I'm an avid reader and reviewer of romance books, especially m-m and erotica. You can find me on http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/4669232-baba-marcus-tyler-tate-dan-ty-hunter
1 pretentious star. DNF at 60 %. Review completed January 12, 2014
Let me start by saying something positive. I enjoyed their first kisses and the smexin' in the car.
What killed the entire book for me, however, was the bloated writing itself. It's pompous and pretentious. I still feel kinda sucker-punched because I requested the ARC based on my fondness for Mary Ann Rivers' The Story Guy which I enjoyed very much. Yes, I also loved the somewhat poetic and flowery writing and I felt very partial to the otherness of The Story Guy.
So, while I do love flowery, lyrical or poetic prose, I'm perfectly fine with one beautiful rose…
…yet I obviously have an issue with OTT flowery and pompous writing that explodes in a full-blown bouquet of distracting and all-consuming flowers where the scent of the blossoms obliterates everything else.
Even though the heroine's background was littered with tragedies, to me she came across as bland as her incredibly pale skin. Simply put, I found Desbaby terribly boring. Also, it really annoys the heck out of me when I initially hear the sentence 'I never cry', even though tears became a common commodity of Live. I mean it's fine by me when women AND men have a good cry once in a while, but when the tears and sobs, the thoughts of many overwhelming good-byes, and the tragic and sad character of Sarah threaten to monopolize the story, then I need to whip out my red card. It's. Just. Too. Much.
Although it's not my arm I assure you the card is red.
Also, I assume that Sarah will get her own story and I hope for her that she's going to catch some tough alpha man who's going to kick her stubborn ass, telling her what she's got to do to get out of her pathetic state of mind. Come on, Sarah, enough is enough! Pick up the pieces and start living again.
That quote is going to strangle your tongue…or maybe your brain:
He hadn't wanted to negotiate the good-bye in the morning. Or not saying good-bye, then making every minute an excuse to spend another minute together, until the entire time they spent in the other's arms was an excuse to keep way from anything else beyond the borders of the bed.
Until leaving the bed was leaving.
Jesus christ on a crutch. Baba hadn't wanted to negotiate with the MCs, arguing over so many spoken and unspoken good-byes, then making every minute spent on this book an excuse to spend no time with her kids, until the entire time she spent in their company playing the judge over yet another verbal or physical fight was an excuse to keep way from anything else beyond the borders of their rooms.
Until leaving the house to take a breather was leaving.
How does this sound? Did you just call me goofy? I'm going to shrug it off coz I was being goofy. I think you get the gist. *facepalm*
My elder son who's a 7th grader is reading a book by Friedrich Dürrenmatt with his classmates. If you are acquainted with the European literary world then you might be familiar with his name. Maybe I should start reading real literature because Dürrenmatt's writing is easier to grasp…than…what the heck is that?
While I found Hefin's past and provenance very intriguing, I just couldn't quite warm up to him either. I don't have a problem with beta heroes but Hefin was a bit too demure and subservient--even shy at times--for my taste. Also, I completely understand that people enjoy fetishes. Some have a foot fetish and others like Hefin are mesmerized by freckles. In this case, however, I found the fetish utterly overdone. After the freckles had been mentioned for the umpteenth time, I really got it. After all, I'm not a dense person.
Live provides tons of not so elegant style blossoms. In German we say 'Stilblüten'. I love that term. Here are a few to your perusal:
He had watched her smile at the guard and remembered the freckles that had ignored the boundary of her lip line, small ones that had sifted themselves into the pink of her lips, themselves.
Her breasts had the palest freckles of all, like gold leaf shattered over porcelain. He ignored the heavy, dark pulse in his prick.
When she had looked so gorgeous like that, sitting straight with her perfect posture and her color washing through her freckles, roses on her throat, he hadn't wanted to look like that.
I know that something is wrong when the writing distracts from the storyline or the characters. Good writing draws a reader to the heart of a story and I'm very sorry to say that I felt anything but. I just think that sometimes less is more and it would have been better to dial it down a notch. Give a story and its characters room to breathe. It was like the author suffocated her own words. Lots of sentences felt forced and stilted, like she tried hard to accomplish something that wasn't even needed in the first place. Just…let a story flow on its own, don't force it and first and foremost don't smother it.
Her breath was warm, and she had either drank (I hope the proofreader caught that mistake coz it's "she had either drunk…") her own tea, or snuck a bit of his--his spine softened in Pavlovian response to the bergamot.
I think I just swallowed my last brain cell.
She was stripped to elements--she wore what she could move her body in, she let her own features show her intelligence without distractions.
Seriously? I won't even bother commenting that quote.
She dropped the glue into the cut carefully, and it did sting, but watching her, her body close, was such a tenderness that the sting just brought up all of the sweet dark feelings in his chest and arranged them against his skin like salve.
When she softly blew her breath over the sealed cut, his skin tightened into thousands of sharp prickles all over, and the resulting sensation that tugged at his cock was too gentle, yet, to be completely pleasurable. The ache of wanting her was leaning a bit too hard against him.
I flat out refuse to comment that quote.
Yet wonders never cease coz I found one that I LOVED:
He coughed out a laugh. (That's NOT what I loved but the following…): "Nothing wrong with your name."
"A lot to live up to."
"Maybe. More likely that destiny just is what it is. Nothing you have to do or live for."
I couldn't help rolling my eyes whenever Hefin had to cough out a laugh. What's up with that anyway?
Another issue of mine was the incredibly sl-o-o-o-w-w-w-w pace. It made me think over and over again if I'd be able to finish the book. My thoughts were wandering to my next read numerous times and that's never a good sign. Live was very easy to put down because it wasn't engaging. Unfortunately, my bum secured itself a window seat in BoredomVille.
That's when I felt it was time to clear the field. Hey, I made it to fourth base, though. There is that, right?
Bottom line, while I don't remember every detail anymore I KNOW that I enjoyed the writing much more in The Story Guy. Add in the fact that the MCs appealed way more to me as well and I have my validation why I wasn't partial to Live. At all.
I told one of my friends that I need to take a lesson how to become a demure reviewer but I think that ship has sailed. I can't help being bitchy when a book irritates me so much. Come to think of it, I was pretty civil because I never dropped the f-bomb (the shelves don't count). That's progressive, isn't it?
Looking at the high average rating, Live goes straight on my shelfbooks-everyone-loved-but-baba. I'm very sorry it wasn't my cup of tea.
All quotes are taken from the pre-published copy and may be altered or omitted in the final copy.
**ARC courtesy of Loveswept via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review**