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A review by liralen
The Princess Problem by Christi Barth
2.0
Well. Let's dig in, shall we?*
Heroine: Wow, New York! I'm soooo excited to watch other people have adventures without having to have any of my own.
Hero: Never mind that. You're a princess, kidnapped as a baby and raised by IMPOSTERS. You're coming with me.
Heroine: Uh, can I think about this for a second?
Hero: No! Absolutely not! If you're allowed time to think about how sketchy this all is, you might not come with me. So no, you can't think or pack or make any phone calls or check in with the embassy of a country you've never heard of that's telling you you're a princess.
Heroine: He just broke down my door because I refused him? OMG how sexy. I can't even. Okay! I'll, like, totally go with.
Heroine's sister 1.0: Can you tell us a little more about this possibly nonexistent country?
Hero: Of course. It's next to a little country called Italy, which you've probably never heard of. We're thinking about joining the European Union, which you've also probably never heard of. We speak a language commonly referred to as 'my language', 'their native tongue', or 'the Moncriano language'. Despite being vaguely Mediterranean in location, we are also the only non-Commonwealth country where crumpets** are a common thing.
Heroine: I guess that's all I need to know. Hey, what about my loving adoptive parents? Not that I really care or am going to have more than half a paragraph of angst about the fact that I've suddenly learned that I was adopted, my parents have been lying to me my whole life, et cetera.
Hero: We had them arrested. Obviously.
Heroine: Oh, okay. No big deal.
Heroine's sister 2.0: A real princess wouldn't have let herself be kidnapped as an infant. She'd also not be caught dead in those plebeian rags.
Heroine's sister 1.0: Well, that's rude.
Heroine's sister 2.0: What are you doing here?
Heroine's sister 1.0: Oh, don't mind me. I'm just here to do the scutwork while the heroine is being treated like royalty (and I'm not) and to prove that nobody cares about our loving parents. I'm also here to accidentally get shot, and, most importantly, to provide groundwork for a later book in which I hook up with the heir to the throne and there's Drama because we're not sure if I can have kids.
Heroine: So, like, now that I'm royal...what am I supposed to do? Should I get to know my new family or something?
Royal family: No, no. We don't actually want to have conversations with you. We'll leave that to the bodyguard/hero/whatever. All we care about is that you have a wardrobe befitting a princess and don't embarrass us tooooooo terribly. Which will be hard for you, we're sure, because of your pathetic American upbringing.
Heroine: I knew it. I knew I wasn't special enough to be a pretty pretty princess.
Hero: Don't say that, my treasure. You're not like other women! Somehow you're not a total ditz, a bratty little kid, or totally wrapped up in money and status, like every other female person I've ever met.
Heroine: Oh, wow. He must really think I'm special.
Royal family: Now that you have the right clothes, we'll introduce you to the nation. Now remember, it's only in the last decade that we changed our name from 'Villain' to 'Villani', and we're still not sure that the softer-image thing is a good idea. So no PDA or romance or any of that.
Heroine: A full-on makeout sesh with my totally hot, brand-new boyfriend (who doesn't think I'm like other women!) on a balcony in front of the country's entire population is fine, though, right?
Royal family: Well, we don't care enough about you to actually reinvestigate your kidnapping now that we have more information, or to ask you a single thing about your upbringing or personality or hopes or dreams or anything like that, so—we don't really care about that, either. We're totally cool with assuming that your inappropriate two-week fling is definitely going to be Twu Wuv. We'll introduce him to the public as The One, so better not change your mind once you actually get to know him.
Heroine: Wow. I guess being royalty really is all it's cracked up to be.
*There's a valid point to be made that I should probably stop reading books that I know—or realise very quickly—are going to exasperate me to no end. But! What fun would that be?
**Do you know how hard it is to find crumpets, let alone decent crumpets, outside the UK? I bought two packets the last time I was in England, but the last ones went mouldy before I could eat them. (I cut off the mould and ate them anyway. Didn't die, so...)
