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 It's
In His Kiss
by Julia
Quinn
It's In His Kiss opens with a prologue from
the hero's point of view, which is absolutely appropriate because
after reading this book, I ended up thinking it was one of the
funniest portraits of a man I've read recently. Gareth is a guy -- a
real guy. How unusual is that in romance these days? I read far
too many books about men who aren't men at all -- either
because they are really werewolves (all very well in their own
way, but with little relevance to my home life), or they are
pure alpha male with the surprising ability to convert overnight
into a sensitive, loving beta (alas, also irrelevant to my home
life). In fact, almost all the heroes I read about are shape-shifters
of one sort or another.
I'm not saying that's necessarily a bad
thing. My husband is ruthlessly himself, and I can't help wondering
if werewolves are especially nice because they de-stress loping
around the woods. Perhaps they survive the stress of going out
to dinner two nights in one week without baying at the moon?
Because my husband doesn't, she said sourly.
But I digress.
What
Julia has done in this book is create a hilarious, heart-rending,
sexy picture of a real man: Gareth. I've read all of Julia Quinn's
books, and I'm putting on my literary critic hat for a moment
to tell you that this is the best book she's written. It's brilliant,
screamingly funny, and yet manages to have a tender, deep side
to it. Plus Hyacinth and Gareth squabble in a far more clever
way than most of us do -- and I loved that!
Now for a moment
of prideful revelation: I actually had a hand in the book. Not
in the writing, obviously, but there's a mystery here that has
to do with a diary written in Italy which Hyacinth wants to translate.
Since Hyacinth isn't fluent in the language, Julia needed the
passage to go from English to Italian, and then back into English
in a non-fluent translation. No problem! My husband is from Florence
and (obviously) fluent. I'm from Minnesota and (alas) not terribly
fluent. So Alessandro took the diary entries from English to
perfect Italian, and I played Hyacinth and took them back from
perfect Italian to an awkward English translation. I wish it
had been a struggle to suppress my perfect knowledge of the language,
but I am the person who politely snoozed through an entire dinner
party in which the other couple detailed their experiences at
a sexy "tantric" weekend for married couples. I thought
they'd done a weekend of marriage counseling and couldn't figure
out why my husband was so fascinated.
Buy this book -- it's
terrific!
(posted to eloisajames.com:
June 2005)
 Little
Chapel on the River: a Pub, a Town, and the Search for What Matters
Most
by
Gwendolyn Bounds
I lay in bed and read this book on a lazy Sunday morning, when my au pair had
kindly taken my daughter out to a park, and the house was utterly silent.? I
can't tell you how rare it is for me to lie down during the day.? I'm a
professor, and as a professor, I'm about to take over the role of Director of
Graduate Studies.? I'm an author, and that means not just writing, but promotion,
book tours, fan mail.? I just turned in one novel, quite late, which means
that the next one is due tomorrow.? I'm a mother of two smallish children,
and we leave for Italy in three days to spend the summer there.? I have
an article due for an academic journal, and I chair four committees, all of which
needs some sort of updating/maintenance before we leave.
But I spent the morning
in bed reading this book.? Little Chapel is utterly engrossing
because it's a memoir written by someone so like me that I could taste the similarity.? Gwendolyn
Bounds, or Wendy, is a reporter at the Wall Street Journal.? When
the book opens she's covering high fashion.? Donatella Versace tells her
that she's obviously a "Versace girl" (there our similarities stop:
no one would ever say or think that of me).? But Wendy doesn't know how
to slow down, and I don't seem to know much about that either.? "I
don't know how to just relax and enjoy the process," she writes.? I
sympathize.?
So Gwendolyn Bounds was living across from the towers on 9/11,
and she ran into a haze of white smoke and falling cement and somehow, oddly,
and like a gift to make up for all that was lost, found herself a few days later
in a small bar called Guinan's.? An Irish bar.? This book is about
Guinan's, about the regulars, about its story, about Wendy's recovery from 9/11
and -- most importantly -- about enjoying the process.? She actually
ends up leaving the Journal and running the bar for a while.? Just
think about that: an uber-successful, Versace-wearing high fashion reporter with
one of the top newspapers in the country quits her job and ends up passing out
Miller Lite from behind the bar to a lot of "regulars".
I'm not a bar
type of person myself.? I think it comes from an innate dislike of men trying
to make my acquaintance, and now that I'm old enough to find myself rarely the
target of those advances, I still have no inclination to drink beer or engage
in a casual conversation about politics.? But Wendy -- the original
Versace girl -- falls right into place there, making change, breaking up
fights, and making friends.? "Later," she writes, "I will
come to believe that this place steals time, makes it impossible to be anywhere
else punctually, because of some magic grip it holds over those inside."
I
think this is one of those books that many people will read, and each will find
something different speaks to them.? It's beautifully written: a lyrical
love poem to a bar, to being Irish, to being part of the group of kind hearted
(but not mushy) people who work there, drink there, and generally hang out.? The
author noticed a lot of wisdom in the process of that year:? we should all
be so lucky.? For me, the line that stood out was one spoken by one character,
John.?
"Pace yourself, kid.? It's a ride, not a race."?
(posted to eloisajames.com:
June 2005)
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