The Pink Carnation by Lauren Willig - a review
The Secret History of the Pink Carnation
or "I'm sorry, Liz"
Aside from the fact that I figured out who the Pink Carnation was by the end of the prologue, which was not actually revealed until a healthy two-thirds of the way through the book at the end of chapter 28 (and you're expected to share her surprise?), this book is utter rubbish. If it weren't for the sex scenes that give it a bit more than a PG-13 rating (in my opinion), I would have thought it's target audience was pre or early teenage girls. This watered down bodice-ripper (literally at points... ugh!) quickly destroys any mistaken impression that it is either a mystery or a historic novel. It is a romance, plain and simple, heavy handed and blandly written at that. How many times can you say "his green eyes darkened with emotion". *BLEH* I'm puking!
Summary: Silly teenage girl traipses off to post-revolution France in hopes of joining heroic Purple Gentian to exact her revenge on the people who guillitined her parents, and assumably, in her mind, to simultaneously have the Gentian fall in love with her.
Such a plot truly is appropriate for an early teen. Accordingly, her regular references to works of ancient literature are commendable for the first three chapters, but become tiring when they fail to achieve anything more than the appearance of "cleverness" to someone in a high-school-level English class.
Beyond the specific greviances as I have listed above, this entire genere of "novel" is so utterly repulsive to me I cannot refrain from defaming them. To place such a book in any female's hand is to encourage romantic flights of fancy, daydreaming of the dangerous sort, and general silliness. To give such a book to any girl under 20 is like giving them stupid pills in their Vente Latte: this book is filled with lies.
Lie number one: even if you're silly and ignorant and a lousy spy, things will work out for you, so charge ahead. Indeed, you can be the "heroine of a silly horrid novel running pell-mell into disaster" (pg. 364).
After all, three such inexperienced women are quite smart enough to identify, within a week or two of entering French society, the number one most wanted by all English spy. Boy, would the French commander of police like to befriend those clever women! But oh no, their on the spy's side, and so their not telling; clever, clever women.
Lie two: if no one is watching, it's not improper and doesn't affect your reputation a bit.
I personally say, things done in secret with a young man, that would never be done in front of friends, generally should not be done. I'm not talking about the evening kiss while saying goodbye. I'm referencing the mind set that, as long as we're both consenting adults, and no one finds out, it's ok to do things that would be highly inappropriate if anyone knew. And with a stranger. Because it feels right.... to a nineteen-year-old girl. Paragon of good judgement, there.
Lie three: Romance really is that marvelous, all the time, and makes you forget everything bad; or sensible. And that completely excuses doing senseless things.
Lie three: A woman can orgasm lying in the bottom of a boat, with a boatman watching, with a thrilling stranger you've kissed twice whose touching you in a way you've never been touched before, just hours after fighting for your life to get away from being raped.
I don't mean to be offensive, but it's in the book and I was appalled. If I weren't so appalled, I'd be amused. Did a man write this? You wish! Has Lauren ever had a boyfriend? (from this type of writing, I would guess not, or at least, not for long)
Lie four: Young men spend that much time agonizing over young women, and in exactly the same way young women agonize over young men, analyzing every slightest action and deriving nuances from everything.
Lie Five: Everyone in post-revolution France behaved regularly like a sixteen-year-old girl. Including Napoleon Bonaparte, who is much more like a streak of Looney Tunes Tazmanian Devil, clad in red velvet, than one of the more infamous conquorors of all history.
I cannot go on, it's too, too painful.
Oh, swear to me women give up this type of silly romance wishing by the time they enter their twenties, swear!
