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mme_hardy To begin with, this is Not My Period; I know nothing at all about 18th-century Scotland. That means that most historical errors will whiz straight over my head, as will errors in dialect and setting. These are the things that I did notice, and that annoyed me enough to annotate. Entries are in unpunctuated lower case, as I was pecking away tediously on the Kindle app.
"the runcible spoon had not been invented yet ..."
There was one flower in the bouquet, a crushed primrose, whose thorny stem had pricked my thumb.
L'Grimoire d'le Comte St. Germain
But how did you like the play, Mrs. Lincoln? It's actually very more-ish, and I keep trying to figure out why. For me, it's the sensual detail -- even when I'm jarred by details, the sights, scents, and textures are vividly conveyed. The heroine is sharp-tongued, and not in an adorably feisty way; when she's cross, the people around her know it. It's fun, mostly, being in her head. It is actually more fun being in her head during the plot than during the sex scenes, which is saying something. She's an interesting narrator.
Do I recommend it? Well...
The final big plot point at the end of the book is the hero being tortured and raped, both intellectually and physically, at length, by the villain. This is described by the hero, in detail, together with the emotional and physical effects. I can't say whether it's "out of place" or not, but it's jarring and difficult to read, even though I don't have any triggers on the subject. Then, after the hero has confessed all and told the heroine he's so ashamed he wants to die, she brings him out of a feverish terminal decline by reenacting the whole thing; this triggers him into trying to kill her and breaks his stupor.
There is also a fully-described scene in which the hero beats his wife (the narrator) with a belt for disobeying him in a way that led to her getting captured and having to be rescued. The narrator is angry, but realizes that this has cleared the air.
If you can get past that, and past the historical errors, and if you in general like sprawling novels with the occasional sex scene, you'll probably have fun. It is much, much more competently written than such best-selling id novels as Twilight and Fifty Shades of Grey. If you can, check your critical brain at the door.
Edit: Comments include discussion of the triggery bit.
"the runcible spoon had not been invented yet ..."
wtf does she think "runcible" means?
"he smashed the quivering trunk [of a cherry tree] several times more, causing a delirious shower of pale-pink petals to rain down upon his head"a month ago they were picking cherries
"noticing details of my surroundings with a peculiar intensity: the small stained-glass inset over the bar, casting colored shadows over the ruffianly proprietor [innkeeper] and his wares,"
as if
"a low-necked gown of heavy cream-colored satin, with a separate bodice that buttoned with dozens of tiny cloth-covered buttons, each embroidered with a gold fleur-de-lis. The neckline and the belled sleeves were heavily ruched with lace, as was the embroidered overskirt of chocolate-brown velvet. The innkeeper was half-buried in the petticoats he carried, his bristling whiskers barely visible over the foamy layers."
no nonon [Words failed me.]
"complete to white asters and yellow roses pinned in my hair"
not in 1745 [Note: All yellow garden roses descend from rosa foetida and other Mideastern and Asian imports. Although rosa foetida was kept in botanical specimen gardens, 18th-century garden roses are -- duh -- rose-colored, in shades from pale pink to pink to cherry. I am also suspicious of asters blooming in midsummer, as they're a purple fall flower here, but it's a big ol' genus.]
[Claire and her Highlander are being married by a priest] "I take thee, Claire, to be my wife ..." "... to love, honor and protect ..."
should be in Latin you moron
Tansy and eglantine had taken root in the cracks, and waved in precarious yellow flags against the stone
eglantine is a shrubby white rose
bottles of ale that Jamie had thoughtfully lifted from the well in the inn yard as we left.
doubtful [surely at this period ale would be in casks in the cellar; no innkeeper would be bottling his own and leaving it unattended]
had already found the pile of starched handkerchiefs
? [the one piece of body linen it's very uncomfortable to starch]
slowly drew the knife in a semicircle under one breast. The homespun came free and fell away with a flutter of white chemise, and my breast sprung out
stays [says it all, really]
[18th-century Scot] "I don't run either, Sassenach," he said gruffly. "Now, then. What does 'fucking' mean?"
seriously?
There was one flower in the bouquet, a crushed primrose, whose thorny stem had pricked my thumb.
er, no.
[same Scot, of his older brother] "I thought he was God, or at least Christ."
heresy
argyle socks revealed.
I doubt it. [socks weren't knitted in fancy patterns at this period, other than stripes and, for formal wear, clocks at the ankles.]
