PW sent me another book this month: a Christian romance novel.
It makes me wonder what I did to offend them?
I mean, I think romance novels are pretty iffy to begin with…but Christian romance novels are the worst! I mean, you have to endure the completely fabricated and off-the-wall plot (if there is one) while knowing that there won’t even be anything remotely scandalous to look forward to!
So you spend your Sunday afternoon reading about the handsome, rich, Belgian businessman/noble/half-American and the pious, pretty, adopted French “girl” (never called a woman…though 23 years old) who people think is leprous (meh?) and a miracle-healer (which elicits the phrase “It was not me, it was God” about 500 times). She also knows when people die (except this one time, which isn’t explained)…it’s just a gift, you know. Oh, and she ends up being the reason WWI ends.
And through all of that…the most scintillating part of the entire book went something like:
“Julitte, you know the love of God like an angel mayeth knoweth it. If only I knew Him as thou dost.”
“Oh Charles, all you have to do….is ask…,” she whispered, her innocent, pure, chaste gaze boring through his gentlemanly, good, newly-redeemed soul. Then he kissed her.
Anyway, when I told Atticus about the book, I used the phrase “Chaste Bodice Ripper.” This led to a perplexed question about what I meant by ‘Bodice Ripper’ which led, in turn, to a lesson in tacky romance novel covers at K-Mart.
Which led to the discovery of what is probably the all-time-worst(/delightful?) title for anything I have ever seen: in absurdity, incoherence, and sheer mockishness.
Happy Monday to you all!