Julia Quinn, Romancing Mr. Bridgerton
When I am sad, I read romance novels, because formulaicness comforts me. I love knowing exactly what will happen and when, and why–and also that it will all work out in the end. So I don’t generally critique the romances that I read: it would be a lot like critiquing the movies you watch when you’re curled up on the sofa in your blankie, sniffling and eating rocky road. I am a snippity little bitch, but even I am not a snippity little bitch when my mouth is smeared with chocolate and my eyes are sore from weeping.
*sob!*
Unfortunately, Romancing Mr. Bridgerton shocked me right back into snarkiness. It was formulaic, but not formulaic enough: handsome man finally notices shy wallflower he’s been giving pity dances to for the last ten years, sparks ensue, blah blah. Usually that is just precisely my sort of thing, but Romancing Mr. Bridgerton had two fatal flaws: first, and most tragically, it had exactly one actual sex scene that I could find, and it was deathly dull. This violates the romance code, which is as follows–if the first sex scene is boring, then the next two must be convoluted and ridiculously porny to make up for it. I mean, really. If the first sex scene is pretty much wham, bam, thank you ma’am, then the author is contractually obligated to talk about whipped cream and chocolate-covered strawberries in the next. I know that, and I don’t even write the damned things!
I could have forgiven the violation of the Code, but my snobbish little heart could not forgive the historical inaccuracies. Well, okay–my snobbish little heart could not forgive the blatant, “No effing shit, Sherlock!” historical inaccuracy that popped up in one paragraph. To whit: if you’ve read Jane Austen (or a decently written Regency), then you know that a man never called a lady by her first name. It was always “Miss Smith,” etc. However! If there was more than one “Miss Smith” in a family, then the oldest sister was the one who got the honor of being referred to as”Miss Smith”; her sisters would all be “Miss Whatever-your-first-name-is” until Oldy McMoldy got married. This is why Elinor Dashwood is referred to as Miss Dashwood, while Marianne Dashwood is Miss Marianne. It also explains the point in Pride and Prejudice where someone remarks that Lizzie won’t be “Miss Bennet” for very long after Jane marries. Basically, this is like, Regency etiquette 101: if you know anything about the Regency, you know this. But! Julia Quinn has her hero referring to BOTH unmarried sisters in the heroine’s family as “Miss Featherington,” even though one is ten years older than the other.
You know, I am nitpicky, but I am not INCREDIBLY nitpicky. I never notice if someone effs up on the method of transportation that was most popular at the time, I don’t particularly care that authors constantly completely screw up the gender norms of the day, and I can be remarkably forgiving about all kinds of linguistic gaffes resulting from a poor knowledge of the vernacular. But you know what? You know what? I CANNOT FORGIVE THIS. Julia Quinn, it’s OVER!
Recommended for: NO ONE! *flounces off in a huff* HAND ME MY ROCKY ROAD AND LET ME CRY ALONE, OKAY?!
