebastian is responsible for Josiah's arrest; Jess believes that Sebastian may be the Cinq; their mutual attraction proves a lovely foil for their suspicious minds. (amazon)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;know &lt;/span&gt;I'm going to be in the minority, but I didn't find much in this story that I really enjoyed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The plot, after a while, became tedious, as did the characters. I felt like the plot moved really slowly and I lost interest half or a third-way through. I chugged along, hoping that the romance between Jess and Sebastian would outweigh the dullness of finding Cinq, going after the suspected Cinq candidates, and Jess's constant visitations with her father.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The romance was lukewarm. It was a lot of Sebastian trying to empower Jess, but Jess resisting, and then them showing their love for each other in dangerous ways. Example: Jess going off to her previous master (when she was a thief) so that Sebastian wouldn't have to go himself since the master is a feared and very dangerous slumlord, etc. Those and other kinds of actions that I would normally find sigh-worthy grated my nerves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there was the suspicion between Jess and Sebastian, since Sebastian was one of the candidates who could possibly be Cinq. Then Jess trying to un-love Sebastian because of the uncertainty, and yadda yadda yadda...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I knew it, I wanted the novel to be over and I didn't care much if Sebastian and Jess ever did get together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate to say it, since I did enjoy Ms. Bourne's debut novel &lt;a href="http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/05/joanna-bourne-spymasters-lady.html"&gt;The Spymaster's Lady&lt;/a&gt;, but I would have rather passed on this one.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-7338523486142540405?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/7338523486142540405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=7338523486142540405' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/7338523486142540405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/7338523486142540405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/12/joanna-bourne-my-lord-and-spymaster.html' title='Joanna Bourne: My Lord and Spymaster'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSvRksM5tlI/AAAAAAAAAIU/mP1pE_y5k0c/s72-c/my+lord+and.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-1753742608311944102</id><published>2008-11-29T10:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-29T10:02:01.259-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - medieval'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade D-'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wild series'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sasha lord'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fantasy-romance'/><title type='text'>Sasha Lord: In My Wild Dream</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSvLfrKRT4I/AAAAAAAAAGc/9h5M60Zdj7c/s1600-h/in+my+wild+dream.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; 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	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; 	mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Kassandra &amp;amp; Cadedryn Caenmore&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Wild series #5&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;" face="arial" class="MsoNormal"&gt;For years, Kassandra has dreamed of a strong Scottish laird, surrounded by a cloak of evil, whom she's destined to marry. When the dreams begin to change, and a dream-world knife follows her into the waking world, she fears for the man in her dreams and persuades her half-sister, Princess Kalial, to take her to court where she may find and help him. Kassandra's intended turns out to be Cadedryn, a powerful warrior dedicated to regaining the land and title his murdered father lost when he married for love rather than politics. Determined not to repeat his father's mistake, Cadedryn rejects Kassandra, pronouncing his intention to marry the landed Lady Corine. Abandoning her courtly accoutrements, Kassandra pursues Cadedryn by posing as peasant. Soon, Caderyn falls for the fiery, flame-haired commoner he knows as Kaitlynn, threatening the plans of Lady Corine-as well as other, more sinister forces.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;The fifth of Ms. Lord’s &lt;i style=""&gt;Wild &lt;/i&gt;series is of Kassandra, “wild child” and of Cadedryn. They are…interesting. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Let me give a prologue-y sidenote before I begin: &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;I understand that in the medieval times, girls married in their early to mid-teens, from fourteen to seventeen. Anything older = spinster!! This age gets progressively later as time passes. So when a girl is sixteen in medieval time, I immediately equate it to modern day of maybe twenty six, twenty seven. Therefore, a girl of marriageable age ought to be …not quite so childish and at least, be somewhat mature. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Perhaps this is my mistake: maybe girls in the medieval times at age sixteen were still… &lt;i style=""&gt;girls, &lt;/i&gt;not quite women. Weird. (But didn’t everyone die a lot younger back then? So their sixteen is like today’s thirty five… no? Oy…!) &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Okay, back to the review. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Kassandra is a “wild child,” raised in the woods, running about the woods with her wild animal pet, weasel Triu-cair. She is also the half-sister of Kalial (now Kalial McTaver from book one). With her strange prophetic powers, she sees her beloved soulmate in her dreams. It gives her a precious sword and asks her to look for him. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Being a romantic, she is determined to search for this mystery man. She convinces Kalial to take her to the city (I forget which but the King is there) and on her trips, she meets an infuriatingly annoying man by the name of Cadedryn. He, of course, is her hero, something she doesn’t realize.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Cadedryn is in the city to regain his family’s name, something that was lost when his father disobeyed the King’s orders to marry a woman – he, instead, chose to marry the woman he loved and in turn, the King stripped the Caenmores of their wealth. To Cadedryn’s horror, his father was murdered when he was a young boy, and Cadedryn went to live with Laird McCafferty and his son, Curtis. It’s been Cadedryn’s desire to regain his family’s honor by proving himself as a worthy warrior and by marrying advantageously. By meeting the king and agreeing to an arranged marriage, he feels he will right the wrongs of his father. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;When Cadedryn falls for the wild Kassandra – surprise! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Things get a little twisted when Cadedryn mistakenly believes Kassandra has a twin sister, and he falls for both… and someone is trying to kill both of them… &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Kassandra acts like a sixteen year old – foolishly in love with her romantic notions and heady with the desire for love, yet it is clear that she is not a strong enough heroine. I just can’t picture her to soothe Cadedryn when he is in need of her arms and yadda yadda yadda. She is fickle. Young. And holy cow, she really does sound like a modern teenager going through growing pains. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" face="arial"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" face="arial"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Skip this melodramatic bore. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-1753742608311944102?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/1753742608311944102/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=1753742608311944102' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/1753742608311944102'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/1753742608311944102'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/11/sasha-lord-in-my-wild-dream.html' title='Sasha Lord: In My Wild Dream'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSvLfrKRT4I/AAAAAAAAAGc/9h5M60Zdj7c/s72-c/in+my+wild+dream.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-4013450583840629435</id><published>2008-11-28T10:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T10:02:00.543-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sheri cobb south'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - regency'/><title type='text'>Sheri Cobb South: Brighton Honeymoon</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5gne78w-I/AAAAAAAAAKA/jETFVejpENU/s1600-h/brighton.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5gne78w-I/AAAAAAAAAKA/jETFVejpENU/s200/brighton.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273258445133104098" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Brighton Honeymoon: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Polly Hampton &amp;amp; Sir Aubrey Tabor&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Suddenly unemployed and with no place to turn, orphaned Polly Hampton refuses to abandon the project that brought her to London in the first placeDthe search for her unknown noble father. In a flash of audacious inventiveness, she presents herself at the home of wealthy weaver Ethan Brundy, claiming to be his long-lost sister. Although Ethan sees through her ruse immediately, his aristocratic wife decides to take Polly under her wing, with rewarding and highly entertaining results. Good attention to period detail, a lively, witty style, and wonderfully atypical characters combine in a sparkling story vaguely reminiscent of Georgette Heyer's classic These Old Shades. Here, South nicely continues the story begun in The Weaver Takes a Wife...(amazon)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the continuing glomming of Ms. Sheri Cobb South's books, I was delighted to discover that there was a sequel to &lt;a href="http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/11/sherri-cobb-south-weaver-takes-wife.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Weaver Takes a Wife.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; As you know, I loved TWTAF so I opened Brighton Honeymoon with high expectations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was not disappointed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Brighton Honeymoon,&lt;/span&gt; we are introduced to Polly, a sweet girl who came to the city in search of her father. She was a child born out of wedlock and was assured by her mother that her father was someone of importance; after her mother passes away, she is determined to find her father, envisioning their reunion to be glorious, filled with happy tears, and all that jazz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She finds employment at a bookstore, partially because of her love of books (ooh, I love characters who love to read!) and partially because she hopes that her father will magically walk in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The situation quickly turns sour when she is fired from her job. With nowhere to go, she goes to our beloved Mr. Ethan Brundy's home and claims she is his long-lost sister!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His wife, Helena, who is not nearly as snotty as we once believed, embraces Polly, however, Ethan remains unconvinced. He knows that he is extraordinarily wealthy and he knows that the world is full of people hoping to snag a piece of his hard-earned dough. (er, money..)