Heart of Warrior, by Johanna Lindsey, OR On Falling in Love with Invading Aliens

The first romance novel I pulled out a couple weeks ago was called “Heart of a Warrior” by Johanna Lindsey. Upon opening it, I was treated to a scandalous picture of…well…never mind, I'm going to spare myself the trouble of trying to describe that and simply stick to the tamer cover:



That disco ball rose thing alone can show you why I was not expecting a Homer-esque epic. I keep trying to come up with a decent way to summarize it, but I’m just going to have to use the blurb from the back cover.

“Stunning, statuesque Brittany Callaghan isn’t used to seeing Nordic gods in her tiny California town. But when the spectacular blond Viking—whose name is Dalden—turns up at her doorstep, Brittany knows her dream man is very real. Dalden claims to be a barbarian warrior—and since Brittany’s passion has been running red-hot since she first saw him, the sexy giant can fancy himself anything he pleases!
The truth is a very rude awakening—for Dalden is exactly what he claims to be: a warrior to the depths of his soul from a place where the women always obey. Intelligent, independent Brittany isn’t about to be subservient to any male—not even one who’s everything she’s ever wanted in al over. But the proud, powerful barbarian is accustomed to fighting for what he wants—and winning. And what he wants most of all…is Brittany.”

Wow, mes amis, wow. This is not only over the top, it’s just plain lying. First of all, nowhere in the book do they mention Vikings. Second, they didn’t very accurately describe Brittany—she’s six feet tall, and her biggest problem in the start of the book is that she can’t find a guy tall enough to date her. Every guy she’s found is too intimidated by her height, so she is alooooooooone and unloved and planning on building her own house, which every romance writer knows is a sign of a spinster-ish future.

Aside: I have a couple questions based on this blurb. First, how does one pronounce Brittany when it’s a girl’s name? Is it like Britney or like Brittany, the region of France that will soon be my home? Second, am I the only one who thinks that calling this guy (he’s 7’ or something) a giant is actually kind of creepy? I keep picturing Hagrid, and that is NOT a sexy image.

Okay, continuing with the lying. Numero trois, Dalden not only is not a Nordic god, he’s a freaking alien who’s come to earth to save it from this evil guy named Jorran or something who has these brainwashing sticks and plans on taking over the world.

It’s not exactly understood how this is going to work, since you have to be within a foot or so of someone to brainwash them, and the sticks don’t work on women, but whatever. Nordic gods have no need for common sense. And he manages to pull this off with the help of Brittany, because apparently Jorran was going to start his quest for world domination with a tiny town in California. Oh yeah, and Brittany and Dalden have sex after knowing each other for about 12 hours, but quite frankly that’s the most realistic thing in this book. Also, until this point Brittany just thinks Dalden is a weird guy from some remote place on earth who has all sorts of crazy technology. It’s only when she’s magically transported onto his spaceship that his computer, who is named Martha, starts to explain to Brittany that she’s being taken to Dalden’s home planet. Brittany is incredulous, as is the reader that such trash is published. Brittany is also informed by Martha that Dalden has taken her as his lifemate, which is apparently like marriage, but sans any love, because warriors from his planet don’t love.

Now here’s where things get really crazy. It’s a three month trip to Dalden’s home planet, and Brittany never freaking says goodbye to ANYONE, but she goes along for the ride because she doesn’t want to lose Dalden. I know she was single, but she has a job, four brothers, and, oh yeah, a roommate. This roommate saw Dalden once, and then all of a sudden Brittany is gone? If I were the roommate, I would assume a crazy serial murderer-rapist (who for some reason hadn’t been caught yet despite looking like a Nordic god) had killed my roomie. And not ONCE does Brittany think about the fact that she’s leaving her roommate with a lease and no way of covering the rent. What a ditz. Brittany mentions that she wants to come back to see her brothers, but there is no concern for the roommate with rent to pay. I was pissed off at Brittany on behalf of the roommate. Of all the things in the book, this was what I found hardest to believe. What sort of lovestruck girl ignores her friends to the extent that she forgets about such earthly matters as her lease? HONESTLY. Maybe aliens don’t pay rent.

Anyway, the rest of the book is boring. Brittany goes to Dalden’s planet, meets his family, has issues adjusting because Dalden expects unquestioning obedience since that’s what the other women are like, disobeys him and almost gets killed, gets punished, and then decides she can handle unquestioning obedience once he proves the warrior stereotype wrong and says he loves her. The End!

A Study in Genre: The Romance Novel

A precursor to a few upcoming reviews: they are NOT Young Adult, nor are they books I would normally be caught dead reading. However, I was recently “up north” at a cabin, and while unable to fall asleep, I decided to grab one of the books lying around. My options were at least a dozen mysteries or some trashy romances.

I have a long history with the trashy romance genre. My grandmother and mother have always loved them. When I was about 10 I still thought romances were boring, because everyone knew that boys were gross and kissing was nasty. If I was at a cottage or my grandparents house and I ran out of my own books to read, then I’d pick up my Grandpa’s copies of The Toledo Blade or Newsweek and read those instead. I’d also flip through every copy of Sports Illustrated around, searching for any mention of figure skating. Within a year or two, however, I’d decided that boys were vaguely intriguing after all, and maybe there was something to be said for these romances. Since most of my grandma’s stash is from the ‘60s (she and my mother both claim that romances were nice and wholesome back in their day, and now they’re just all about sex), the first few I stumbled upon were rather tame. One was even a Young Adult book (White House Autumn) that’s still one of my favorites (it’s possible I stole that for my collection…). However, my grandma often goes to Savers or Goodwill, clears out their entire romance novel collection, and then stores them in her basement, and it just so happens that not all of the ones she brought home were the nice, tame Harlequins of my mother’s youth.

Enlightening, I suppose, would be the best word for some of the racier books, and my poor innocent 12-year old self was shocked to pieces more than once. Talk about sex ed!

That said, once I stopped blushing (approximately four years later, I’d guess, as I was a naïve middle schooler), I decided that while these certainly weren’t real literature, they were awfully fun to read. Just on vacation, you know. To pass the time. If there wasn’t any Dostoevsky or Dickens hanging around.

The point of this history is that, when I found myself in need of a book, I selected the trashy romances over the mysteries. Besides, dealing with mysteries when in a forest in the middle of nowhere scares the hell out of me. I’ve seen enough episodes of Criminal Minds to know that all the creepy serial killers live out in the boonies. Plus there’s no light ANYWHERE out there (aside from the stars, and being a city girl, I don’t count those. I want some streetlights! And not the wimpy Evanston-variety streetlights, hardcore downtown streetlights!), and it would not be hard for someone to sneak up on me. At least in the city I’d see them coming.

So, yeah. It was all the crazy serial killers living in cabins up north that forced me to spend my time reading trashy romances. And no, we aren’t going to talk about why I never got around to reading my real literature that I’d brought with me.