brigdh

I'm an admirer rather than a devotee of Heyer, which is probably inevitable given that I'm not really a serious romance reader. But with that warning, I'm going to give you recommendations anyway. I think it may be a truth universally recognized that The Grand Sophy is the most perfect Regency romance ever written: it is perhaps the Platonic idea of the Regency.

Less perfect, but possibly more relevant to Swordspoint, are the two Duke of Avon books, These Old Shades and Devil's Cub. I think These Old Shades is a relatively early work, and in some ways it shows, but it's a lot of fun anyway, as is the sequel. After all, who doesn't love an ambiguously-evil Duke?

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It's alright; I'm not a reader of romance at all (I've only recently begun to accept that perhaps I shouldn't scoff at the entire genre, but too many people whose taste I trust like it for me to keep making fun).

Thank you! This is much more helpful than my browsing through Amazon and attempting to guess at which ones I want by reading the summaries.

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threewalls

RE: These Old Shades

I'm not that into romance myself and while I don't like most Heyer books much, These Old Shades and its sequel I adore. Avon and his good friend Davenant ('angel' to Avons 'Satanas') can be slashed, though the actual romance in the story is good as well (the heroine is one of those girls dressed up as a boy types). If you find you like them, I can rec you slash that is very good indeed.

The Grand Sophy is all right, but I liked it much better when I was in high school than I do now.

RE: Other recommendations

Robert Holdstock is brilliant, his two series give one of my favourite re-workings of the Arthurian myths. From memory, not that slashable, but reasonably difficult to find. Merlin's Wood was insanely hard to find.

Dorothy L. Sayers is also brilliant, and witty, and the Peter Whimsey books give both good mystery as well as good, slow, realistic relationship building between Peter and Harriet. Peter can also be slashed with his manservant, but I have seldom seen this done.

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Thank you! I always love to hear of new books to read.

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I have a handful of Heyer reviews in my memories. Um. The influence on Swordspoint is pretty much a matter of witty dialogue; their worldviews and subject matter are quite different. Heyer wrote extremely funny Regency romances characterized by a great deal of amusing slang, large casts of vivid and eccentric characters, complicated and farcical plots of the sort in which people must pretend to be their own twin brother, and some very sweet and touching romances.

Harlequin has reprinted some of hers, but some of her best are still quite hard to find. You may also need to check the library.

By the way, I often find the first few pages of her books slow going and difficult. Persevere.

Venetia is a lovely take on romance growing out of friendship, and the innocent young girl vs. the rake. It's got some of her best characterization, more real angst and dramatic intensity than most, a wonderful heroine, and a very sexy hero. It's probably more in the vein of Swordspoint than any of her others I've read, which is not saying much.

Cotillion. This is my favorite, but the reason why involves a major plot spoiler. This one is really best read not knowing anything about it, although it will gain a lot if you're familiar with the romance genre in general and Regencies in particular.

The Unknown Ajax has a very downplayed romance, and is really a family drama. Hugo, a weaver's son, inherits a crumbling family estate and with it, the impoverished and neurotic family he never knew. They think he's a country clod. He thinks... well, Hugo is a very interesting character, and a lot of the fun of the book is learning what he thinks. This one has smugglers, a hilarious bit involving a crusty old retainer and some ghosts, and a genuinely suspenseful last third, in which all the carefully built-up plot threads come together.

Sylvester. The heroine meets the hero at a ball. He snubs her. She, annoyed and taking note of his diabolical eyebrows, writes him into a Gothic romance/roman a clef as the villain, under the name of "Count Ugolino." Then they meet under better circumstances and fall in love... right in time for her book to come out. Oops.

Frederica. The heroine is taking care of her younger siblings, who are a handful; the insane plot involves a hot air balloon, a Baluchistan hound, and an illegible elopement note. Very funny and sweet.

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The influence on Swordspoint is pretty much a matter of witty dialogue; their worldviews and subject matter are quite different.

Oh, I know. But given that my obsession has led me to reading 'The Three Musketeers' recently, I'm far beyond logic or, you know, actual similiarity. But as long as the books are good, I don't mind.

Wow, thank you! So many to choose from.

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Gaudy Night, by Dorothy Sayers. One of my very favorite love stories; it also has the heroine putting on a dog collar on the advice of the hero (not for sexual reasons, though it is kind of a hot scene anyway), plus much witty dialogue and tenderness and feminism.