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ethan calls upon his friend, Sir Aubrey Tabor. Aubrey knows something is not right with Polly and tells Ethan he will rid the newly-wedded couple of her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately for Ethan, Aubrey, Polly, and Aubrey's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;mother &lt;/span&gt;(cranky, hoity-toity haughty woman) join him and Helena on their honeymoon to Brighton!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a delightful romp and it is filled with giggles, impeccable characters, and Ms. South's exquisite writing. It is so delightful that you will overlook the cliched and very coincidental ending - it somehow&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; works. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another must-read in my book.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-4013450583840629435?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/4013450583840629435/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=4013450583840629435' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4013450583840629435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/4013450583840629435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/11/sheri-cobb-south-brighton-honeymoon.html' title='Sheri Cobb South: Brighton Honeymoon'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5gne78w-I/AAAAAAAAAKA/jETFVejpENU/s72-c/brighton.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-6830349508752225354</id><published>2008-11-27T10:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-27T10:02:01.034-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='meredith duran'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical india'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - european regency'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='historical - regency'/><title type='text'>Meredith Duran: The Duke of Shadows</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSvTO0yiFTI/AAAAAAAAAI8/4zbPvZELles/s1600-h/duke+of+shadows.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 122px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSvTO0yiFTI/AAAAAAAAAI8/4zbPvZELles/s200/duke+of+shadows.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272540040409519410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Duke of Shadows: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Emmaline Martin &amp;amp; Julian Sinclair, Duke of Auburn&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;In a debut romance as passionate and sweeping as the British Empire, Meredith Duran paints a powerful picture of an aristocrat torn between two worlds, an heiress who dares to risk everything...and the love born in fire and darkness that nearly destroys them.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;From exotic sandstone palaces...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Sick of tragedy, done with rebellion, Emmaline Martin vows to settle quietly into British Indian society. But when the pillars of privilege topple, her fiancé's betrayal leaves Emma no choice. She must turn for help to the one man whom she should not trust, but cannot resist: Julian Sinclair, the dangerous and dazzling heir to the Duke of Auburn. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;To the marble halls of London...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;In London, they toast Sinclair with champagne. In India, they call him a traitor. Cynical and impatient with both worlds, Julian has never imagined that the place he might belong is in the embrace of a woman with a reluctant laugh and haunted eyes. But in a time of terrible darkness, he and Emma will discover that love itself can be perilous -- and that a single decision can alter one's life forever.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;" align="center"&gt;Destiny follows wherever you run.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A lifetime of grief later, in a cold London spring, Emma and Julian must finally confront the truth: no matter how hard one tries to deny it, some pasts cannot be disowned...and some passions never die. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw Trollop from the book bitches searching for this book, an I can see why. After waiting patiently for several months, I got my grubby little hands on my very own copy (well, my own copy for the next three weeks). I read it through the night (horrible habit, I woke up looking &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;atrocious &lt;/span&gt;the next morning) and folks, it was a damn good read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Debut author, Meredith Duran, has done the very difficult and almost-unthinkable: she has managed to write a romance that can effectively serve as a saga - in three-hundred and something pages.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Emmaline and Julian meet in Delhi in 1857, where tensions are running high and the country's turmoil is glaring. She has come to India to be with her fiance and after a disastrous journey, she arrives, only to realize that her fiance is a flaming jerkwad. Emma also meets Julian, the notorious Duke of Auburn, known for being a quarter Indian. He has been grudgingly accepted by British society because of his dukedom, however, he is neither liked nor admired - much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When situations in India explode, Emma is caught in the middle. Julian saves her and they abscond to a village where he leaves her - in safety.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things do not go well and they are separated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They meet again in London after years of separation, and their experiences have changed them into different people. And the love that was so strong between them has turned into something akin to rage and bitterness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is, of course, reading of their journey to reconciliation that was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so &lt;/span&gt;satisfying and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so &lt;/span&gt;lovely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ms. Duran is a doctorate student in cultural anthropology and I can see that she loves her field and she loves this era of time through her precise and descriptive writings. Furthermore, her prose is beautiful (she uses "meaty" sentences - remember when your English teacher told you to stop being a pansy and to beef up your sentences with details?) and her writing sucks you in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't love the last thirty pages as much as I wished because I felt it was a little roundabout and a little long-ish, but I decided that was trivial in comparison to her skills as a debut author.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do give this a try.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS: Julian is quite delicious. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-6830349508752225354?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/6830349508752225354/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=6830349508752225354' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6830349508752225354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/6830349508752225354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/11/meredith-duran-duke-of-shadows.html' title='Meredith Duran: The Duke of Shadows'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSvTO0yiFTI/AAAAAAAAAI8/4zbPvZELles/s72-c/duke+of+shadows.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-3600232814968773468</id><published>2008-11-27T00:08:00.006-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-27T00:14:25.543-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='thanksgiving'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-review'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alice'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='holidays'/><title type='text'>Happy Gobble Gobble Day!</title><content type='html'>I hope you spend this wonderful day with your family members and loved ones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please remember all of the things you are blessed with!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am grateful for:&lt;br /&gt;good books that I can curl up and enjoy because it allows me to travel many places and be many characters; Hazelnut lattes because they hit the spot; my old, junkie laptop because I have one; my iPod Miss Daisy because I am never lonely with music playing in my ears; my book club ladies because they're so much fun; Judith McNaught because she made me believe in romances; authors that can make you laugh and cry; this blog that I can abuse; for libraries because you can read books for free; librarians because they help you when you get confused; my bed because I love to sleep; my evil little dog; my family and friends...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and to you - thanks for reading!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..really, I'm not &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that &lt;/span&gt;mean in real life.&lt;br /&gt;......oh fine, I am, but usually have candy with me so I can make you like me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Thanksgiving!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-3600232814968773468?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/3600232814968773468/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=3600232814968773468' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/3600232814968773468'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/3600232814968773468'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/11/happy-gobble-gobble-day.html' title='Happy Gobble Gobble Day!'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-8602818918603614989</id><published>2008-11-25T10:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-25T10:02:00.632-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lauren weisberger'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='non-category romance'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love story'/><title type='text'>Lauren Weisberger: Chasing Harry Winston</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSu-KCX1O2I/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZmtBsMGPlHY/s1600-h/chasing+harry.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 131px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSu-KCX1O2I/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZmtBsMGPlHY/s200/chasing+harry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272516868412095330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Chasing Harry Winston: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;C+&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;Chick lit-ish romance-ish&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Emmy&lt;/b&gt; is newly single, and not by choice. She was this close to the ring and the baby she's wanted her whole life when her boyfriend left her for his twenty-three-year-old personal trainer -- whose fees are paid by Emmy. With her plans for the perfect white wedding in the trash, Emmy is now ordering takeout for one. Her friends insist an around-the-world sex-fueled adventure will solve all her problems -- could they be right?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Leigh&lt;/b&gt;, a young star in the publishing business, is within striking distance of landing her dream job as senior editor and marrying her dream guy. And to top it all off, she has just purchased her dream apartment. Only when Leigh begins to edit the enfant terrible of the literary world, the brilliant and brooding Jesse Chapman, does she start to notice some cracks in her perfect life...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Adriana&lt;/b&gt; is the drop-dead-gorgeous daughter of a famous supermodel. She possesses the kind of feminine wiles made only in Brazil, and she never hesitates to use them. But she's about to turn thirty and -- as her mother keeps reminding her -- she won't have her pick of the men forever. Everyone knows beauty is ephemeral and there's always someone younger and prettier right around the corner. Suddenly she's wondering...does Mother know best?