DNF
DNF
There was a time I used to devour anything by Catherine Anderson, some of her stuff I liked more than others, but overall I never thought there would be a day I will give one of her books one star (ok, I also immensely disliked, for similar reasons to this one, her 'Phantom Waltz'). The book starts interestingly and for about 50 pages it goes rather well, but then the heroine falls terribly ill, the hero's millionaire status is revealed and is all down hill and way down hill from there.
While in some Catherine Anderson books (I don't know about her more recent output) you'd find rather interesting heroes who make for an exciting read (even when they are beta, like the hero in Annie's Song - a far superior book to this dross), in others the heroes are so poorly delineated, so sappy, so cardboard, so sickeningly maudlin that they are impossible to read. All they elicit is feelings of exasperation at their fakeness.
Everything in this book is smothered in excessive 'feelz', which is supposed to move the reader but all it does is to put her off for life. Instead of worrying about and caring for the heroine, you just want her to disappear, you just don't want to be in her head, or in her reasoning, or in her feelings anymore. She is annoying and then some. She is a stick figurine decorated with abuse and trauma. Anything connected to her inner life is tortuously trite and exasperating. Instead of feeling for her, for her broken youth, her trauma, her suffering, her vulnerability, you come to find her irritating and wish her to go away. The way she behaves does not chime with what her writer wants her to be, someone determined to survive, let alone one who professes to want to help her little sister and care for her baby (btw, nothing about the baby being the product of rape. Complete silence. The baby is treated as the most desirable outcome in this book).
I hate hate books that so thoughtlessly f*ck around with abuse and trauma. Instead of revealing something about the horror of rape -especially repeated abuse of a young girl at the hands of her step-father that result in pregnancy- they totally trivialise it, and, worse, are shameless enough to turn it into an affirmation festival for the phoniest ideas about 'sacred' motherhood! Disgusting and offensive to victims of abuse and rape). As a result, the heroine, both in her private moments and in her interactions with the hero, completely erases and consigns to oblivion the image of her broken body lying in a hospital bed, and all the feelings such images could elicit, and, instead, generates nothing but jaw dropping disbelief in the rush to affirm her as a mother (best thing that could ever happen to a victim of rape, apparently, is to have the baby of her rapist).
As for the hero, after a strong start, he abruptly ceases to be a character (on the way to being interesting) and becomes a mere advertising billboard for the heroine's wares, i.e., her formulaic beauty, virtues, greatness, and so blah blah on and so blah blah forth . He turns into a colourless stage prop whose sole purpose is to worship at the altar of the heroine. He is a loud speaker for the heroine's glorious worthiness. He is there to provide for and fully satisfy her needs (and she is soooo 'heroic' that she never expresses any of her needs herself, no, he has to guess and express them for her). And he is so insistent, persistent, dogged and tenacious in this pursuit that one fears this woman will die of too much fulfilment! The hero not only provides for the heroine's needs but also has to declare, at every opportunity, that HE MAKES AND WILL MAKE NO DEMANDS ON HER. HE HAS NO NEEDS OF HIS OWN. After all, what needs could a man who has been in the firm grip of self-destructive depression and gut-wrenching grief could possibly have? And as if that was not enough to make you run to the gastroenterologist's from all that sugar and honey and molasses and trickle, he also declares his love every third paragraph, every time he enters a room or exits a stable.
There are other problems with this ill-executed book. For example, the hero's return to his family and home after a two-year disappearance, during which they were devastated and thought him dead, goes smoother than his return trip from the local super market. Or the way the hero's totally unbelievable recovery happens. Magic in Disney cartoons is more believable than that. Immediately upon the heroine's appearance on the scene he is 'cured'(in a disgustingly inane scene, he throws away his dead wife's gift -a ring he cherished- and, worse, his dead children quickly become a bundle of warm and fuzzy memories!!!), because, as we know, nothing cures depression and grief more than being sucked into another's trauma, and the existence of a substitute baby is enough to cure you of the grief for the children you lost!!! Also, the family of the hero not only immediately and cheerfully cope with his return but they also open their millionaires' arms to the heroine, her baby and her little sister! Anyone else coming aboard? All this unnecessarily overburdened-and-monstrously trivialising serious issues plot proves is that Anderson has completely lost the plot. She cannot even accomplish the simple and necessary task of convincingly bringing hero and heroine together. The moving from Idaho to Oregon would have been better handled by the writers of 'I Dream of Jeannie'. The sad thing is that this could have been a very good Anderson romance, had she developed the story along the lines it cried out to be developed, two traumatised and broken people drifting from town to town with a baby to look after (a baby about which they both, for different reasons, feel ambivalent), and the way they come to trust and love each other and find a place to stand within the immensity of their grief and trauma. Alas, all we got was this joke of a book.
On top of everything else, this book is plagued by bad, amateur writing (shocking for a veteran like Anderson). There are long, terribly boring and repetitious scenes where the hero woos the heroine and which I could not read without feeling queasy, so I skipped and skipped like a frisky kangaroo. I, finally, after being crushed by the impossible demands made on my suspension of disbelief, had to give up and throw the book away. The straw that broke the camel's back was the heroine's natural accountancy talents! She who made a living as a waitress and had neither a degree on nor experience in book keeping, nevertheless suggests to the millionaire rancher brothers some trick or other that saves them thousands of dollars and, naturally, make them admire her even more (so that we don't just see her as this thing the hero picks up and carries around the estate but as a super talented contributor to the increase of their enormous wealth). After all accountancy is based on some natural talent, as we all know, and this woman has it in spades! But if this is not inane enough for you, how about being asked to swallow hard the fact that two multi-millionaire brothers with vast experience in running a small empire-ranch the size of half the state of Oregon, with its many operations and an army of staff, do not ALREADY have a whole firm of certified accountants at their disposal! They must stuff their receipts and invoices in a shoe box like my granny used to do! Looking at the gushing reviews and five star ratings, I can safely assume that this sort of unbelievable nonsense is not a deal breaker for many readers. I thought otherwise and so I closed the book and practiced my throw as hard as I could, as I no longer cared to read to the end, to the obligatory showdown with the villain (fearing that the bad writing would make me laugh rather than feel sorry for the fate the heroine suffered at his hands).
It took me a few years to pick up another Anderson book after the awfulness that was 'The Phantom Waltz', and this one marks the end of the line for me and Cathy.