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A review by melodyplusplus
A Kingdom of Dreams by Judith McNaught
1.0
Ok. *deep breath*
This book. This book made my imagination contemplate suicide. This book made my brain cry. This book made me not want to have sex for a year.
First warning: This book follows every one of the crappiest old school romance clichés to date. I'm serious. EVERY ONE OF THEM.
• Grey eyed alpha male hero who enjoys slapping the heroine around – CHECK
• Plucky, melodramatic and irritatingly incompetent heroine – CHECK
• Aggressive, coerced seduction (read: RAPE) – CHECK
• Caricature-like supporting characters with no other point than making the hero and heroine seem like semi-functional humans – CHECK
• Truly horrible, poorly researched Scottish phonology – CHECK
• Every historical phallacy possible – CHECK
• Awkward and anatomically confusing descriptions of seduction and intercourse – CHECK
• Perpetuation of the moronic myth that the hymen is some thick internal barrier midway into the vagina, just waiting for the mighty wang of a rapey Englishman to make it pop like a rubber trampoline – CHECK
Second warning: On top of all that, it seems that the book wasn't looked over by an editor at all. If all of the things I checked off above doesn't faze you, maybe the spelling mistakes, odd sentence structures and weird, sudden switches in storytelling might be enough to completely ward you off this misogynist, poorly executed excuse for an actual romance novel.
The fact that this book was written more than a decade after 1989 is more shocking to me than the fact that McNaught thought that crushed velvet, the word "normal", and casual divorce were common to the 16th century.
But I won't tear down the book entirely. When the dialogue wasn't ruined by the distraction of sporadic faux Scottish, there was a certain infectiousness in the witty repartée between the Royce and Jennifer. Too bad the only ray of light was regularly overshadowed by terribly executed plot devices and entirely unlovable characters.
Looking at the other reviews of this book and its rating on Goodreads, it seems a lot of unpicky romance readers have come over this book. But I will guarantee that it will make any reasonable, moderately selective romance reader scream in absolute horror, even while reading aboard public transport.
If you will excuse me, I'm going to go rub disinfectant on my brain now.
This book. This book made my imagination contemplate suicide. This book made my brain cry. This book made me not want to have sex for a year.
First warning: This book follows every one of the crappiest old school romance clichés to date. I'm serious. EVERY ONE OF THEM.
• Grey eyed alpha male hero who enjoys slapping the heroine around – CHECK
• Plucky, melodramatic and irritatingly incompetent heroine – CHECK
• Aggressive, coerced seduction (read: RAPE) – CHECK
• Caricature-like supporting characters with no other point than making the hero and heroine seem like semi-functional humans – CHECK
• Truly horrible, poorly researched Scottish phonology – CHECK
• Every historical phallacy possible – CHECK
• Awkward and anatomically confusing descriptions of seduction and intercourse – CHECK
• Perpetuation of the moronic myth that the hymen is some thick internal barrier midway into the vagina, just waiting for the mighty wang of a rapey Englishman to make it pop like a rubber trampoline – CHECK
Second warning: On top of all that, it seems that the book wasn't looked over by an editor at all. If all of the things I checked off above doesn't faze you, maybe the spelling mistakes, odd sentence structures and weird, sudden switches in storytelling might be enough to completely ward you off this misogynist, poorly executed excuse for an actual romance novel.
The fact that this book was written more than a decade after 1989 is more shocking to me than the fact that McNaught thought that crushed velvet, the word "normal", and casual divorce were common to the 16th century.
But I won't tear down the book entirely. When the dialogue wasn't ruined by the distraction of sporadic faux Scottish, there was a certain infectiousness in the witty repartée between the Royce and Jennifer. Too bad the only ray of light was regularly overshadowed by terribly executed plot devices and entirely unlovable characters.
Looking at the other reviews of this book and its rating on Goodreads, it seems a lot of unpicky romance readers have come over this book. But I will guarantee that it will make any reasonable, moderately selective romance reader scream in absolute horror, even while reading aboard public transport.
If you will excuse me, I'm going to go rub disinfectant on my brain now.