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;"&gt;These three very different girls have been best friends for a decade in the greatest city on earth. As they near thirty, they're looking toward their future...but despite all they've earned -- first-class travel, career promotions, invites to all the right parties, and luxuries small and large -- they're not quite sure they like what they see...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;One Saturday night at the Waverly Inn, Adriana and Emmy make a pact: within a single year, each will drastically change her life. Leigh watches from the sidelines, not making any promises, but she'll soon discover she has the most to lose. Their friendship is forever, but everything else is on the table. Three best friends. Two resolutions. One year to pull it off. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This, by far, is the worst book out of the three that Lauren Weisberger has written.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While the premise of the book might be interesting, the book is fast paced... a little &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;too &lt;/span&gt;fast-paced. There isn't much time to invest energy into the characters and not enough time is spent on each of the three characters. It's a whirlwind, flipping back and forth between Emmy, Leigh, and Adriana.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still get confused - which one was Leigh again? Was she the one who got dumped or was she the one who is neurotic?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The outline of the book also made a huge difference for me, strangely. Instead of starting new chapters, there are those page gaps in between paragraphs to indicate the passing of time, by which I mean - the passing of months and months of time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before you know it, it's Fall. Then it's Christmas. Then it's the end of February.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The time passes and passes and the reader doesn't realize the year is almost over... until it's over. The ending was cheesy, which isn't too bad (I like cheese a decent amount) but a little too coincidental.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And for purely subjective, non-concrete reasons, I can't say that I really really enjoyed this read. Not because I really hated one aspect of the book, but because it was just...  un-outstanding. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A C+ for being decently entertaining.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6420685477524347337-8602818918603614989?l=mikaltart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/feeds/8602818918603614989/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6420685477524347337&amp;postID=8602818918603614989' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8602818918603614989'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6420685477524347337/posts/default/8602818918603614989'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mikaltart.blogspot.com/2008/11/lauren-weisberger-chasing-harry-winston.html' title='Lauren Weisberger: Chasing Harry Winston'/><author><name>Alice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11003033380771613548</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SS5dpqwv05I/AAAAAAAAAJo/8-sjnZW-c-U/S220/Alice.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3r4sg2d75M/SSu-KCX1O2I/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZmtBsMGPlHY/s72-c/chasing+harry.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420685477524347337.post-2523955297510563883</id><published>2008-11-19T10:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T00:20:17.452-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='grade A++'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tom godwin'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fiction'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sci-fi'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='short story'/><title type='text'>Tom Godwin: The Cold Equations</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Cold Equations&lt;/span&gt;: &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;A++&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Short Story&lt;br /&gt;Science Fiction&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I first read this short story when I was in the eighth grade (many a year ago).&lt;br /&gt;I believe I was at home, in my room, doing what good eighth graders do: my English homework.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little did I know that this reading would impact my life in the way that it has.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;love &lt;/span&gt;this short story.&lt;br /&gt;I feel that it is so powerful and it gives a glimpse of what it means to have a world with blacks and whites.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is not a romance, but I ask that you take a chance and read it. (It won't take you more than 15 minutes.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure this is violating some sort of a copyright rule, but I found the text online and I'm pasting it here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me know what you think of it. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 10"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 10"&gt;&lt;link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CAlice%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery&gt;0&lt;/w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery&gt;   &lt;w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery&gt;2&lt;/w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:spaceforul/&gt;    &lt;w:balancesinglebytedoublebytewidth/&gt;    &lt;w:donotleavebackslashalone/&gt;    &lt;w:ultrailspace/&gt;    &lt;w:donotexpandshiftreturn/&gt;    &lt;w:adjustlineheightintable/&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;    &lt;w:usefelayout/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Font Definitions */  @font-face 	{font-family:바탕; 	panose-1:2 3 6 0 0 1 1 1 1 1; 	mso-font-alt:Batang; 	mso-font-charset:129; 	mso-generic-font-family:roman; 	mso-font-pitch:variable; 	mso-font-signature:-1342176593 1775729915 48 0 524447 0;} @font-face 	{font-family:굴림; 	panose-1:2 11 6 0 0 1 1 1 1 1; 	mso-font-alt:Gulim; 	mso-font-charset:129; 	mso-generic-font-family:modern; 	mso-font-pitch:variable; 	mso-font-signature:-1342176593 1775729915 48 0 524447 0;} @font-face 	{font-family:"\@굴림"; 	panose-1:2 11 6 0 0 1 1 1 1 1; 	mso-font-charset:129; 	mso-generic-font-family:modern; 	mso-font-pitch:variable; 	mso-font-signature:-1342176593 1775729915 48 0 524447 0;} @font-face 	{font-family:"\@바탕"; 	panose-1:2 3 6 0 0 1 1 1 1 1; 	mso-font-charset:129; 	mso-generic-font-family:roman; 	mso-font-pitch:variable; 	mso-font-signature:-1342176593 1775729915 48 0 524447 0;}  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0cm; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	text-align:justify; 	text-justify:inter-ideograph; 	mso-pagination:none; 	text-autospace:none; 	word-break:break-hangul; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:바탕; 	mso-bidi-font-family:Arial; 	mso-font-kerning:1.0pt;}  /* Page Definitions */  @page 	{mso-page-border-surround-header:no; 	mso-page-border-surround-footer:no;} @page Section1 	{size:612.0pt 792.0pt; 	margin:72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt; 	mso-header-margin:36.0pt; 	mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0cm; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;The Cold Equations&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Tom Godwin&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He was not alone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4561"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;There was nothing to indicate the fact but the white hand of the tiny gauge on the board before him. The control room was empty but for himself; there was no sound other than the murmur of the drives—but the white hand had moved. It had been on zero when the little ship was launched from the &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt;; now, an hour later, it had crept up. There was something in the supplies closet across the room, it was saying, some kind of a body that radiated heat.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4562"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;It could be but one kind of a body—a living, human body.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4563"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He leaned back in the pilot's chair and drew a deep, slow breath, considering what he would have to do. He was an EDS pilot, inured to the sight of death, long since accustomed to it and to viewing the dying of another man with an objective lack of emotion, and he had no choice in what he must do. There could be no alternative—but it required a few moments of conditioning for even an EDS pilot to prepare himself to walk across the room and coldly, deliberately, take the life of a man he had yet to meet.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4564"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He would, of course, do it. It was the law, stated very bluntly and definitely in grim Paragraph L, Section 8, of Interstellar Regulations: &lt;i&gt;Any stowaway discovered in an EDS shall be jettisoned immediately following discovery&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4565"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;It was the law, and there could be no appeal.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;* * *&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4566"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;It was a law not of men's choosing but made imperative by the circumstances of the space frontier. Galactic expansion had followed the development of the hyperspace drive and as men scattered wide across the frontier there had come the problem of contact with the isolated first-colonies and exploration parties. The huge hyperspace cruisers were the product of the combined genius and effort of Earth and were long and expensive in the building. They were not available in such numbers that small colonies could possess them. The cruisers carried the colonists to their new worlds and made periodic visits, running on tight schedules, but they could not stop and turn aside to visit colonies scheduled to be visited at another time; such a delay would destroy their schedule and produce a confusion and uncertainty that would wreck the complex interdependence between old Earth and the new worlds of the frontier.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4567"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Some method of delivering supplies or assistance when an emergency occurred on a world not scheduled for a visit had been needed and the Emergency Dispatch Ships had been the answer. Small and collapsible, they occupied little room in the hold of the cruiser; made of light metal and plastics, they were driven by a small rocket drive that consumed relatively little fuel. Each cruiser carried four EDS's and when a call for aid was received the nearest cruiser would drop into normal space long enough to launch an EDS with the needed supplies or personnel, then vanish again as it continued on its course.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4568"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;The cruisers, powered by nuclear converters, did not use the liquid rocket fuel but nuclear converters were far too large and complex to permit their installation in the EDS. The cruisers were forced by necessity to carry a limited amount of the bulky rocket fuel and the fuel was rationed with care; the cruiser's computers determining the exact amount of fuel each EDS would require for its mission. The computers considered the course coordinates, the mass of the EDS, the mass of pilot and cargo; they were very precise and accurate and omitted nothing from their calculations. They could not, however, foresee, and allow for, the added mass of a stowaway.