Wordsmith Lane

A different kind of call-out

This one goes out to all the fashionistas that read this blog. Shona Joy, a high-end, Sydney-based boutique fashion brand is desperate for work experience girls/boys. Much to learn in a close knit & friendly team. Call Sara on 02 9690 1002. Peace out x

Wordsmith Call Out

This one comes from Alex in the US of A, of the blog, Le Football.

Hi,

I am a blogger in the United States. At the moment I am pursuing a post on whether or not the strategies used that kept Australia out of recession can help the world emerge from recession. I am looking for Australians who are willing to be interviewed over e-mail to see how they have benefited from knowing that there was no recession and what their thoughts are on the recovery of the global economy.

If you are interested, please e-mail me directly on alexveeneman[at]comcast[dot]net and I will get back to you as soon as I can.

I look forward to hearing from you and I appreciate your interest.

Best wishes,
Alex

Blogger’s desk: Things to Read & Do today

• Vote for Rachel Hills in Cosmopolitan’s Fun, Fearless Female Awards. She has inspired this wordsmith in so many ways and she deserves many an accolade for her fantastic work in the social and political. Note, she didn’t ask for this mention. I’m just trying to get votes her way because I genuinely think she deserves it!
• Check out Sassi Sam’s interview with the costume designer from Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland. I love those dresses at the top of the page.
• I’ve always wanted to be in Paris at the times of the sales. I could just imagine the frenzy I’d be in when hitting up Le Bon Marche or Galleries La Fayette. I’m planning to be there at this time next year (God Willing). Hopefully it pans out for me. Either way, this post on Girl’s Guide to Paris (one of my new favourite websites) equips you with tips on navigating the sales. You might even be able to apply it for sample sales here, and the like. Enjoy!
• Read this relevant post for any of us who review products on our blogs, which The Blog Stylist’s Bree tweeted this morning from British Beauty Blogger. Very important for those of us who review, and those of us that think blogging is just as credible as print journalism.
• Some reading on the thin models debate (not new, still relevant considering the number of girls with eating disorders) at collective shout. I don’t understand, I love food too too much. (How eloquent).
• It’s Bright Young Things week over at Trespass mag. Get inspired.
• Buy those last things that you can claim, and go home and get your tax in order. If it’s all a little too chaotic, invest in some financial management material at Kikki K, which will just about ensure it’s easier next time around.
• To celebrate Wordsmithlane’s birthday this July, I am trying to reach 500 followers on Twitter by the end of July. If I get this happening, the person who re-tweets the most will win a little pack of girly wordsmith goodies. And for all you loyal wordsmithlaners who are visiting me day in and day out and actually want a job in the industry, there’s a more relevant prize coming up. Stay tuned for the announcement!

Wordsmith Spotlight: Literary Life

Got a website /writer’s job/ internship/ magazine/ short story that must be shared with wordsmith laners for their benefit? Spotlight is here to shine on it! Email wordsmithlane[at]gmail.com for inclusion.

This week, we spotlight on the lovely Megan Burke’s blog, Literary Life.

At Literary Life, Megan:

• reviews books,
• interviews authors/journalists/agents,
• attends, photographs and reports on literary events (like book launches, lit festivals etc) take photos and then write about them,
• holds competitions,
• talks about the publishing world and her own life (she volunteers at a lot of lit organisations) and work,
• and, above all else, ramble!

About her blog, Megan says: “People usually think in terms of status updates, saying, ‘This’ll make a great Facebook update!’ when they see, hear or say something funny or witty. I definitely think in blog updates – ‘This’ll make a great blog post!’ I travel with my camera and inspiration from the most random of things can make a great post, such as the time I saw Sportgirl’s window display had books in it!

Literary Life is definitely a labor of love. It’s my baby – I am so proud of it and everything it’s done for me. I blog because I like having an outlet for all my opinions – and I have a lot of opinions! I started blogging because I read blogs while working in a bookstore, and finally I thought I might as well make my own.

One of the most rewarding things about it, I think, are when I’m at a literary event and people I don’t know come up to me – authors, readers, whoever – and quote back to me something I’ve written, saying they loved it. I still can’t believe people read it. It’s just my little blog, where I ramble on about stuff. And people like reading it?

