As always, after finishing a book of mighty weight and import I've turned to my old trashy standby - Nora Roberts. I heard an opinion yesterday that there is no such thing as a guilty pleasure, only losers don't admit when they like something unpopular. So here it is:
I LIKE NORA ROBERTS.
How you know you're reading a Nora Roberts book:
There's a beautiful, strong-willed, talented, independent heroine.
There's a handsome, strong-willed, talented, independent hero who's great with his hands.
There are three beautiful, strong-willed, talented, independent heroines.
The heroines are a cool blonde, a tomboyish brunette and a feisty redhead.
They're based in Ireland.
They have relatives in Ireland.
They're magical beings reincarnated in Ireland.
There's a huge Irish/Italian family.
The men and women split into careful groups.
They talk about each other.
The men swear a lot and dig their hands deep into their pockets.
Or jerk their shoulders.
Or lift their chins.
Somebody is murdered.
The hero and heroine meet over the corpse.
The heroine goes it alone and the hero is pissed.
He uses his handy source in the police department to surprise her.
The handy source doesn't care that the hero is an ex-cop private eye with unlimited resources and numerous fake ids, as long as he scores free Orioles tickets.
There's an ex-convict junkie mother somewhere in the picture.
When the hero proposes to the heroine he makes sure she wants kids (Two, with an option for three).
They live happily ever after - with impossible wealth, a great sex life, smart mouth kids, a completely improbable job as a private eye astronaut scientist and plenty of Sunday lunches with the totally atypical in-laws.
You meet them in a following book.
It's her predictability that makes her comforting...
PATTOTE - better living through slushy romance.
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