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;* * *&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4569"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;The &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt; had received the request from one of the exploration parties stationed on Woden; the six men of the party already being stricken with the fever carried by the green &lt;i&gt;kala&lt;/i&gt; midges and their own supply of serum destroyed by the tornado that had torn through their camp. The &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt; had gone through the usual procedure; dropping into normal space to launch the EDS with the fever serum, then vanishing again in hyperspace. Now, an hour later, the gauge was saying there was something more than the small carton of serum in the supplies closet.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4570"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He let his eyes rest on the narrow white door of the closet. There, just inside, another man lived and breathed and was beginning to feel assured that discovery of his presence would now be too late for the pilot to alter the situation. It &lt;i&gt;was&lt;/i&gt; too late—for the man behind the door it was far later than he thought and in a way he would find terrible to believe.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4571"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;There could be no alternative. Additional fuel would be used during the hours of deceleration to compensate for the added mass of the stowaway; infinitesimal increments of fuel that would not be missed until the ship had almost reached its destination. Then, at some distance above the ground that might be as near as a thousand feet or as far as tens of thousands of feet, depending upon the mass of ship and cargo and the preceding period of deceleration, the unmissed increments of fuel would make their absence known; the EDS would expend its last drops of fuel with a sputter and go into whistling free fall. Ship and pilot and stowaway would merge together upon impact as a wreckage of metal and plastic, flesh and blood, driven deep into the soil. The stowaway had signed his own death warrant when he concealed himself on the ship; he could not be permitted to take seven others with him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4572"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He looked again at the telltale white hand, then rose to his feet. What he must do would be unpleasant for both of them; the sooner it was over, the better. He stepped across the control room, to stand by the white door.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4573"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Come out!" His command was harsh and abrupt above the murmur of the drive.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4574"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;It seemed he could hear the whisper of a furtive movement inside the closet, then nothing. He visualized the stowaway cowering closer into one corner, suddenly worried by the possible consequences of his act and his self-assurance evaporating.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4575"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I said &lt;i&gt;out!&lt;/i&gt;"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4576"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He heard the stowaway move to obey and he waited with his eyes alert on the door and his hand near the blaster at his side.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4577"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;The door opened and the stowaway stepped through it, smiling. "All right—I give up. Now what?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4578"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;It was a girl.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4579"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4580"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He stared without speaking, his hand dropping away from the blaster and acceptance of what he saw coming like a heavy and unexpected physical blow. The stowaway was not a man—she was a girl in her teens, standing before him in little white gypsy sandals with the top of her brown, curly head hardly higher than his shoulder, with a faint, sweet scent of perfume coming from her and her smiling face tilted up so her eyes could look unknowing and unafraid into his as she waited for his answer.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4581"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Now what?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt; Had it been asked in the deep, defiant voice of a man he would have answered it with action, quick and efficient. He would have taken the stowaway's identification disk and ordered him into the air lock. Had the stowaway refused to obey, he would have used the blaster. It would not have taken long; within a minute the body would have been ejected into space—had the stowaway been a man.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4582"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He returned to the pilot's chair and motioned her to seat herself on the boxlike bulk of the drive-control units that set against the wall beside him. She obeyed, his silence making the smile fade into the meek and guilty expression of a pup that has been caught in mischief and knows it must be punished.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4583"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"You still haven't told me," she said. "I'm guilty, so what happens to me now? Do I pay a fine, or what?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4584"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"What are you doing here?" he asked. "Why did you stow away on this EDS?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4585"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I wanted to see my brother. He's with the government survey crew on Woden and I haven't seen him for ten years, not since he left Earth to go into government survey work."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4586"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"What was your destination on the &lt;i&gt;Stardust?&lt;/i&gt;"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4587"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Mimir. I have a position waiting for me there. My brother has been sending money home all the time to us—my father and mother and I—and he paid for a special course in linguistics I was taking. I graduated sooner than expected and I was offered this job on Mimir. I knew it would be almost a year before Gerry's job was done on Woden so he could come on to Mimir and that's why I hid in the closet, there. There was plenty of room for me and I was willing to pay the fine. There were only the two of us kids—Gerry and I—and I haven't seen him for so long, and I didn't want to wait another year when I could see him now, even though I knew I would be breaking some kind of a regulation when I did it."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4588"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;I knew I would be breaking some kind of a regulation&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;— In a way, she could not be blamed for her ignorance of the law; she was of Earth and had not realized that the laws of the space frontier must, of necessity, be as hard and relentless as the environment that gave them birth. Yet, to protect such as her from the results of their own ignorance of the frontier, there had been a sign over the door that led to the section of the &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt; that housed the EDS; a sign that was plain for all to see and heed:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4589"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;a name="p4590"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL&lt;br /&gt;KEEP OUT!&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4591"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4592"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Does your brother know that you took passage on the &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt; for Mimir?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4593"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Oh, yes. I sent him a spacegram telling him about my graduation and about going to Mimir on the &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt; a month before I left Earth. I already knew Mimir was where he would be stationed in a little over a year. He gets a promotion then, and he'll be based on Mimir and not have to stay out a year at a time on field trips, like he does now."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4594"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;There were two different survey groups on Woden, and he asked, "What is his name?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4595"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Cross—Gerry Cross. He's in Group Two—that was the way his address read. Do you know him?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4596"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Group One had requested the serum; Group Two was eight thousand miles away, across the Western Sea.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4597"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"No, I've never met him," he said, then turned to the control board and cut the deceleration to a fraction of a gravity; knowing as he did so that it could not avert the ultimate end, yet doing the only thing he could do to prolong that ultimate end. The sensation was like that of the ship suddenly dropping and the girl's involuntary movement of surprise half lifted her from the seat.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4598"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"We're going faster now, aren't we?" she asked. "Why are we doing that?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4599"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He told her the truth. "To save fuel for a little while."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4600"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"You mean, we don't have very much?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4601"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He delayed the answer he must give her so soon to ask: "How did you manage to stow away?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4602"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I just sort of walked in when no one was looking my way," she said. "I was practicing my Gelanese on the native girl who does the cleaning in the Ship's Supply office when someone came in with an order for supplies for the survey crew on Woden. I slipped into the closet there after the ship was ready to go and just before you came in. It was an impulse of the moment to stow away, so I could get to see Gerry—and from the way you keep looking at me so grim, I'm not sure it was a very wise impulse.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4603"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"But I'll be a model criminal—or do I mean prisoner?" She smiled at him again. "I intended to pay for my keep on top of paying the fine. I can cook and I can patch clothes for everyone and I know how to do all kinds of useful things, even a little bit about nursing."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4604"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;There was one more question to ask:&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4605"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Did you know what the supplies were that the survey crew ordered?