Usually I rather like Eloisa James' novels as well-written fluff, full of witty adulterers and scandalous rakes and delectable descriptions of round gowns, towering Georgian wigs, and malfunctioning 19th-century toilets.
But other times they are simply too silly to entertain: when the ridiculous becomes dull, and when the lack of logic, sense, or any grounding in reality causes the story to continually wriggle out from under my attention span. Such is the case with Fool for Love.
The heroine, Henrietta, has been told by a few country doctors that, thanks to a dodgy hip bone, she's incapable of surviving childbirth - a fact which renders her unmarriageable. Still, she becomes besotted with Simon Darby, a lace-wearing rake, but they are separated by the fact that unprotected sex will Kill Her Dead. Rather laughably, given how sexually creative all romance heroes are, they never think of the several oral and butt options, until the heroine gets pregnant anyway and everything turns out fine because of course 19th century doctors are Stupid and who actually wants to waste time Actually Solving a Plot Obstacle when they can simply make it disappear?
Oh, and there's a dippy romance between Henrietta's pregnant BFF and her erstwhile lover who is pretending to be a gardener so he can bone her on the sly.
And surprisingly all of this ridiculously overblown angst is dead boring. Fantasy scenarios are all well and good but I can only take so much airy piffle before I get gassy. Ah well. My reading tastes really have changed.