Ever read a book where you wished you could rescue a character and give them the story that their awesomeness deserves? That was the case with Wulfgar in this meandering mess of a medieval.
Poor Wulfie...my poor, noble alpha Wulfie. Worse heroes like rape-ape Garth McClellan (Savage Surrender) got a rollicking joyride that never let up on the thrills and derring-do, and the cipher Giles St. Talvert (The Last Carnival) is in a romance so well-executed with nary a word wasted that it continues to blow my mind.
So WTF is the deal with Kathleen Woodiwiss? Apart from an addiction to word count and a fear of plot, that is. Granted, I've only read 2 1/2 (ish) of her books, but for the two that I've actually finished, I noticed a distinct pattern:
- 100-150 pages of set-up and (relatively, YMMV) interesting goings-on;
- 250-300 pages of repetitive wheel-spinning and nonsensical actions by either the hero or heroine (but usually the chick);
- 50 pages of whiplash action;
- 5-10 pages of wrapping up dangling threads in a bright, shiny day-glo package with flashing neon ribbon.
The book started out well and I was getting good vibes from it. But about halfway through, I had to admit to myself that I was only reading (er, well, skimming
Yeah, I know by now I should be used to the whole "daylight hatin' and moonlight matin'" schtick that passes for H/h relations in oh-so-many romances, but this one was even more schizo IMO. It peaked when a pregnant Aislinn flees Wulfie because she's afraid he'll take the baby and send it away once it's born, but then when he catches up to her, she gets all giggly and snuggly and practically dives under the blankie. Hullo! Why are you happy to see him??? Made no sense and annoyed me mucho.
But Wulfie was worth the extra day or two it took me to skim through this one. If there had been less descriptive crap and stuck-in-neutral narrative, I might have been compelled to gobble up every scene he was in and read it more closely. But both faults dragged the whole book down, Wulfie included. The poor guy did the best he could with what he was given. Despite being yummily alpha, he was unable to reach in through the window and shift the car into gear because Woodiwiss the Puppet Master was all too happy to bounce in her seat and grin at the (unmoving) scenery.
Without the rather OK cast of supporting characters it'd be a 1 for the sheer and utter boredom of Nothing. Happening. At. All. So 2 stars. But Wulfie put up with a lot from both heroine and author, so I give him an extra star.
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