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4606"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Why, no. Equipment they needed in their work, I supposed."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4607"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Why couldn't she have been a man with some ulterior motive? A fugitive from justice, hoping to lose himself on a raw new world; an opportunist, seeking transportation to the new colonies where he might find golden fleece for the taking; a crackpot, with a mission—&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4608"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Perhaps once in his lifetime an EDS pilot would find such a stowaway on his ship; warped men, mean and selfish men, brutal and dangerous men—but never, before, a smiling, blue-eyed girl who was willing to pay her fine and work for her keep that she might see her brother.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;* * *&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4609"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He turned to the board and turned the switch that would signal the &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt;. The call would be futile but he could not, until he had exhausted that one vain hope, seize her and thrust her into the air lock as he would an animal—or a man. The delay, in the meantime, would not be dangerous with the EDS decelerating at fractional gravity.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4610"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;A voice spoke from the communicator. &lt;i&gt;"Stardust&lt;/i&gt;. Identify yourself and proceed."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4611"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Barton, EDS 34G11. Emergency. Give me Commander Delhart."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4612"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;There was a faint confusion of noises as the request went through the proper channels. The girl was watching him, no longer smiling.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4613"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Are you going to order them to come back after me?" she asked.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4614"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;The communicator clicked and there was the sound of a distant voice saying, "Commander, the EDS requests—"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4615"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Are they coming back after me?" she asked again. "Won't I get to see my brother, after all?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4616"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Barton?" The blunt, gruff voice of Commander Delhart came from the communicator. "What's this about an emergency?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4617"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"A stowaway," he answered.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4618"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"A stowaway?" There was a slight surprise to the question. "That's rather unusual—but why the 'emergency' call? You discovered him in time so there should be no appreciable danger and I presume you've informed Ship's Records so his nearest relatives can be notified."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4619"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"That's why I had to call you, first. The stowaway is still aboard and the circumstances are so different—"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4620"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Different?" the commander interrupted, impatience in his voice. "How can they be different? You know you have a limited supply of fuel; you also know the law, as well as I do: 'Any stowaway discovered in an EDS shall be jettisoned immediately following discovery.'"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4621"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;There was the sound of a sharply indrawn breath from the girl. &lt;i&gt;"What does he mean?"&lt;/i&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4622"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"The stowaway is a girl."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4623"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"What?" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4624"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"She wanted to see her brother. She's only a kid and she didn't know what she was really doing."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4625"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I see." All the curtness was gone from the commander's voice. "So you called me in the hope I could do something?" Without waiting for an answer he went on. "I'm sorry—I can do nothing. This cruiser must maintain its schedule; the life of not one person but the lives of many depend on it. I know how you feel but I'm powerless to help you. I'll have you connected with Ship's Records."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;* * *&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4626"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;The communicator faded to a faint rustle of sound and he turned back to the girl. She was leaning forward on the bench, almost rigid, her eyes fixed wide and frightened.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4627"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"What did he mean, to go through with it? To jettison me. . . . to go through with it—what did he mean? Not the way it sounded. . . . he couldn't have. What did he mean. . . . what did he really mean?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4628"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Her time was too short for the comfort of a lie to be more than a cruelly fleeting delusion.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4629"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"He meant it the way it sounded."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4630"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"No!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt; She recoiled from him as though he had struck her, one hand half upraised as though to fend him off and stark unwillingness to believe in her eyes.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4631"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"It will have to be."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4632"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"No! You're joking—you're insane! You can't mean it!"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4633"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I'm sorry." He spoke slowly to her, gently. "I should have told you before—I should have, but I had to do what I could first; I had to call the &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt;. You heard what the commander said."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4634"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"But you can't—if you make me leave the ship, I'll &lt;i&gt;die&lt;/i&gt;."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4635"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I know."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4636"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;She searched his face and the unwillingness to believe left her eyes, giving way slowly to a look of dazed terror.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4637"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"You—know?" She spoke the words far apart, numb and wonderingly.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4638"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I know. It has to be like that."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4639"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"You mean it—you really mean it." She sagged back against the wall, small and limp like a little rag doll and all the protesting and disbelief gone. "You're going to do it—you're going to make me die?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4640"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I'm sorry," he said again. "You'll never know how sorry I am. It has to be that way and no human in the universe can change it."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4641"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"You're going to make me die and I didn't do anything to die for—I didn't &lt;i&gt;do&lt;/i&gt; anything—"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4642"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He sighed, deep and weary. "I know you didn't, child. I know you didn't—"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4643"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"EDS." The communicator rapped brisk and metallic. "This is Ship's Records. Give us all information on subject's identification disk."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4644"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He got out of his chair to stand over her. She clutched the edge of the seat, her upturned face white under the brown hair and the lipstick standing out like a blood-red cupid's bow.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4645"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Now?" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4646"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I want your identification disk," he said.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4647"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;She released the edge of the seat and fumbled at the chain that suspended the plastic disk from her neck with fingers that were trembling and awkward. He reached down and unfastened the clasp for her, then returned with the disk to his chair.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4648"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Here's your data, Records: Identification Number T837—"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4649"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"One moment," Records interrupted. "This is to be filed on the gray card, of course?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4650"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Yes."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4651"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"And the time of the execution?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4652"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I'll tell you later."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4653"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Later? This is highly irregular; the time of the subject's death is required before—"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4654"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He kept the thickness out of his voice with an effort. "Then we'll do it in a highly irregular manner—you'll hear the disk read, first. The subject is a girl and she's listening to everything that's said. Are you capable of understanding that?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4655"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;There was a brief, almost shocked, silence, then Records said meekly: "Sorry. Go ahead."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4656"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He began to read the disk, reading it slowly to delay the inevitable for as long as possible, trying to help her by giving her what little time he could to recover from her first terror and let it resolve into the calm of acceptance and resignation.