Kerry Allen

I think I read reviews as their own art form or… something. They certainly don’t much affect my decision to read a book. The review of Elizabeth Hoyt’s The Raven Prince by Janine at Dear Author, which she categorized as a DNF (did not finish), prompted an evaluation of why I feel this way.

Let me say first that I haven’t read the book in question and don’t intend to. (At least I didn’t when I drafted this post. I have since discovered that Meljean Brook, who has a reading history eerily similar to mine, is all over this series, which might constitute a valid endorsement, and I read somewhere else it’s a “hysterical” fit for contemp-only sensibilities, so maybe…) It isn’t in my realm of interest. It could suck lemur testicles for all I know.

This is more of a response to Janine’s allegations in general than a defense of the book itself.

So-Called Anachronisms. To me, an anachronism is a Prius tooling around 18th century London, but evidently my definition isn’t as broad as some.

A novel might be set in the far distant past, but it’s written for a 21st century reader. An 18th century reader might interpret “demolished his plate” as wanton destruction of the china, but I know exactly what the author means by it and wouldn’t even hesitate over it. (Not only that, but this particular example sounds to me more like an old-time usage than a current one.)

If I wanted authentic period dialogue and narrative, I’d find something written by an author living during that period, which is the only way to get authentic, anyway. Any modern author who tries to recreate the feel of a period is faking it, which frequently results in failure to satisfy reader perception of what “authentic” is (which varies, since readers weren’t there, either), and reviewers attack like sharks on a one-flippered seal.

Fake it and get ripped apart.

Don’t bother faking it and… get ripped apart.

There’s just no pleasing some people.

And fans of historical romance wonder why there isn’t more of it being written.

People didn’t behave that way. I hate hearing that because people behave every way. It’s the people who don’t behave as they “should” who make things happen, and in a story, making things happen is a desirable thing.

Examples: A proper lady would never say “bastard.” (While she was alone, from what I understand, which seems to me the perfect time to vent with a little inappropriate language.)

A gentleman would never say “shit” in front of a woman. (What if he’s overwrought? Dropped something on his foot? Just plain rude? What if he’s being deliberately offensive? I can think of any number of circumstances in which an otherwise respectable man would utter an expletive in any company.)

People don’t always behave as they “should.” Even today, a proper young heiress shouldn’t make sex tapes, have her license suspended for drunk driving, or do jail time for driving with a suspended license. Judging by the amount of attention such aberrant behavior receives, doing what one shouldn’t interests people.

A novel in which characters are rigidly proper and conformist at all times would be insanely dull. Not only that, but every book would be the same because no matter what happened to the characters, they would be limited to a narrow spectrum of socially appropriate responses.

“An unidentified flying object has landed in the garden and discharged an army of face-eating monsters!”

“Tsk. That is not an appropriate topic of conversation for a young lady. Do sit down. Have a biscuit. I spied Lord Boringashell glancing your way more than once at the concert. His title is a fine catch.”

You lost me at tsk. “Socially appropriate” generally translates to passive and inactive, which is death to a plot.

“An unidentified flying object has landed in the garden and discharged an army of face-eating monsters!”

Lady Gettabone sighed. “Again?” She drew the dagger from beneath her pelise. “Must they always arrive during tea?”

Maybe I should start reading reviews for the purpose of finding those reviewers who make statements so fundamentally opposed to my own philosophy, I can use them for reverse-recommendation purposes. “Mary says the characters are inappropriately interesting, Sue says the language is offensive, and Alice says it’s historically inaccurate. Woot! A trifecta winner! This one goes straight to the top of my TBR!”