At the risk of offending some of my readership (because who knows what secret passions people have), I must declare my belief that novels of the MoRo genre are among the worst books ever written.
MoRo : colloquial term for romance novels intended for an LDS audience.
(As I recall, it was my sister who first coined the term among our acquaintance.)
And yet I have been known on occasion to indulge in these delightfully awful books. Why? They are just that amusing to me. Author biographies that include paragraphs on the woman's entire list of church positions held. Forced and unnatural spirituality along the lines of: "we interrupt this suspenseful moment in our unfolding drama to remind our readers to pray -- now back to the plot". And one mustn't forget the overarching conflicts our heroes and heroines encounter in "the world", reminding them what their true priorities should be.
But all of the above are just a side to the real reason the books are written -- the romance, of course. You have to have a hero who has a hint of danger about him -- maybe he's a convert with a past, or maybe he's a secret agent who was hired because of the skills he acquired on his mission. And frequently there's a forced night together between hero and heroine -- out in the wilderness somewhere where it can't be helped because of a storm or espionage or bad guys. Imagine all the underlying sexual tension in that chapter! And you thought they wouldn't be steamy. Ok, so maybe steamy is the wrong word. But believe me, I've read one or two that surprised me on that front with the extent of the lovey-dovey bits.
And then there's the writing. Is it awful to say this? Maybe it is awful to say this, but would they be writing for an exclusively LDS audience if they were brilliant writers? There are plenty of good LDS authors out there who write for the general public, and there are plenty of general public authors who aren't good writers. But it seems that a large proportion of the writers of LDS fiction aren't really that skilled in the language (or story) department. Anyway, everything combined, the MoRo's make for amusing reads from time to time (like less than one a year).
I don't really own many myself. In fact, I think the only ones I own have been gifts or borrowed items. And all of that is my preamble to what a good friend of mine considers the worst book ever written. In my opinion, no coincidence that it is a MoRo. My friend graciously let me borrow it to celebrate the end of the quarter. I just finished reading it tonight, but not before I found myself at the library this afternoon picking out all sorts of books that I suddenly felt motivated to read. Like Virginia Woolf. (Couldn't quite bring myself to James Joyce, although I probably should if I'm going to be seeing his statue soon.)
Anyway, the hero of this particular book is a convert from a privileged background who abandons his life of glamor back East, for life as a James-Herriot type country veterinarian in small-town rural Idaho. Enter an educated young woman conflicted between marriage and career (shocking, eh?), a cockatoo, diamonds, and cockatoo/diamond thieves. And the result? My new favorite passage from one of the most delightful of the worst books ever written:
"Under her lashes, Taylor stole occasional peeks at Clay. She watched him slide his hand down the mare's rump and was amazed at how gentle his touch appeared. His hands were large, she'd noticed that before, but she hadn't noticed his long tapering fingers and how much they looked like the hands of a musician. From the contented way the mare accepted his touch, he might as well be playing music.[...] Clay left the mare to amble over toward her and the colt with a loose-limbed swagger reminiscent of some big-screen cowboy. He patted the filly and ran one of those big hands down the colt's legs. Taylor shivered unexpectedly and drew back from the wooden panel.[...]His eyes met hers, and she felt little jolts of awareness slither down her spine. His eyes widened and the little specks of brown in his irises seemed to glow like a cat's eyes, a great big predatory cat. She nervously glanced away, but like a magnet she was drawn right back to his eyes, but in that second everything had changed. His eyes were just eyes, and he was looking at her with a slightly puzzled expression on his face."
P.S. What are your delightful yet worst-book-ever books?
MoRo : colloquial term for romance novels intended for an LDS audience.
(As I recall, it was my sister who first coined the term among our acquaintance.)
And yet I have been known on occasion to indulge in these delightfully awful books. Why? They are just that amusing to me. Author biographies that include paragraphs on the woman's entire list of church positions held. Forced and unnatural spirituality along the lines of: "we interrupt this suspenseful moment in our unfolding drama to remind our readers to pray -- now back to the plot". And one mustn't forget the overarching conflicts our heroes and heroines encounter in "the world", reminding them what their true priorities should be.
But all of the above are just a side to the real reason the books are written -- the romance, of course. You have to have a hero who has a hint of danger about him -- maybe he's a convert with a past, or maybe he's a secret agent who was hired because of the skills he acquired on his mission. And frequently there's a forced night together between hero and heroine -- out in the wilderness somewhere where it can't be helped because of a storm or espionage or bad guys. Imagine all the underlying sexual tension in that chapter! And you thought they wouldn't be steamy. Ok, so maybe steamy is the wrong word. But believe me, I've read one or two that surprised me on that front with the extent of the lovey-dovey bits.
And then there's the writing. Is it awful to say this? Maybe it is awful to say this, but would they be writing for an exclusively LDS audience if they were brilliant writers? There are plenty of good LDS authors out there who write for the general public, and there are plenty of general public authors who aren't good writers. But it seems that a large proportion of the writers of LDS fiction aren't really that skilled in the language (or story) department. Anyway, everything combined, the MoRo's make for amusing reads from time to time (like less than one a year).
I don't really own many myself. In fact, I think the only ones I own have been gifts or borrowed items. And all of that is my preamble to what a good friend of mine considers the worst book ever written. In my opinion, no coincidence that it is a MoRo. My friend graciously let me borrow it to celebrate the end of the quarter. I just finished reading it tonight, but not before I found myself at the library this afternoon picking out all sorts of books that I suddenly felt motivated to read. Like Virginia Woolf. (Couldn't quite bring myself to James Joyce, although I probably should if I'm going to be seeing his statue soon.)