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4657"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Number T8374 dash Y54. Name: Marilyn Lee Cross. Sex: Female. Born: July 7, 2160. &lt;i&gt;She was only eighteen.&lt;/i&gt; Height: 5-3. Weight: 110. &lt;i&gt;Such a slight weight, yet enough to add fatally to the mass of the shell-thin bubble that was an EDS.&lt;/i&gt; Hair: Brown. Eyes: Blue. Complexion: Light. Blood Type: O. &lt;i&gt;Irrelevant data.&lt;/i&gt; Destination: Port City, Mimir. &lt;i&gt;Invalid data—&lt;/i&gt;"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4658"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He finished and said, "I'll call you later," then turned once again to the girl. She was huddled back against the wall, watching him with a look of numb and wondering fascination.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;* * *&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4659"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"They're waiting for you to kill me, aren't they? They want me dead, don't they? You and everybody on the cruiser wants me dead, don't you?" Then the numbness broke and her voice was that of a frightened and bewildered child. "Everybody wants me dead and I didn't &lt;i&gt;do&lt;/i&gt; anything. I didn't hurt anyone—I only wanted to see my brother."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4660"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"It's not the way you think—it isn't that way, at all," he said. "Nobody wants it this way; nobody would ever let it be this way if it was humanly possible to change it."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4661"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Then why is it! I don't understand. Why is it?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4662"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"This ship is carrying &lt;i&gt;kala&lt;/i&gt; fever serum to Group One on Woden. Their own supply was destroyed by a tornado. Group Two—the crew your brother is in—is eight thousand miles away across the Western Sea and their helicopters can't cross it to help Group One. The fever is invariably fatal unless the serum can be had in time, and the six men in Group One will die unless this ship reaches them on schedule. These little ships are always given barely enough fuel to reach their destination and if you stay aboard your added weight will cause it to use up all its fuel before it reaches the ground. It will crash, then, and you and I will die and so will the six men waiting for the fever serum."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4663"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;It was a full minute before she spoke, and as she considered his words the expression of numbness left her eyes.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4664"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Is that it?" she asked at last. "Just that the ship doesn't have enough fuel?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4665"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Yes."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4666"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I can go alone or I can take seven others with me—is that the way it is?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4667"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"That's the way it is."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4668"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"And nobody wants me to have to die?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4669"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Nobody."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4670"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Then maybe—Are you sure nothing can be done about it? Wouldn't people help me if they could?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4671"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Everyone would like to help you but there is nothing anyone can do. I did the only thing I could do when I called the &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt;."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4672"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"And it won't come back—but there might be other cruisers, mightn't there? Isn't there any hope at all that there might be someone, somewhere, who could do something to help me?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4673"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;She was leaning forward a little in her eagerness as she waited for his answer.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4674"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"No."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4675"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;The word was like the drop of a cold stone and she again leaned back against the wall, the hope and eagerness leaving her face. "You're sure—you &lt;i&gt;know&lt;/i&gt; you're sure?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4676"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I'm sure. There are no other cruisers within forty light-years; there is nothing and no one to change things."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4677"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;She dropped her gaze to her lap and began twisting a pleat of her skirt between her fingers, saying no more as her mind began to adapt itself to the grim knowledge.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;* * *&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4678"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;It was better so; with the going of all hope would go the fear; with the going of all hope would come resignation. She needed time and she could have so little of it. How much?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4679"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;The EDS's were not equipped with hull-cooling units; their speed had to be reduced to a moderate level before entering the atmosphere. They were decelerating at .10 gravity; approaching their destination at a far higher speed than the computers had calculated on. The &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt; had been quite near Woden when she launched the EDS; their present velocity was putting them nearer by the second. There would be a critical point, soon to be reached, when he would have to resume deceleration. When he did so the girl's weight would be multiplied by the gravities of deceleration, would become, suddenly, a factor of paramount importance; the factor the computers had been ignorant of when they determined the amount of fuel the EDS should have. She would have to go when deceleration began; it could be no other way. When would that be—how long could he let her stay?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4680"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"How long can I stay?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4681"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He winced involuntarily from the words that were so like an echo of his own thoughts. How long? He didn't know; he would have to ask the ship's computers. Each EDS was given a meager surplus of fuel to compensate for unfavorable conditions within the atmosphere and relatively little fuel was being consumed for the time being. The memory banks of the computers would still contain all data pertaining to the course set for the EDS; such data would not be erased until the EDS reached its destination. He had only to give the computers the new data; the girl's weight and the exact time at which he had reduced the deceleration to .10.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4682"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Barton." Commander Delhart's voice came abruptly from the communicator, as he opened his mouth to call the &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt;. "A check with Records shows me you haven't completed your report. Did you reduce the deceleration?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4683"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;So the commander knew what he was trying to do.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4684"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I'm decelerating at point ten," he answered. "I cut the deceleration at seventeen fifty and the weight is a hundred and ten. I would like to stay at point ten as long as the computers say I can. Will you give them the question?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4685"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;It was contrary to regulations for an EDS pilot to make any changes in the course or degree of deceleration the computers had set for him but the commander made no mention of the violation, neither did he ask the reason for it. It was not necessary for him to ask; he had not become commander of an interstellar cruiser without both intelligence and an understanding of human nature. He said only: "I'll have that given the computers."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4686"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;The communicator fell silent and he and the girl waited, neither of them speaking. They would not have to wait long; the computers would give the answer within moments of the asking. The new factors would be fed into the steel maw of the first bank and the electrical impulses would go through the complex circuits. Here and there a relay might click, a tiny cog turn over, but it would be essentially the electrical impulses that found the answer; formless, mindless, invisible, determining with utter precision how long the pale girl beside him might live. Then a second steel maw would spit out the answer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;The chronometer on the instrument board read 18:10 when the commander spoke again.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4688"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"You will resume deceleration at nineteen ten."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4689"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;She looked toward the chronometer, then quickly away from it. "Is that when. . . . when I go?" she asked. He nodded and she dropped her eyes to her lap again.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4690"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I'll have the course corrections given you," the commander said. "Ordinarily I would never permit anything like this but I understand your position. There is nothing I can do, other than what I've just done, and you will not deviate from these new instructions. You will complete your report at nineteen ten. Now—here are the course corrections."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4691"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;The voice of some unknown technician read them to him and he wrote them down on the pad clipped to the edge of the control board. There would, he saw, be periods of deceleration when he neared the atmosphere when the deceleration would be five gravities—and at five gravities, one hundred and ten pounds would become five hundred fifty pounds.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4692"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;The technician finished and he terminated the contact with a brief acknowledgement. Then, hesitating a moment, he reached out and shut off the communicator. It was 18:13 and he would have nothing to report until 19:10. In the meantime, it somehow seemed indecent to permit others to hear what she might say in her last hour.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;* * *&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4693"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He began to check the instrument readings, going over them with unnecessary slowness. She would have to accept the circumstances and there was nothing he could do to help her into acceptance; words of sympathy would only delay it.