If for any reason you don’t agree with my opinion or it really revs your engine, please jot something down in the comments section.
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The MacGregor Brides, Nora Roberts
As you all know by now, I approach every subject I write about with objectivity, integrity, and a keen sense of fair play—three characteristics that are, er, characteristic of me. Characteristically, then, and with no thought aforethought of being judgmental, I dove open-mindedly yesterday into the pages of The MacGregor Brides.
Jesus, what a piece of shit.
Okay, I confess that I didn’t read all 370 pages, but I did read 50 of ’em. Hell, if I’d read the other 320 I’d be back in the hospital seeking help for a book-induced frontal lobotomy.
A brief summary of the first 50 pages: Laura MacGregor, fabulously rich and fabulously beautiful, is fabulously adept at protecting the sanctity of her fabulous knickers. Royce Cameron, a fabulous pussy hound who thinks with his fabulously small schlong, is nearly into Laura's fabulous knickers by the end of Chapter 3. Laura is a fabulous attorney and Royce is a fabulous security systems designer, but in the course of human affairs they are both as vapid, as vacuous, and as dumb as a box filled with fabulously dead spiders.
Publishers Weekly said about the book, “[Roberts] delivers the goods with panache and wit.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Here’s a sample of Roberts’ “panache and wit” (page 33):
Royce: “If you change your mind about the meal, you’ve got my number.”
Laura: “Oh yeah, I’ve certainly got your number.”
The Los Angeles Daily News said, “Roberts is indeed a word artist . . .”
Here’s a bit of her “word artistry” (page 23):
“Her hair was black as midnight, straight as rain, and tumbled to a waist that just begged to be spanned by a man’s two hands.
“And she was wearing some of the sexiest underwear it had ever been his pleasure to observe. If the face lived up to the body, it was really going to brighten his morning.”
The Los Angeles Daily News continued, “. . . painting her story and her characters with vitality and verve.”
And here’s some “vitality and verve” (page 47):
“He lowered his mouth toward hers, stopping an inch before contact. He saw her eyes darken, heard the long intake of breath, knew she held it. He waited, while his blood surged, waited until they were both suffering.”
Make that three, pal; I was suffering right along with the two of you.
But as shitty as this book is—writing, story, and everything else-wise—51 reviewers on Amazon.com gave it an aggregate 4½ stars out of 5.
So what the hell is wrong with these people?
Or is it just me?