Readers can expect an easy-to-read, informal blog about publishing and all its facades. I specialise in YA lit, but that’s not certainly all I talk about. I’d like to think myself some grand blogger but really I’m just a girl who loves to read. I have more books than I know what to do with and my collection grows almost daily.”

Megan’s a full-time student studying professional writing and editing, and in between her studies, she writes Young Adult fiction as well as opinion pieces and reviews. She is currently working on her first novel (about a group of friends in their first year out of high school), and volunteering for companies like Express Media and The Melbourne Writers Festival. Megan is also available to editor manuscripts (see more on her website). Next on her agenda is a BA in Creative Writing, a move which would hopefully fulfill her ultimate dream: “to spend the days writing and dreaming inside [her] head”.

If you like what this wordsmith is about, please don’t hesitate to join her on her literary life.

Bookshelf: The Modern Household Manual

The Modern Household Manual, By Caroline Roessler, Editor of Notebook: magazine (Harper Collins & News Magazines, $19.95)

As far as Lebanese daughters go, I might be somewhat of a disappointment. Although I can speak, read and write Arabic (although the latter at a somewhat intermediate level), socialise with all the people from my village young and old, and keep up-to-date with the politics, history and social norms of mother country, I am far from the typical set-el-beit (lady of the house) that we’re all taught we should be.

My mum attributes this to my devotion to my career/education. I am always writing or researching or reading. And when I am not, I am totally brain-dead and just want to veg out in front of the TV. Having lived at home for all of my 24 years, this means that I have never done my own washing. I’ve hung it up, along with everyone else’s, and occasionally ironed it. But I suck at ironing so much that my 19 year old sister now does it and pretends I did. I’m also used to having a meal ready for me at the end of each day, hardly ever clean the tub or shower, and have never cleaned the sink. I practically have a butler/maid (sorry mum) in my house.

This will all change when I move out of home in five months, and I am freaking out. I don’t know the next thing about keeping a house in order, removing stains, and what I can use bleach for. This is where Notebook: magazine has usually come in handy for me, especially due to its snazzy little bookmarks that come with each issue. It’s not exactly catered to my age group, but I crave it for the simple wholesomeness it brings to my hectic, modern lifestyle. It really reminds me that happiness starts in the home.

I am not going to lie, I really want to be a domestic goddess, and previously, that goal might have been out of reach. But now, thanks to Caroline Roessler’s (editor of Notebook: magazine) latest book, The Modern Household Manual ($19.95), I might be able to work my way through it, and I couldn’t be happier.

The Modern Household Manual is an everyday reference to help you master the little things that can transform your home from a den of a chaos to a haven of life and love, your laundry from dull to bright, and your kitchen know-how from the mundane and clueless to the varied, delicious and sustainable.

Some of the things it covers:

• Cooking basics (melting chocolate, stew fruit, make croutons)
• Cooking terms – sweat, broil, bechamel emulsify along whip, baste and caramelise
• Kitchen essentials – from those for the pantry and those tools to make every cooking task possible
• How to shop sustainably – stopping food waste is a big mission for Notebook:
• Shopping smart and in season
• Banishing odours from your hands, appliances, laundry and home
• Cleaning smart – everything from the oven to the dishwasher
• Keeping your washing vibrant (and taking care of your machine)
• Fixing problems in clothes – sewing buttons, hemming, replacing broken zips

All in all, it’s a one-stop shop for most things home, bound together in a beautiful book (gorgeous illustrations and pictures) that you wouldn’t be ashamed to have on display. If you want to share your domestic goddess secrets, that is.

In my shopping bag: Pretty, Pink & Parisian Traveller’s Cup

Unless I have an occasion, I usually look like crap at most times of the day (dishevelled hair and no make-up), let alone in the morning. Good thing I found this traveller’s cup then, to distract from my dreary appearance and give me some style cred on those mornings at the train station, T2 tea in hand.

I mean, isn’t this thermos cup/traveller’s cup the most dalring little thing? I discovered the stationary concept store TYPO for the first time today, and I am nothing short of in love. I could have spent so much money there had I not restrained myself (Lebanese weddings do not come cheap)…but I still walked away feeling slighted for not purchasing the pretty Parisian-themed notebooks and paper clips, the various bookends, and a pretty laptop case.

For all you wordsmiths out there who could use a little motivation, swap your traditional writing materials for these vibrant ones, and watch the love spread in your work. C’est magnifique!

