Showing posts with label deanna raybourn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label deanna raybourn. Show all posts

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Book Review: Silent on the Moor by Deanna Raybourn


Dear Internet,

How do I convey my utmost respect for the beguiling Lady Julia Grey series ? My words simply spill out exhorbitantly when I attempt this endeavour, and the verbiage is enfused with such hyperbole that you'll think I've gone off on a bender or something.

And that is my attempt at trying to write like Deanna Raybourn. It simply can't be done.

Darling, darling, darling Deanna Raybourn. Thank you for saving my faith in romance novels. Twilight didn't do it. Neither did The Time-Traveller's Wife, The Notebook, nor anything by Debbie Macomber (Sorry Debs).

With that first electric kiss in the shadows of a gypsy camp, you made my heart sing. I was so taken, I had to text a friend.

The last time I was so moved by a book, I was sitting on my mother's couch, weeping over a bespeckled Catholic school boy.

Just go out and find Silent on the Moor. It's on-sale March 1 and it makes me smile so. (But don't forget to read the first two!)

Love,

Get Thee to a Punnery!

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Book Review: Silent in the Grave by Deanna Raybourn

A co-worker here at the Romance Factory (aka Harlequin) suggested I read Deanna Raybourn's Silent in the Grave after I told her how much I love historical romance. Not being a regular fan of mystery, though, I wasn't too excited about picking it up. However, this particular co-worker was sweet enough to hunt down and steal copies of both Grave, and its sequel, Silent in the Sanctuary for me, so I had little choice but to put it on the TBR pile.

Honestly, I am so glad I did! Even for the casual dabbler of mystery such as I this book was fantastic.

Silent in the Grave begins at a party in Lady Julia Grey's lavish townhome. Her husband Edward collapses and dies in front of their guests, a victim of his family's history of heart illness. Julia, left to ponder the next stage in her life, is visited shortly after the funeral by Nicholas Brisbane, a mysterious tall drink of water that I picture as either Gerard Butler or Stephen Moyer (Bill from Showtime's True Blood). To her surprise, he informs her that her dearly departed husband may not have simply died from a weak heart—he may, in fact, have been murdered!

It starts off incredibly well and keeps you glued to the pages as you dive deeper and deeper into intrigue. There's gypsies, there's lesbians, there's even absinthe! The writing is clever and whitty, and, best of all, it's a good whodunnit. While there are no "lemons" to be found, the most romantic moment in the book actually made me swoon. Swoon! I immediately put down the book, and texted my best friend to tell her she needed to read it.

Perhaps I'm too enthusiastic, but I don't particularly care. In a world where romance novels can be dreary and tepid at best, with a single kiss Raybourn ignited the romantic tension in the book. It's a perfect case for how less can somtimes be so much more.