Heroine: Wow, New York! I'm soooo excited to watch other people have adventures without having to have any of my own.
Hero: Never mind that. You're a princess, kidnapped as a baby and raised by IMPOSTERS. You're coming with me.
Heroine: Uh, can I think about this for a second?
Hero: No! Absolutely not! If you're allowed time to think about how sketchy this all is, you might not come with me. So no, you can't think or pack or make any phone calls or check in with the embassy of a country you've never heard of that's telling you you're a princess.
Heroine: He just broke down my door because I refused him? OMG how sexy. I can't even. Okay! I'll, like, totally go with.
Heroine's sister 1.0: Can you tell us a little more about this possibly nonexistent country?
Hero: Of course. It's next to a little country called Italy, which you've probably never heard of. We're thinking about joining the European Union, which you've also probably never heard of. We speak a language commonly referred to as 'my language', 'their native tongue', or 'the Moncriano language'. Despite being vaguely Mediterranean in location, we are also the only non-Commonwealth country where crumpets** are a common thing.
Heroine: I guess that's all I need to know. Hey, what about my loving adoptive parents? Not that I really care or am going to have more than half a paragraph of angst about the fact that I've suddenly learned that I was adopted, my parents have been lying to me my whole life, et cetera.
Hero: We had them arrested. Obviously.
Heroine: Oh, okay. No big deal.
Heroine's sister 2.0: A real princess wouldn't have let herself be kidnapped as an infant. She'd also not be caught dead in those plebeian rags.
Heroine's sister 1.0: Well, that's rude.
Heroine's sister 2.0: What are you doing here?
Heroine's sister 1.0: Oh, don't mind me. I'm just here to do the scutwork while the heroine is being treated like royalty (and I'm not) and to prove that nobody cares about our loving parents. I'm also here to accidentally get shot, and, most importantly, to provide groundwork for a later book in which I hook up with the heir to the throne and there's Drama because we're not sure if I can have kids.
Heroine: So, like, now that I'm royal...what am I supposed to do? Should I get to know my new family or something?
Royal family: No, no. We don't actually want to have conversations with you. We'll leave that to the bodyguard/hero/whatever. All we care about is that you have a wardrobe befitting a princess and don't embarrass us tooooooo terribly. Which will be hard for you, we're sure, because of your pathetic American upbringing.
Heroine: I knew it. I knew I wasn't special enough to be a pretty pretty princess.
Hero: Don't say that, my treasure. You're not like other women! Somehow you're not a total ditz, a bratty little kid, or totally wrapped up in money and status, like every other female person I've ever met.
Heroine: Oh, wow. He must really think I'm special.
Royal family: Now that you have the right clothes, we'll introduce you to the nation. Now remember, it's only in the last decade that we changed our name from 'Villain' to 'Villani', and we're still not sure that the softer-image thing is a good idea. So no PDA or romance or any of that.
Heroine: A full-on makeout sesh with my totally hot, brand-new boyfriend (who doesn't think I'm like other women!) on a balcony in front of the country's entire population is fine, though, right?
Royal family: Well, we don't care enough about you to actually reinvestigate your kidnapping now that we have more information, or to ask you a single thing about your upbringing or personality or hopes or dreams or anything like that, so—we don't really care about that, either. We're totally cool with assuming that your inappropriate two-week fling is definitely going to be Twu Wuv. We'll introduce him to the public as The One, so better not change your mind once you actually get to know him.
Heroine: Wow. I guess being royalty really is all it's cracked up to be.
*There's a valid point to be made that I should probably stop reading books that I know—or realise very quickly—are going to exasperate me to no end. But! What fun would that be?
**Do you know how hard it is to find crumpets, let alone decent crumpets, outside the UK? I bought two packets the last time I was in England, but the last ones went mouldy before I could eat them. (I cut off the mould and ate them anyway. Didn't die, so...)