Normally I won't touch a YA romance, unless it has a speculative element, but Temptation hooked me at "Amish". This is a romance with big obstacles anNormally I won't touch a YA romance, unless it has a speculative element, but Temptation hooked me at "Amish". This is a romance with big obstacles and true conflicts to overcome. It's not melodramatic, and not contrived. And what's more, I really hoped Rose and Noah would work it out - and I almost never feel that way about romance in fiction.
The first in a series, Temptation ends with a happy-for-now, rather than a happily-ever-after, and this realism is much welcome. I'm very much looking forward to Book 2.
(Note: The heroine's father is named David Cameron. Someone forgot to remind the author about the British PM.)...more
**spoiler alert** I'm not violent, but if I were one to physically throw a book against a wall, I'd throw this one. Nothing to do with the writing's q**spoiler alert** I'm not violent, but if I were one to physically throw a book against a wall, I'd throw this one. Nothing to do with the writing's quality, but with a particular story element. I'm offended. Not personally offended, but it still feels insulting in general. Perhaps you'll feel different.
In the big climax scene (involving a civilian grandmother aiming a rocket launcher, no less) the heroine's spine is damaged. Not fully severed, though, so I could've predicted the ending, but with most books I find it best to just read - and not think.
So Cece's in a wheelchair, feeling sorry for herself and shutting everyone out. This goes on for about three months. Then Blain proposes to her, and Cece agrees conditionally. Then she manages to stand up - swaying, but unassisted. That condition: the wedding will only happen when she can walk down the aisle. About a year later, they're married and pregnant.
So that's a happy ending? Why couldn't Cece have remained paralysed? Do wheelchair people not deserve love and marriage? Maybe the short-term paralysis was only put in the story to create conflict, so it shouldn't be such a big deal, but I am freaking pissed off. What the hell? Are the author and publisher saying that love cures disabilities, or that paraplegics don't deserve love and marriage? This was probably not their intention, but that's how it comes across. Admittedly, this book was published back in...2005, perhaps, but I think my point of view would have been the same then. But I could be in the minority - I'm able-bodied, so I may not have a right to feel offended in this case. Huh....more
We may not like the characters we relate to, and we may not relate to the characters we like. In Too Deep is the former, with a narrator whose first mWe may not like the characters we relate to, and we may not relate to the characters we like. In Too Deep is the former, with a narrator whose first mistake starts a snowball effect. The big issue is that she could publicly correct misconceptions any time, but doesn't until the very end. Yes, she confesses when all is said and done, but for the most part Samantha Marshall is unlikable, even though teens may relate to her reluctance to clear the air.
It's on the back cover, so I don't count it as a spoiler: Carter Wellesley doesn't rape Sam, but she lets everyone believe he did. Her defence is, "I didn't SAY he raped me," but the fact is she doesn't immediately speak the truth when she realises a rumour is spreading.
Sam reasons that Carter is mean, so he deserves a bit of payback. But that's a slap in the face to every victim of rape who is too scared to report the crime, or who reports it but isn't believed. Except for the few who key a derogatory term into the side of her car, Sam is mostly believed and supported. This should give readers hope, but that it's all a fabrication leaves a bad taste in the mouth.
And to think all this horribleness would've been avoided by Sam actually admitting to her best friend that she's in love with him. But then this novel wouldn't exist, because there'd be no story....more