Freedom and Necessity, by Steven Brust and Emma Bull. Another one of my very favorite love stories, plus lots of adventure, politics, and possibly some very underplayed fantasy. Plus food porn and an extremely hot sex scene.

The Lymond Chronicles, by Dorothy Dunnett. Complex intrigue, derring-do, jokes which require more education than I have to get, and a metric ton of angst and hurt-comfort. I never thought of it till right now, but Lymond kind of reminds me of Alex. And his younger brother, the competent overshadowed one, slightly reminds me of Richard and is, in fact, named Richard. So there you go. The first half of the first book is an enormous confusing slog, but it gets much better from then on.

Also, have you read George R. R. Martin yet? He is my current gold standard for great big complex well-written epic fantasy.

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! I just started reading Freedom and Necessity this afternoon, under entirely random circumstances (ie, I found it for sale for .50, and it looked interesting). What a neat coincidence.

I read the first of the Lymond Chronicles about a year ago, and didn't like it at all. But it seems like I've heard other people say the series gets better as it goes on; would you still recommend it if I'd really disliked the first?

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Yes. Though I do so with qualms and hesitations, since it's such a damn slog to inflict on someone twice if they end up not liking it anyway. I'd give the second book, or maybe even the third one fifty pages or so and see if they grab you more.

Please do report on Freedom and Necessity when you finish it.

Have you read Gaudy Night?

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Hee. Well, you certainly make it sound appealing to get to that fourth one.

I haven't read Gaudy Night, nor George R. R. Martin (though I've owned a copy of his first book for several years now, and have just never got around to starting it), but they both look very interesting.

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The third and fourth books are light-years better than the first; the second, third, and fifth are in between. However, the fourth book, Pawn in Frankincense requires all that set-up, and I liked it so much it would have made the entire series worthwhile even if I hadn't liked any of the others. (The subtextual slashy elements become totally textual there, and that's not even the best part. I made a "!!!" post when I got to the slashy bits, and everyone replied, "Oh, yeah, I'd forgotten about that part." Which bewildered me until I got to the part that had driven all else from everyone's minds.)

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Man. Now I'm dying for Brigdh to read through the fourth book just so that we can all talk about it, about what elements worked for whom, and why.

The thing is, I can see the rec for Pawn in Frankincense. And I'll add a complete yes to the slashiness of it. But I had been intending to chime back in to recommend the second one as a standalone, on the grounds that by then Dunnett had a little more control of her materials than she did in the first one, which is rather a mess; that it shows off her strengths nicely, in ways that explain why she was such an influence on an entire tranche of fantasy and sf writers; and that while it certainly has melodrama and mega-angst in it, it doesn't quite fall over the edge into the You think I can't get any more melodramatic and angstalicious? Well, watch this, you pikers! that I would have said characterizes everything from the end of Book 2 on.

And yet, this is clearly a case where my reaction is way out of line with that of other readers. Which means, of course, that now I want desperately to analyze it to little shreds, and learn all about how it's working for readers who aren't me.

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how it's working for readers who aren't me.

You enjoy it despite the over-the-top angst, and others enjoy it because of the over-the-top angst?

Incidentally, I like the books despite never much liking Lymond: I was interested in him. I cared what happened to him. But I didn't find him likable. (I did like some of the supporting characters, a lot.)

Conclusion: the books work on a couple different levels, and may be enjoyed by different readers for completely different reasons.

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the books work on a couple different levels, and may be enjoyed by different readers for completely different reasons.

Well, yes. But the fact that people like different things and can enjoy the same work for different reasons is precisely what makes it potentially interesting to talk about -- as long as you can avoid the ugly thing where people take disagreement or differing reactions as assaults on their own taste and judgment. I know that not everybody shares my obsessive urge to dissect these things, and to try to figure out what something like a novel or a picture look like to people whose minds and tastes are wildly different from mine, and I do try not to inflict it on people who'll hate it.

But I always want to know. I mean, I live inside my own head. I already know what it looks like from in here. How other people see it is so much more interesting . . .

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Well, I can certainly talk about my impressions of the first book!

I didn't mind all the confusing details of people's relationships and alliances and networks so much- I was annoyed that every character seemed to have at least five names, which they used interchangeably and without explanation- but since I've already mentioned by fondness for epic fantasy, I'm used to huge cast lists with incredibly complex interworkings, so I didn't mind having to spend time figuring out who was who.