Anyway, the hero of this particular book is a convert from a privileged background who abandons his life of glamor back East, for life as a James-Herriot type country veterinarian in small-town rural Idaho. Enter an educated young woman conflicted between marriage and career (shocking, eh?), a cockatoo, diamonds, and cockatoo/diamond thieves. And the result? My new favorite passage from one of the most delightful of the worst books ever written:
"Under her lashes, Taylor stole occasional peeks at Clay. She watched him slide his hand down the mare's rump and was amazed at how gentle his touch appeared. His hands were large, she'd noticed that before, but she hadn't noticed his long tapering fingers and how much they looked like the hands of a musician. From the contented way the mare accepted his touch, he might as well be playing music.[...] Clay left the mare to amble over toward her and the colt with a loose-limbed swagger reminiscent of some big-screen cowboy. He patted the filly and ran one of those big hands down the colt's legs. Taylor shivered unexpectedly and drew back from the wooden panel.[...]His eyes met hers, and she felt little jolts of awareness slither down her spine. His eyes widened and the little specks of brown in his irises seemed to glow like a cat's eyes, a great big predatory cat. She nervously glanced away, but like a magnet she was drawn right back to his eyes, but in that second everything had changed. His eyes were just eyes, and he was looking at her with a slightly puzzled expression on his face."
P.S. What are your delightful yet worst-book-ever books?
15 comments:
All you need to know about how bad it's going to be is the proper names--Taylor and Clay. Speaking as a cow person, a colt is a male young horse and a filly is a female young horse. They are not interchangeable. The writer could have said "his large capable hands".That would have been perfect. It's rather depressing that someone is actually selling this drivel. Unfortunately it fits in with the celebration of mediocrity in what passes for culture in the LDS community. I can't remember anything worse than this. As a side note, two of my least favorite writers that many people seem to swoon over are Hemingway and Thomas Hardy. Oh, well. We can't all be as erudite good looking and refined as me.
Haven't started your book yet, but it's hard to imagine it could possibly be worse than the NY jewel thieves in small town Idaho...
I think I still win. ;)
Worse than Mrs. Cartland?!
that was horrible. i thought the guy was going to do something inappropriate with/to the horse, and i KNOW that's not what the writer intended. guh.
Yes, Emilia. You definitely win. No contest. But, after you read mine, then I can show you a picture album prepared lovingly for my wedding by friends and family with captions carefully chosen from that Wyoming wonder.
Sis: At least Mrs. Cartland can be read aloud for endless amounts of pleasure. Although she is pretty hard to beat.
Papa: I'm glad someone noticed the filly/colt thing. And of course the wonderful names Clay and Taylor. What NY elite mother would name their son Clay? For likely to find it as a native of Idaho rather than a transplant.
Bro: Exactly.
Here is where I publicly admit, that I have read this book. And it was that bad! I have a secret hobby of occasionally reading MoRo (although not since leaving Utah, land of the free, library obtained MoRo), but then I cannot resist telling Avram in agonizing detail just how bad the book was. Like the Ariana series, with the crisis of the weeks, including heroine shot up babies, AIDS, cancer, debt, and of course the obligatory need for a new kidney that only the ex husband (the reformed heroine addict) can provide.
Or the romance I read between a girl in Seattle, and John the Beloved. Yes, the one that wrote Revelation. Next I expect to see the three Nephites courting girls around the nation.
Avram and I plan to write a MoRo someday, complete with the ten tribes living in the center of the earth, secret clues from the paintings of Arnold Friberg, and of course the obligatory romance between two BYU students.
Thora, let me know when you publish it. ;)
We saved the Seagull Book ad so that David the Younger could read the synopses in his great ... style during the Holidays but sadly never got around to it. The point being that if the ads are nauseating in their description of the book, how truly awful can the finished product be.
Ooo-we keep the deseret book catalog around until we can't stand it any more just to read the synopses. They manage to capture the sentiment in so few words.
Delish and so appalling at the same time. Remember the Spy Who Saved Me?
The Spy Who Saved Me is possibly one of the most brilliant books ever written!
How lucky I am to have der Meister's fine reading talent here any time of day. He lent his talent to this . . . lovely drivel . . . about two . . . people and . . . horses (or was it cats? oh wait, that was the eyes). I started to read it to him and couldn't get past the first sentence without dissolving into giggles. (Cowboy and TOKD: Hear hear.) Needless to say, der Meister did a much better job of expressing the true sentiment of this passage than I ever could. I'm not sure what to think when I imagine Frau being entertained by the Des Book catalogue. I do agree that Cartland is hard to beat. I'm afraid to even wonder about something called The Spy Who Saved Me. But I definitely want to read that awesome sounding book Thora has planned to write. And I will pay money for it! And I want a signed copy.
BTW, it was the Spy Who Kissed Me.
http://www.amazon.com/Kissed-Five-Standard-Print-Romance/dp/0786224134/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1269405242&sr=8-1
About an illustrator/cartoonist whose main character is a cockroach, and the spy who jumps in her car one day. With that premise, how could it not be funny. My favorite part was when the tampons come spilling out of her purse all over the parking lot. It was really fun to read aloud, even if Moo kept making us skip the "good" parts. ;)
Of course, if I did write a MoRo (plus suspense, and mystery, since aren't they all that together nowadays?), I'd have to use a nom de plume (sp?) so that all the people I respect would not think I had written such drivel seriously. It would be my little secret.
Usually I just throw away my des book catalogs - clearly I've been passing over my free entertainment option.
I remembered the correct title sometime later that night (sadly, after I'd already gone to bed...one of those epiphany moments, where you wake from a deep sleep and know the answer to one of life's great questions...)
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