The Windflower (Laura London)

The Windflower is a historical romance novel by Laura London (pseudonym of Tom and Sharon Curtis).

Plot:
Merry gets kidnapped by pirates and subsequently suffers from Stockholm Syndrome. Devon is a hot, rich pretend-pirate with a good heart(TM). He thinks that Merry is a spy and decides to seduce the information out of her. But maybe in the end, he’s the one getting seduced…

I read this one because it was recommended by Smart Bitches, Trashy Books for the banter between the two main characters [I can’t find that particular entry right now]. Plus Pirates! But I was sorely disappointed. Instead of being lighthearted fun, I had to explode from rage every two pages. Seriously, this would so be a bookbitching book, if I’d had the stamina to read it again (when I realised that it wasn’t going to get any better, I was half-way through that’s why I didn’t start it on bookbitching right away). [Please don’t make me.]

windflower

[Spoilers]

I’m still apalled. How can anyone consider this book a romance novel? Especially the really otherwise very intelligent people over at SBTB? Gnaahhh.

What makes me say fuck this book and fuck you if you try to defend it to me?

Do you know how we know that Devon really is a good guy? He never rapes Merry, he only sexually assaults her like ALL THE FREAKING TIME [meaning, he never forces his dick into her, but kissing although she says know, fingering her although she hits him etc. are totally A-OK].

Even if Merry didn’t make it clear that she really doesn’t want this by saying no and contiuously attacking him when he tries to touch her, there’d still be the tiny issue of coercion, with her being the kidnappee and all.

If that alone wasn’t enough to make me howl and scream and almost making me throw the book around (unfortunately, I read it on my laptop), there was this prose I had to deal with:

Their gazes found each other, the meeting infinitely sweet, yet defocused, a slow unlocking of self to prepare to become one with another, greater self, as though they were twin bright beings melding within the golden streamers of a comet. His mouth hovered barely above hers, absorbing her dreamy breaths, and feeling one catch against his lips at his first light touch inside her softness. With heart-expanding slowness he brought himself fully into her, the entry as deep as he could make it. The pattern of her breath changed against his skin as her swollen lips tightened into a smile that gemmed her eyes with blinding radiance, and it was not the shape and color of her eyes that moved him—those he could hardly see—but their expression. And then even that was lost as the fierce need of his body to have her engulfed every part of his spirit, and it was no longer necessary to look at her expression because they were so wrapped in each other that he could feel every thought, every feeling that sprang from her in colorful word-pictures. The night before, when he had loved her, the experience had been so close to worship that he had hardly seemed to feel his own pleasure, but now his skin and hers were flushed with erotic warmth, and the exquisite fit of their bodies was moistly feverish, and each was learning the serrated cadence of the other’s pulse. Under the shower of sprinkling light they moved in primal rhythms, each sensuous flow of motion tender, uniquely human, and loving, until the voluntary matched rhythms of their bodies escaped control, and with rapt blindness, eyes closed, they saw each other only through their senses.

*headdesk*

*headdesk*

*headdesk*

*lolsob*

*sob*

Then there was the tiny little fact that I only cared about secondary characters and then not a whole lot. Rand Morgan (Captain of the Pirates and grand manipulator of everything) and Cat (the abused ex-boy-prostitute who was saved by Rand and pretends to be his lover) were interesting, but Rand seemed completely over the top and plain unbelievable.

And the promised banter? It’s just a sad excuse to quote a few plays. And there’s not much battle of wits. Gimme Pride and Prejudice any day over this.

I could write more but then I’d have to start to scream again. And I honestly don’t want to remember this book in too much detail.

STAY AWAY, FAR, FAR, FAR AWAY.

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