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4694"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;It was 18:20 when she stirred from her motionlessness and spoke.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4695"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"So that's the way it has to be with me?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4696"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He swung around to face her. "You understand now, don't you? No one would ever let it be like this if it could be changed."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4697"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I understand," she said. Some of the color had returned to her face and the lipstick no longer stood out so vividly red. "There isn't enough fuel for me to stay; when I hid on this ship I got into something I didn't know anything about and now I have to pay for it."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4698"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;She had violated a man-made law that said KEEP OUT but the penalty was not of men's making or desire and it was a penalty men could not revoke. A physical law had decreed: &lt;i&gt;h amount of fuel will power an EDS with a mass of m safely to its destination; &lt;/i&gt;and a second physical law had decreed: &lt;i&gt;h amount of fuel will not power an EDS with a mass of m plus x safely to its destination.&lt;/i&gt; &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4699"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;EDS's obeyed only physical laws and no amount of human sympathy for her could alter the second law.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4700"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"But I'm afraid. I don't want to die—not now. I want to live and nobody is doing anything to help me; everybody is letting me go ahead and acting just like nothing was going to happen to me. I'm going to die and nobody &lt;i&gt;cares&lt;/i&gt;."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4701"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"We all do," he said. "I do and the commander does and the clerk in Ship's Records; we all care and each of us did what little he could to help you. It wasn't enough—it was almost nothing—but it was all we could do."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4702"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Not enough fuel—I can understand that," she said, as though she had not heard his own words. "But to have to die for it. &lt;i&gt;Me&lt;/i&gt;, alone—"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4703"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;How hard it must be for her to accept the fact. She had never known danger of death; had never known the environments where the lives of men could be as fragile and fleeting as sea foam tossed against a rocky shore. She belonged on gentle Earth, in that secure and peaceful society where she could be young and gay and laughing with the others of her kind; where life was precious and well-guarded and there was always the assurance that tomorrow would come. She belonged in that world of soft winds and warm suns, music and moonlight and gracious manners and not on the hard, bleak frontier.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4704"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"How did it happen to me, so terribly quickly? An hour ago I was on the &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt;, going to Mimir. Now the &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt; is going on without me and I'm going to die and I'll never see Gerry and Mama and Daddy again—I'll never see anything again."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4705"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He hesitated, wondering how he could explain it to her so she would really understand and not feel she had, somehow, been the victim of a reasonlessly cruel injustice. She did not know what the frontier was like; she thought in terms of safe-and-secure Earth. Pretty girls were not jettisoned on Earth; there was a law against it. On Earth her plight would have filled the newscasts and a fast black Patrol ship would have been racing to her rescue. Everyone, everywhere, would have known of Marilyn Lee Cross and no effort would have been spared to save her life. But this was not Earth and there were no Patrol ships; only the &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt;, leaving them behind at many times the speed of light. There was no one to help her, there would be no Marilyn Lee Cross smiling from the newscasts tomorrow. Marilyn Lee Cross would be but a poignant memory for an EDS pilot and a name on a gray card in Ship's Records.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4706"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"It's different here; it's not like back on Earth," he said. "It isn't that no one cares; it's that no one can do anything to help. The frontier is big and here along its rim the colonies and exploration parties are scattered so thin and far between. On Woden, for example, there are only sixteen men—sixteen men on an entire world. The exploration parties, the survey crews, the little first-colonies—they're all fighting alien environments, trying to make a way for those who will follow after. The environments fight back and those who go first usually make mistakes only once. There is no margin of safety along the rim of the frontier; there can't be until the way is made for the others who will come later, until the new worlds are tamed and settled. Until then men will have to pay the penalty for making mistakes with no one to help them because there is no one &lt;i&gt;to&lt;/i&gt; help them."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4707"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I was going to Mimir," she said. "I didn't know about the frontier; I was only going to Mimir and &lt;i&gt;it's&lt;/i&gt; safe."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4708"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Mimir is safe but you left the cruiser that was taking you there."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4709"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;She was silent for a little while. "It was all so wonderful at first; there was plenty of room for me on this ship and I would be seeing Gerry so soon. . . . I didn't know about the fuel, didn't know what would happen to me—"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4710"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Her words trailed away and he turned his attention to the viewscreen, not wanting to stare at her as she fought her way through the black horror of fear toward the calm gray of acceptance.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;* * *&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4711"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Woden was a ball, enshrouded in the blue haze of its atmosphere, swimming in space against the background of star-sprinkled dead blackness. The great mass of Manning's Continent sprawled like a gigantic hourglass in the Eastern Sea with the western half of the Eastern Continent still visible. There was a thin line of shadow along the right-hand edge of the globe and the Eastern Continent was disappearing into it as the planet turned on its axis. An hour before the entire continent had been in view, now a thousand miles of it had gone into the thin edge of shadow and around to the night that lay on the other side of the world. The dark blue spot that was Lotus Lake was approaching the shadow. It was somewhere near the southern edge of the lake that Group Two had their camp. It would be night there, soon, and quick behind the coming of night the rotation of Woden on its axis would put Group Two beyond the reach of the ship's radio.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4712"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He would have to tell her before it was too late for her to talk to her brother. In a way, it would be better for both of them should they not do so but it was not for him to decide. To each of them the last words would be something to hold and cherish, something that would cut like the blade of a knife yet would be infinitely precious to remember, she for her own brief moments to live and he for the rest of his life.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4713"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He held down the button that would flash the grid lines on the viewscreen and used the known diameter of the planet to estimate the distance the southern tip of Lotus Lake had yet to go until it passed beyond radio range. It was approximately five hundred miles. Five hundred miles; thirty minutes—and the chronometer read 18:30. Allowing for error in estimating, it could not be later than 19:05 that the turning of Woden would cut off her brother's voice.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4714"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;The first border of the Western Continent was already in sight along the left side of the world. Four thousand miles across it lay the shore of the Western Sea and the Camp of Group One. It had been in the Western Sea that the tornado had originated, to strike with such fury at the camp and destroy half their prefabricated buildings, including the one that housed the medical supplies. Two days before the tornado had not existed; it had been no more than great gentle masses of air out over the calm Western Sea. Group One had gone about their routine survey work, unaware of the meeting of the air masses out at sea, unaware of the force the union was spawning. It had struck their camp without warning; a thundering, roaring destruction that sought to annihilate all that lay before it. It had passed on, leaving the wreckage in its wake. It had destroyed the labor of months and had doomed six men to die and then, as though its task was accomplished, it once more began to resolve into gentle masses of air. But for all its deadliness, it had destroyed with neither malice nor intent. It had been a blind and mindless force, obeying the laws of nature, and it would have followed the same course with the same fury had&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;men never existed.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4715"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Existence required Order and there was order; the laws of nature, irrevocable and immutable. Men could learn to use them but men could not change them. The circumference of a circle was always pi times the diameter and no science of Man would ever make it otherwise. The combination of chemical A with chemical B under condition C invariably produced reaction D. The law of gravitation was a rigid equation and it made no distinction between the fall of a leaf and the ponderous circling of a binary star system. The nuclear conversion process powered the cruisers that carried men to the stars; the same process in the form of a nova would destroy a world with equal efficiency. The laws &lt;i&gt;were&lt;/i&gt;, and the universe moved in obedience to them. Along the frontier were arrayed all the forces of nature and sometimes they destroyed those who were fighting their way outward from Earth. The men of the frontier had long ago learned the bitter futility of cursing the forces that would destroy them for the forces were blind and deaf; the futility of looking to the heavens for mercy, for the stars of the galaxy swung in their long, long sweep of two hundred million years, as inexorably controlled as they by the laws that knew neither hatred nor compassion.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4716"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;The men of the frontier knew—but how was a girl from Earth to fully understand? &lt;i&gt;H amount of fuel will not power an EDS with a mass of m plus x safely to its destination&lt;/i&gt;. To himself and her brother and parents she was a sweet-faced girl in her teens; to the laws of nature she was &lt;i&gt;x&lt;/i&gt;, the unwanted factor in a cold equation.