I didn't like Lymond, though. He was such an asshole, and I know, I know: which of my favorite characters aren't assholes? But he seemed so smug and self-centered in his cynicism, as though on some level he enjoyed the terrible things which had happened to him because they gave him the excuse to act exactly as mistreated and unloved as he'd always secretly known he was. He wasn't broken so much as indulging in misery, and I only enjoy watching people be cruel if they have a reason for doing it beyond spite.

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He was such an asshole, and I know, I know: which of my favorite characters aren't assholes? But he seemed so smug and self-centered in his cynicism

Oooh, yes. That was pretty much the reaction most of my friends had to the books on first read. So much so that by the end of the third book -- no, I'm not going to give details, I suppose that would be too spoiler-y of me. Let's just say that by the time the villain has the opportunity to do it, everyone I knew was only dying for him to beat Lymond to a bloody pulp, on the grounds that it was about time someone got to do it.

I hadn't read broadly enough at the time to diagnose it as I would now, but these days I'm inclined to think that the Lymond problem is that he's an angst-flavored Mary Sue. It's not just that he's prettier than everyone and smarter than everyone; it's that everyone he ever meets instantly becomes obsessed with him, and that the narrative suggests to us that we're supposed to love, admire, and envy him as blindly and obsessively as all the characters do. It's not terribly attractive, as attitudes go.

And yet, this would not stop me from saying that it might well be worth giving the next volume, or the one after that, a try. The books have a lot of strengths: Dunnett's gift for pure storytelling really comes out in the next book, her feel for politics is sophisticated and interesting -- she gives you the feeling that her people are grown-ups, and that the world is a big and complicated place, which many writers can't quite manage -- and while she's not really trying for historical accuracy in terms of people's worldviews and psychology, her precision about the material aspects of her period is a beautiful thing to behold. And God, can she write dialogue when she feels like it. And her set pieces -- things like a race over rooftops at night -- are glorious things to behold, Angst-King Mary Sue or no Angst-King Mary Sue.

Ah, this brings it all back, that first-time group trip through those books. None of us ever knew, moment to moment, whether we wanted to squee over them or hurl them across the room in utter disgust.

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Well, you've certainly convinced me to give the series another chance. It's oddly comforting to know that I'm not the only one who dislikes Lymond, because I was under the impression that he was the main draw of the series, and if I hated him, well, why force the rest on myself?

But if the appeal of the books is something else, I too can join in the squeeing.

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I was annoyed that every character seemed to have at least five names, which they used interchangeably and without explanation

It took me four books before I realized that "Margaret" and "Lady Erskine" (or some such set of names) were the same person.

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My edition came with a cast list in the front, which I referred to constantly. Otherwise I'm sure I would have done the same.

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I would love to discuss the Lymond books. Let me know if you open a thread in your LJ, now or later.

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. . . and oh, what the hell. Not everyone loves Gene Wolfe's Book of the New Sun as I do, but you might: the relationships are interesting as hell, although some of my friends have complained that the narrative voice is so cool and distanced that they didn't get a real feel for any of them. I found that to be a strength rather than a weakness, but then, see above regarding how much I'm not a natural romance reader. And both the language and the visuals are gorgeous.

And I can't resist saying once again that as much as I liked The Years of Rice and Salt -- and I did -- I still love The Memory of Whiteness more. So much so that I can't even begin to guess whether it's actually a better book in some abstract and aesthetic sense, as I am inclined to think, or whether it's just something internal to me. I keep pushing it at other people in the hope that some of them will some day be able to tell me.

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Oh! I'd forgotten to tell you, then: I did read The Memory of Whiteness, off your recommendation. I didn't like it as much as The Years of Rice and Salt, but I think it might be because I know history, but not the technical aspects of music at all, so that I was lost in the more detailed descriptions of the instruments and songs. I did quite like a lot of it, though, particularly the world-building, the way each of the planets and moons were so different, and the scenes of Earth were beautifully described.

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Damn. Now we clearly need for Dorian to read both of them, because she actually knows music and might be able to tell us whether and to what extent that helps. At first I was going to say, no, it must be something else, because I don't know much about music either.

But then I thought about it and realized you may well be right. I don't know much music, but I have just enough exposure to the Western canon to be familiar with both the original piano version of Pictures At an Exhibition and with the orchestration, and to have an opinion about them. So it may be that in fact, what I know is the minimum necessary to really love the book.

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Which is far more than I know. Clearly my musical education was deficient, which is hardly a surprise, as the only thing I learned from it was how to play 'Hot Cross Buns' on the recorder. I generally even had to guess as to which songs were real- in the sense that someone had actually written them, and I could track down a copy if I wanted- and which ones either are in our future, or simply don't exist.