L'Grimoire d'le Comte St. Germain
de + le = du [Furthermore, you don't need to elide "le" in front of a hard consonant].
"Watercress,", he answered, voice slightly muffled by the leavers in his mouth. He spat them out and applied them to my back. ... "How-how does it taste?" I asked, gulping back the sobs. "Fair nasty," he replied laconically.
I quite like it myself.
[heroine is in the chapel of a French monastery] "I rose and got the Bible, bringing it back to the prie-dieu with me. I was hardly the first person to have recourse to the sortes Virgilianae in time of confusion or trouble. ... "and he smote them with emerods, and they were very sore." No doubt they were, I thought. What in hell were emerods? Try Psalms, instead.
English bible? [WTF is the King James Bible, that emblem of Protestantism, doing in a French Catholic monastery chapel?]
But how did you like the play, Mrs. Lincoln? It's actually very more-ish, and I keep trying to figure out why. For me, it's the sensual detail -- even when I'm jarred by details, the sights, scents, and textures are vividly conveyed. The heroine is sharp-tongued, and not in an adorably feisty way; when she's cross, the people around her know it. It's fun, mostly, being in her head. It is actually more fun being in her head during the plot than during the sex scenes, which is saying something. She's an interesting narrator.
Do I recommend it? Well...
The final big plot point at the end of the book is the hero being tortured and raped, both intellectually and physically, at length, by the villain. This is described by the hero, in detail, together with the emotional and physical effects. I can't say whether it's "out of place" or not, but it's jarring and difficult to read, even though I don't have any triggers on the subject. Then, after the hero has confessed all and told the heroine he's so ashamed he wants to die, she brings him out of a feverish terminal decline by reenacting the whole thing; this triggers him into trying to kill her and breaks his stupor.
There is also a fully-described scene in which the hero beats his wife (the narrator) with a belt for disobeying him in a way that led to her getting captured and having to be rescued. The narrator is angry, but realizes that this has cleared the air.
If you can get past that, and past the historical errors, and if you in general like sprawling novels with the occasional sex scene, you'll probably have fun. It is much, much more competently written than such best-selling id novels as Twilight and Fifty Shades of Grey. If you can, check your critical brain at the door.
no subject
Date: 2014-08-15 09:17 pm (UTC)My evens are literally incapable of even attempting to can.
no subject
Date: 2014-08-15 09:22 pm (UTC)"His muscles tightened and his jaw clenched, but he continued to stare upward. No choice, then. I would have to use the knife after all. I knew the risk I was taking in this, but better to kill himself, I thought, than to sit quietly by and let him die."
Did I mention that at this point he is visibly dying of septicemia?
Did I mention that THIS WOMAN IS INSANE?
no subject
Date: 2014-08-15 09:31 pm (UTC)(And, like. I have written, based on research and personal discussions/confidences from people I know - sufficiently anonymized/etc - fiction that is based around the idea of someone who suffered rape and assault approaching reenactment, for more or less reasons akin to the trauma-therapy idea of telling the story of your trauma but changing the ending. Consensually. In carefully pre-discussed and negotiated scenes with a fucktonne of safeguards, ways to call halt, and with people who's ability to handle the mess if something ends up bad - and for that matter the after-care disaster-area even if it works because hello - is quite advanced*. Which I relate to demonstrate I am not coming from a place of "any and all reference ever would naturally be bad" because human psyches are complicated and messy and so on.
But what you describe is so bugfuck I really truly genuinely can't even. Like it's not even upsetting. It's like "so then to deal with his dry eyes I poured hot chili oil in them.")
*well, okay, there's also the period of Almost Totally Successful Self Destruction previous, but I feel it goes without saying that that entire period of his life can be summed up as "in which his damage attempts to see just how many Really Bad, Stupid, Horrific Ideas it can get him through alive, and considers the point it fails to do so merely the successful outcome of the operation." But I seriously digress.
no subject
Date: 2014-08-15 09:40 pm (UTC)It miiiight have originated with Fritz Perls. Or taking Freud very literally.
no subject
Date: 2014-08-15 09:47 pm (UTC)But then again, pop-psych has a long history of curing people's dry eyes by pouring chilli oil in them, so really I oughtn't to be surprised on that score. (Hell, on more than one occasion actual psych has gotten in on the chilli oil for dry-eye fun. *lesigh*)