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;* * *&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4717"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;She stirred again on the seat. "Could I write a letter? I want to write to Mama and Daddy and I'd like to talk to Gerry. Could you let me talk to him over your radio there?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4718"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I'll try to get him," he said.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4719"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He switched on the normal-space transmitter and pressed the signal button. Someone answered the buzzer almost immediately.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4720"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Hello. How's it going with you fellows now—is the EDS on its way?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4721"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"This isn't Group One; this is the EDS," he said. "Is Gerry Cross there?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4722"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Gerry? He and two others went out in the helicopter this morning and aren't back yet. It's almost sundown, though, and he ought to be back right away—in less than an hour at the most."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4723"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Can you connect me through to the radio in his 'copter?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4724"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Huh-uh. It's been out of commission for two months—some printed circuits went haywire and we can't get any more until the next cruiser stops by. Is it something important—bad news for him, or something?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4725"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Yes—it's very important. When he comes in get him to the transmitter as soon as you possibly can."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4726"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I'll do that; I'll have one of the boys waiting at the field with a truck. Is there anything else I can do?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4727"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"No, I guess that's all. Get him there as soon as you can and signal me."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4728"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He turned the volume to an inaudible minimum, an act that would not affect the functioning of the signal buzzer, and unclipped the pad of paper from the control board. He tore off the sheet containing his flight instructions and handed the pad to her, together with pencil.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4729"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I'd better write to Gerry, too," she said as she took them. "He might not get back to camp in time."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4730"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;She began to write, her fingers still clumsy and uncertain in the way they handled the pencil and the top of it trembling a little as she poised it between words. He turned back to the viewscreen, to stare at it without seeing it.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4731"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;She was a lonely little child, trying to say her last good-bye, and she would lay out her heart to them. She would tell them how much she loved them and she would tell them to not feel badly about it, that it was only something that must happen eventually to everyone and she was not afraid. The last would be a lie and it would be there to read between the sprawling, uneven lines; a valiant little lie that would make the hurt all the greater for them.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4732"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Her brother was of the frontier and he would understand. He would not hate the EDS pilot for doing nothing to prevent her going; he would know there had been nothing the pilot could do. He would understand, though the understanding would not soften the shock and pain when he learned his sister was gone. But the others, her father and mother—they would not understand. They were of Earth and they would think in the manner of those who had never lived where the safety margin of life was a thin, thin line—and sometimes not at all. What would they think of the faceless, unknown pilot who had sent her to her death?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4733"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;They would hate him with cold and terrible intensity but it really didn't matter. He would never see them, never know them. He would have only the memories to remind him; only the nights to fear, when a blue-eyed girl in gypsy sandals would come in his dreams to die again—&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;* * *&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4734"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He scowled at the viewscreen and tried to force his thoughts into less emotional channels. There was nothing he could do to help her. She had unknowingly subjected herself to the penalty of a law that recognized neither innocence nor youth nor beauty, that was incapable of sympathy or leniency. Regret was illogical—and yet, could knowing it to be illogical ever keep it away?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4735"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;She stopped occasionally, as though trying to find the right words to tell them what she wanted them to know, then the pencil would resume its whispering to the paper. It was 18:37 when she folded the letter in a square and wrote a name on it. She began writing another, twice looking up at the chronometer as though she feared the black hand might reach its rendezvous before she had finished. It was 18:45 when she folded it as she had done the first letter and wrote a name and address on it.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4736"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;She held the letters out to him. "Will you take care of these and see that they're enveloped and mailed?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4737"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Of course." He took them from her hand and placed them in a pocket of his gray uniform shirt.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4738"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"These can't be sent off until the next cruiser stops by and the &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt; will have long since told them about me, won't it?" she asked. He nodded and she went on, "That makes the letters not important in one way but in another way they're very important—to me, and to them."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4739"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I know. I understand, and I'll take care of them."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4740"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;She glanced at the chronometer, then back at him. "It seems to move faster all the time, doesn't it?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4741"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He said nothing, unable to think of anything to say, and she asked, "Do you think Gerry will come back to camp in time?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4742"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I think so. They said he should be in right away."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4743"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;She began to roll the pencil back and forth between her palms. "I hope he does. I feel sick and scared and I want to hear his voice again and maybe I won't feel so alone. I'm a coward and I can't help it."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4744"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"No," he said, "you're not a coward. You're afraid, but you're not a coward."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4745"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Is there a difference?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4746"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;He nodded. "A lot of difference."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4747"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"I feel so alone. I never did feel like this before; like I was all by myself and there was nobody to care what happened to me. Always, before, there was Mama and Daddy there and my friends around me. I had lots of friends, and they had a going-away party for me the night before I left."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4748"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Friends and music and laughter for her to remember—and on the viewscreen Lotus Lake was going into the shadow.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4749"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Is it the same with Gerry?" she asked. "I mean, if he should make a mistake, would he have to die for it, all alone and with no one to help him?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4750"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"It's the same with all along the frontier; it will always be like that so long as there is a frontier."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4751"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Gerry didn't tell us. He said the pay was good and he sent money home all the time because Daddy's little shop just brought in a bare living but he didn't tell us it was like this."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4752"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"He didn't tell you his work was dangerous?"&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4753"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"Well—yes. He mentioned that, but we didn't understand. I always thought danger along the frontier was something that was a lot of fun; an exciting adventure, like in the three-D shows." A wan smile touched her face for a moment. "Only it's not, is it? It's not the same at all, because when it's real you can't go home after the show is over."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4754"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;"No," he said. "No, you can't."&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4755"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Her glance flicked from the chronometer to the door of the air lock then down to the pad and pencil she still held. She shifted her position slightly to lay them on the bench beside her, moving one foot out a little. For the first time he saw that she was not wearing Vegan gypsy sandals but only cheap imitations; the expensive Vegan leather was some kind of grained plastic, the silver buckle was gilded iron, the jewels were colored glass. &lt;i&gt;Daddy's little shop just brought in a bare living— &lt;/i&gt;She must have left college in her second year, to take the course in linguistics that would enable her to make her own way and help her brother provide for her parents, earning what she could by part-time work after classes were over. Her personal possessions on the &lt;i&gt;Stardust&lt;/i&gt; would be taken back to her parents—they would neither be of much value nor occupy much storage space on the return voyage.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;* * *&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;a name="p4756"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;" align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US
