I picked up this anthology because I love J.D. Robb’s Eve Dallas series and was particularly intrigued by the Eve Dallas novella included in this anthology. Have you ever wondered what Eve Dallas would be like if she were possessed by a 90-year-old Romanian woman? She even learns how to make goulash! This definitely does not disappoint. The ones by Ruth Ryan Langan and Mary Kay McComas are cutesy ghost stories, but Patricia Gaffney’s contribution to the anthology—a ghost story, yes, but so beautifully written that it made me miss the splendid Wyckerley novels she wrote back in the days. *Sigh* The one story that intrigued me and made me chuckle at the same time, however, was the novella contributed by Mary Blayney— a Freaky Friday gimmick that involves the switching of the bodies of a husband and wife… in Regency England. I don’t know if there are any books that contain this trope in Romancelandia—and please, give me some titles if you can think of any—and this might be the first time I’ve ever seen in it. Good times. Anyway, let’s break it down.

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Have you ever wondered what the Lion King would have been like if it had some sex in it? Have you ever thought to yourself, “Man, you know what the Lion King was missing? Hot sex. And lesbians. And dudes having sex with each other. How about some of that?” It took me a few pages to figure out that the story is set in Africa (honestly, I thought it was set in Canada at first—don’t ask me why) and once I had Africa on the brain, that song Circle of Life started playing in my head. My only frame of reference for Africa is what I’ve seen in movies: like the first part of Roots, that Matt Damon movie where he plays a rugby player and Morgan Freeman was the president of South Africa, the really awesome District 9 by Neill Blomkamp (which does not apply here at all), Leonardo Dicaprio’s awful accent in Blood Diamond, and most influentially, The Lion King, which is my favorite Disney movie of all time. Basically, while I was reading this book, I had the Lion King soundtrack playing in my head and I was imagining the characters walking around talking with an awful South African accent. That really says more about the state of America’s public school system than the author’s writing. Since 90% of what I know about life is derived from movies, I should probably watch Out of Africa with Meryl Streep, I Dreamed of Africa with Kim Basinger, the Ace Ventura movies, and The English Patient (scratch the last part: nothing in the world will ever get me to watch The English Patient. The title alone BORES me). Is there an Ernest movie where he goes to Africa? There is! YES!!!

I picked up this book because I was intrigued by the author’s nom de plume. Unless this is her real name— how awful would that have been? I bet she would have gotten in trouble at school and maybe while applying for a job, her resume would have gotten passed over even though it is awesome because the hiring managers thought her name was porny. And maybe on dates, the guy would have assumed she puts out on the 1st date and it would have been awkward every time she has to tell them she doesn’t have sex till the 10th date and then the guys would get mad and only pay for their half of the bill and yell at her for false advertising. Anyway, “Kama” is the Tagalog word for bed. It is also a Japanese word for sickle. But maybe the author was making a grammar joke “comma splice.” There’s also Kama Sutra, which I’ve heard is some kind of sex book with step-by-step instructions on how to do The Wheelbarrow (I’ve never read it— I’ve only seen excerpts on Glamour and Cosmo whenever they publish things like 25 Sexual Positions That Will Help You Keep a Man Excited and they tell you the positions are from the Kama Sutra). Or maybe Kama Spice is a spice like saffron that you add to paella and it has the same effect as Spanish Fly.

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There are spoilers.

