(no subject)
May. 24th, 2013 02:48 pmSo there was a period of time last month when I was capable of doing not much of anything except wheezing on my sickbed and reading library e-copies of historical romance novels on my Kindle.
Over those two days or so, I read:
1. The entirety of the Brothers Sinister series by Courtney Milan as published so far, which currently consists of ( two novellas and a novel )
2. What Happens in London, by Julia Quinn, which is probably ( the most hilariously plotless romance novel ever )
3. His at Night, by Sherry Thomas, which ( did not have as many hijinks as I wanted )
As a sidenote, I am sure this is something that the romance novel-reading community has come to terms with well before I did, but it never fails to be hilarious to me how little the titles of romance novels have to do with their actual content. What Happens in London is my new favorite, though, because, as I have explained, NOTHING HAPPENS IN LONDON. NOTHING.
Over those two days or so, I read:
1. The entirety of the Brothers Sinister series by Courtney Milan as published so far, which currently consists of ( two novellas and a novel )
2. What Happens in London, by Julia Quinn, which is probably ( the most hilariously plotless romance novel ever )
3. His at Night, by Sherry Thomas, which ( did not have as many hijinks as I wanted )
As a sidenote, I am sure this is something that the romance novel-reading community has come to terms with well before I did, but it never fails to be hilarious to me how little the titles of romance novels have to do with their actual content. What Happens in London is my new favorite, though, because, as I have explained, NOTHING HAPPENS IN LONDON. NOTHING.