booktastic

I put on an audiobook this morning called 311 Pelican Court by Debbie Macomber. I thought it was… oh, I don’t know, a quaint little book about small-town life or something like that.

Imagine my surprise when I listened, in complete and utter blushing discomfort, to a passage that involved exposed nipples.

Yes, it turns out that this is a romance novel. Not a traditional romance novel in the sense that it’s about one couple… it’s about four or five couples. Old couples, middle-aged couples, young couples. Other than a minor sub-plot about Vietnam War guilt, it’s all about these couples working things out.

… I’ve heard about entirely too many nipples at this point. Granted, it was just one scene so far - and really just one nipple. And it’s not that I’m such a prude that I’m going to dump a book because it mentioned a nipple… It’s just that I really don’t need to be hearing about people’s nipples first thing in the morning. AT WORK.

Thank heavens I had my earphones in! I kept looking up at my two office mates, hoping sincerely that they couldn’t hear any residual sound that might be coming out of my earphones. It was definitely not office-appropriate.

But the nipple scene was over quickly enough, thank goodness, and I was able to stop blushing as I listened to the book. The problem is: I don’t know, now, if I really care to go on listening to it. I’m not really a fan of modern romance novels. Besides the smutty moments (which I do not appreciate), they seem to be filled with an inordinate amount of people making really dumb choices; choices that seem to exist only for the purpose of dragging out the plot. “She just couldn’t bring herself to call him, even though she knew it would smooth things out…” “He was irrationally jealous, and said nothing to her, in spite of the fact he knew she wanted to hear it…”

Granted people are dumb like that in real life sometimes, but its frequency in romance novels is excessive.

I suppose I must say that, unlike the majority of modern romance novels, this one does seem focused on the “romance” aspect, rather than the “let’s get our clothes off” aspect which makes most modern romances little more than porn with a story.

But I’m uncertain about whether I want to finish listening to this book. I suppose I might as well, since I’m about half way through it, but I really, really, really hope that no more nipple scenes crop up. I don’t think I can handle any more of that today. I have no desire to blush to death. — Mrs. Hall

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