Whenever I’m about to read a J.R. Ward book, I like to put on some mood music, particularly what the kids call a “rap” song called Pimp of the Year by a genius named Dru Down. I can always count on a sexy, fun, hot time when reading a Black Dagger Brotherhood novel. If the hero and heroine get naked and dirty with each other and I start hyperventilating? If the evil nasty things called lessers are planning something insidious and gross against our protagonists and our heroes know nothing about it? If I would ever find out who those ghost-hunting buffoons are and what they have to do with the Brotherhood mythology? If the massively muscled, ridiculously handsome tattooed and pierced bois wearing designer suits worth more than my annual salary start looking at each other in a funny way and think about grinding their pelvises together? If John Matthew and Beth (who are supposed to be siblings) manage to bump into each other in this massive house and spend two minutes together and maybe just say, “Hey, what’s doin’?” to each other? These are the reasons I always have a portable electric fan on hand and my cell phone within reach so my BFF Shuzluva and I can text each other our favorite passages while giggling and swooning at the same time. It’s harder than it sounds, I assure you. Have you ever tried typing a multi-sentence text message while on the verge of passing out from over-excitement? So I was very excited to finally get my hands on this book? Because John Matthew and Xhex were my favorite characters? And I wanted to see if John Matthew was somehow going to get his voice back? And if Qhuinn and Blaylock would get drunk and make out and have dirty sex on the floor of a bar’s restroom? I was mostly wondering how Xhex and John Matthew’s story was going to play out? If it will have a similar feel to Zsadist and Bella’s story? Because Bella was kidnapped by lessers in that one and Zsadist spends a significant time in the book trying to find her? Like John Matthew does for Xhex in this book? And do we finally find out why JM keeps getting those damn seizures? Am I going to keep talking like this?

Maybe?

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I’ve never been a particularly religious person. Growing up a Catholic Filipino-American, my exposure to church was my mother dragging me out of bed at the crack of why-am-I-awake on a Sunday, making me put on a skirt, and forcing me to sit on a pew for a whole hour listening to some guy in a dress tell me that it’s not too late, that I don’t have to go to hell, if I just say sorry, my bad, and stop sneaking money out of my mother’s purse. And blaming things on my sister. This routine got old for a while, even for my long-suffering mother, so when I was about seventeen, I woke up to an empty house on a Sunday morning. The car was not in the driveway, my parents and sisters weren’t home, and there was a plate on the kitchen counter with a solitary egg, two pieces of bacon, one dry toast, and a note that said, “Bam” (unrecognizable emoticon. Not happy, not sad. Straight line for a mouth). We never discussed why my mother stopped dragging me to church. Maybe she got tired of shushing me during mass while I made fun of the priest’s Filipino accent to the delight of my equally bored sisters. Maybe I made her feel like a bad person for threatening to kill me if I didn’t shut my mouth for one hour, just one hour, for God’s sake.

So I must not have been in church on the day that they talked about stigmata. I had not heard of it until I saw that awesome-awful movie starring Patricia Arquette. Is there something I’m not understanding about this idea of receiving the wounds of Christ (punctures through the palms and feet, bleeding forehead, a stab through the side, not to mention the wicked-weird visions and God talking to you) and suffering not just pain but people thinking you’re hurting yourself for attention, just because YOU REALLY LOVE the LORD AND THIS IS YOUR REWARD?!? And why would anyone inflict this thing on a 7-year-old Jewish girl whose parents are in the middle of a really bad, really ugly divorce?

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I’m really not sure how to review this book. Lisa Kleypas is an auto-buy for me (though I haven’t yet tried her contemporary stuff) and I normally enjoy her tortured, damaged, will-do-anything-to-have-heroine heroes, but there was something about this particular hero that made me go, “whoa, buddy, say what?” Immediately after finishing this book, my first reaction was that I liked it. Upon further contemplation, however, my opinion began to waver. This is the 3rd book in the Hathaway series (the first one is about the eldest sister marrying Cam Rohan from The Devil in Winter and the second one is about the 2nd sister getting together with another one of Lisa Kleypas’ signature heroes: barely civilized, big as an ox, a little nuts, and all the way nuts about the heroine) and I was really looking forward to reading about Poppy, who was socially inept, could talk the ear off of a deaf man, and adorably self-conscious about her awkwardness. Poppy is everything I like in a heroine: she doesn’t rush head-first stupidly into dangerous situations, speaks her mind but knows when it’s smarter to shut up, and intelligent without being precocious. Harry Rutledge, her romantic counterpart, was at first very yummy. When I read that he likes to tinker and make little mechanical things (and weapons!) and that his enormous hotel boasts a bunch of secret passages, I immediately thought, “Batman!” I was all set and ready to love this hero. He’s tortured, mysterious, reclusive, a genius… hey, he’s even starting to sound like a Jayne Ann Krentz hero, but then he had to go and get a little stalker on me. And while reading the book, I couldn’t shake this niggling feeling that poor, little Poppy was bamboozled and manipulated to marrying her stalker…

Spoilers and stuff below, btw.

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