It was a gorgeous book though, and I encourage attempts to recommend them to Dorian, if only because I'd like to see what she'd say.

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Sprig Muslin and The Talisman Ring both parody melodramatic romance novels. I think they're extremely funny, but probably best if you're at least vaguely familiar with the genre already.

The Grand Sophy is a popular favorite, but also has a random but extremely nasty anti-Semitic scene. If you read it, you might want to skip past the pawn-shop scene.

The Corinthian and False Colors are fun but slight; the latter does have a terrific subplot involving the hero's mother.

Charity Girl is meh.

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Have you ever read P. C. Hodgell? This is a characteristic bit from God Stalk:

"Cleppetty had a minor talent for theurgy, and, with her book of common
household charms, could do a number of handy things such as kindling a
fire with its own ashes, making broken china whole, and raising bread in
half the normal time. At the end of Jame's second active week at the inn,
she suddenly found the book thrust into her hands.

"'Now let's see you try,' the widow said, plopping a lump of unleavened
dough down on the table before her.

"Jame hesitated. Many of her people had such talents if not far greater
ones, but those that did were feared and often compelled to enter the
priesthood. Apprehensively, she recited the charm. It usually took
Cleppetty half an hour to ready her bread for the oven; Jame's rose in
five minutes. When the widow sliced into the baked loaf, however, they
discovered that its sudden expansion had been due to the growth of
rudimentary internal organs.

"That was the end of Jame's apprenticeship in the kitchen."

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Ha! That is an excellent quote.

I haven't read her yet, but this book is actually already on my Christmas list, so hey, I'll just have to move it up.

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coffeeandink.livejournal.com

To no one's surprise, I second Rachel's recommendations.

Have you read Patricia McKillip? I wouldn't call most of her work epic, but I think the Riddlemaster trilogy counts, and her prose is always beautiful and her relationships often interesting.

Laurie Marks' Fire Logic and Earth Logic are an attempt to do feminist multicultural queer-friendly epic fantasy; there's a plot point in the second book that really doesn't work for me, but I think you'd find them worthwhile.

Sarah Monette is a friend, but I think I'm not being too partial when I say I'd expect you to like Melusine and The Virtu.

Barbara Hambly is a solid mid-level writer who occasionally rises to excellence. Dragonsbane is her best book, but I'm more than passing fond of the Darwath trilogy, which rings some interesting changes on typical epic fantasy tropes. And her female characters are great.

If you can find it used, you might try Robert Holdstock's Mythago Wood--or now that I think of it, you'd probably like Lavondyss even better, and they don't need t be read in order. Gritty and mythic anthropological fantasy.

You might like M. John Harrison's Virconium; I'm not sure. Beautiful prose, dislikeable characters; I often get the sense he is trying to punish his readers and himself for liking fantasy.

Evangeline Walton's Mabinogion series, especially The Island of the Mighty: beautiful reworkings of Welsh myth, sort of in the Mary Renault mode.

Elizabeth Lynn, The Northern Girl

The Strand might still have some UK editions of a C.L. Moore collection around; I don't know if she'll be too purple or too pulpish for you, but I love her, and her Jirel of Joiry stories are pretty much the origin of female-protagonist sword & sorcery.

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I second most of these recs (haven't read the Harrison or Lynn, though I've read others by those writers.) C. L. Moore is indeed pulpy, but give her a shot. Her short story "Shambleau" is deservedly famous, and will give you a taste of her style, as will the Jirel short Black God's Kiss.

Monette is somewhat Kushner-esque; I'm surprised I didn't think of her earlier.

Barbara Hambly can be wonderful or mediocre. DO NOT read the sequels to Dragonsbane (which has a beautiful and satisfying ending, anyway.) That's great, so's the Darwath trilogy (beginning with The Time of the Dark, so is the Windrose duology (beginning with The Silent Tower)-- those were one of my requests for Yuletide, in fact, and I wrote a bit about why I like them in my letter to Santa: http://edonohana.livejournal.com/16478.html#cutid1

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Ooo, thank you. The only one of these I've read is Monette's Melusine (which was indeed excellent), so I'm looking forward to checking out the rest.

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rm.livejournal.com

While she is mostly known for Regency-era stuff, her Georgian book, These Old Shades (one of a few) is probably the best example of why she and Swordspoint show up in the same breath.

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Thank you! It's very nice not to have to work my way through her entire corpus, but can have the few I really want pointed out.

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