A review by mafiabadgers
The Grand Sophy by Georgette Heyer

funny lighthearted medium-paced
  • Plot- or character-driven? Character
  • Diverse cast of characters? No
  • Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

4.0

First read 09/2024

My very first Georgette Heyer! I was in the mood for something light and silly and that was exactly what I got. I'd never before considered the influence of the romance genre on cosy fantasy, but if you squint a bit, The Grand Sophy has almost the same plot as Legend & Lattes: a (diplomat's daughter/retired orc adventurer) comes to the city and sets out to (rearrange her relatives' lives/open a coffee shop), even though this is unheard of, and totally conflicts with the way of doing things established by (society/local organised crime). Fortunately, her own pluck, ability to win hearts, personal wealth, stubbornness, and good judgement win out, and everyone who deserves it gets a happy ending.

The first few chapters are rather painful, as a handful of silly people fuss over their problems, but this means that Sophy's arrival feels like the breath of fresh air it is meant to be. It works quite well as a metatextual commentary on the appeal of the Regency romance subgenre: we enjoy seeing all these conventions and restrictions, but not half so much as we love to see them flouted. Of course, one could simply write a story without such restrictions, but forbidden fruit will always taste the sweetest... And yet the feel good factor remains in play, so the book pays far more attention to the fact of Charles' inconvenient engagement, than it does to his being Sophy's cousin. At the other end of the tonal spectrum, however, horror (particularly horror that leans into eroticism or sensuality) will very often frame incest as both intriguing and disturbing. What I appreciate most about horror is the way it can be used to tackle and challenge subjects that are left out of polite conversation, and perhaps romance does something similar by omission, by focusing on what is most comfortable to us?

In fact, as I read, I couldn't stop thinking about how little it would take to shift The Grand Sophy into the horror genre. Consider Miss Eugenia Wraxton's perspective: you're engaged to a perfectly nice man, and while his family don't have his good character, they're certainly not beyond your help. The two of you are a united front, and you're making progress. Only one day his cousin arrives to stay, leading them all into behaviour that will only besmirch their names (and for all we joke about reputation and chaperones, the Bennet's fear at Lydia's elopement remains tangible—gossip has very material consequences in this period), and not only is Sophy determined to have her way in everything, the world seems to alter to suit her every whim! As soon as she decides to buy a pair of horses, she bumps into an acquaintance who tells her he can broker a private deal for her to acquire London's finest, before they even go on the market. When you try to use the promise of a voucher for the balls at Almack's to coerce her into good behaviour, who should she run into but Countess Lieven, who promises to send one over for her at once. And on top of all that she lives in his house (totally unproper for her to be living under the same roof as an unmarried gentleman, but, well, they are cousins—not that that's going to stop the incestuous, impudent chit), dripping poison into his ear, turning him against you... One of his sisters falls ill—not so ill as to die, which would be sad, but enough that Sophy can display her tender side to full effect. Worst of all is the way they criticise you for staying away, for not wanting to spread an infectious disease! Frankly, it's a good thing Sophy decided to set Miss Wraxton up with a more suitable husband at the eleventh hour, else I would have sympathised with her inevitable attempt to stab Sophy. For many of Sophy's plans seem to come within a hair's breadth of terrible harm: provoking Charles to shoot a card out of her hand with an inaccurate, unfamiliar pistol; stealing his unbroken horse, which she admits she almost fails to control, and riding it onto the busy streets of London; shooting a man to make him more sympathetic; at one point she must alter her schemes when a friend tells her that Charles is likely to duel and kill her accomplice, should Sophy provoke him in the way she intends.

The only difference between Miss Wraxton and Sophy is that Sophy is fun, and enjoys all the advantages of being a protagonist in a low-stakes genre.

Anyway, once you make it through the first few chapters, it's oh so easy to get pulled in to the repartee and Sophy's antics. I'd forgotten most of the characters by the time I sat down to write this review—they're not memorable so much as they are archetypes that Heyer both invented and canonised. Almost every line out of her characters' mouths ends in an exclamation mark (I once spotted four consecutive examples), which is grating, but I also found that despite being almost wholly unfamiliar with Regency romance outside of Pride and Prejudice, I could practically hear each character's voice in my head, and I suspect the unconventional punctuation had something to do with it (a precursor of internet usage?). In the few recently published romance books I've read (in, say, the last twenty years or so), I've found a tremendous emphasis on how attractive all the characters are, particularly the male love interests—but aside from Cecilia and the fairly minor character of the Marquesa, none of Heyer's characters are particularly remarkable, and satisfaction comes not from grand romantic gestures, but from watching Sophy match wits with everyone, and invariably coming out on top. Frankly, it's funny, and in that regard has far more in common with Much Ado About Nothing than, say, Twilight. In fact, Sophy's own love life doesn't particularly make any progress until the last third of the book, and even then it simmers away in the background. Frankly, I have no idea how well the couple would get on in a relationship, because the book ends as soon as they acknowledge (more or less) their feelings for each other. Heyer once said "Talk about my humour if you want to talk about me at all!", so consider that box ticked. However, she also said (of Friday's Child), "I think myself I ought to be shot for writing such nonsense. ... But it's unquestionably good escapist literature and I think I should rather like it if I were sitting in an air-raid shelter or recovering from flu." With the news providing a steady supply of horrors, I suspect I shall be reading more Heyer before too long.

I shall quickly mention her very entertaining Wikipedia article, and the appallingly antisemitic moneylender in the middle of the book, which is discussed both in the article and in almost every other review, so I won't dwell on it here.
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