Let’s talk about marriage

Flipping through the latest issue of CLEO recently (with Hilary Duff on the cover), I came across a loose definition of marriage:

“An archaic ritual that resembles a pimped-out, beige-themed joint 21st party, which culminates in: a) an expensive bar tab and a series of pre-emptive compromises (better known as vows); or B) regret”.

For me, said sentence was a stab in the heart. Wow, look at what we’ve reduced marriage to. An expensive shindig or an avenue for regret. One or the other. Awesome. Now, let’s reduce motherhood to vagina-stretching, eternal shape-shifting and social-life-threatening, complete with nagging, discipline we can’t be bothered for, and a reliance on (by kids) we really don’t need. While we’re at it, let’s strip the good of other life choices and experiences and focus on the negative. I mean, is that we’re all about these days?

To be fair, said definition was in the context of marriage being an old milestone in the life of the modern girl, replaced with the trial-marriage/de-facto relationship/moving in together. The expert in the article, one Mark McCrindle (author of The ABC of XYZ: Understanding The Global Generations) says that “the progression of not living with someone to seeing them 24/7 is more of a leap of faith”, especially because most couples who get married are living together anyway. But that sentence, although true of the times, didn’t seem evidence for the afore-mentioned marriage-bagging.

While I know that marriage is not perfect, I found it really hard to reconcile the fact that (as it was presented) marriage is an institution either marred by regret or financial death. Even though defacto relationships are more common these days, and indeed, a more accurate reflection of social norms, I doubt very much that they kill marriage as a milestone altogether.

In case any of you are wondering, I am not being sensitive to the issue as a result of my own impending nuptials. Yep, marriage works for me. And it does not necessarily work for all people.  But still, why the marriage-bagging? Why must we define marriage by its negative connotations? Certainly, there are plenty, but they don’t exactly outweigh its positives either. I know many a feminist who would still like to get married, and would be happy to do so at that.

I’m not married yet. And I admit, I am scared to do away with my fabulous single way, but you know what, if I didn’t think it was going to better my lifestyle, or better my relationship with my partner, then I would not do it. And ironically, the thing I am looking forward to MOST about marriage, is that it is going to teach me to be less selfish. I am actually looking forward to learning how to compromise. I am over the negative run that marriage keeps on having in the press, almost like it’s the Tony Abbott of relationships.

Being in love is a beautiful thing. Moving in together is certainly a milestone. But disagree with me if you will, but there is nothing better, or more cementing of a relationship, than a couple who believes in their love so much that they’re willing to profess it to everyone they care about, spend a lot of money on it (or little, even, because, they’re in love and they do not need to prove a thing) and admit that they are willing to put their own bullshit aside, to take on and handle someone else’s.

You see, the flaw is not in marriage. The flaw is in us and how prepared we are to step up to the plate to make it work when we ruin it. Speaking with plenty of old folks shows me that marriage was just as hard, if not harder, back in the day. But back in the day people were a little less indulgent. (Granted, also, that a lot of women put up with shit they did not need, but these days, we’re a hell of a lot luckier. I mean, if James didn’t help around the house, I’d have walked out ages ago).  These days, we’re all about instant gratification. And marriage, I am afraid, is never about the instant, but the long term.

Thankfully, for those whose boat it floats, there’s a little guide that can make the decision-making process about ‘the one’ a little bit easier. Father Pat O’Connor, 79 year old Priest and Marriage Counsellor, was interviewed by journalist Maureen Dowd in her New York Times Column about choosing an ideal husband. His advice made the column the most downloaded Times article that week, and it eventually went global, with appearances on the US Today Show and now, a book to his name.

Whom Not To Marry: Time-tested advice from a higher authority (Hachette, $29.99) is his collection of advice and real-life stories, gathered from his presiding of over 200 weddings, and wait for it, over 40 years of marriage counselling (pre and post marriage). The beautiful thing about his book is that the chapters are divided along the lines of that beautiful Corinthians verse that a few people read at their nuptials (you know the one, Love is patient, kind, not envious or boastful or rude; love is not irritable or resentful, etc), and peppered with lovely quotes from the likes of Katherine Hepburn and Erica Jong.

For women who want to distinguish Mr Right from Mr Right Now, Father Pat’s tips are sure to be useful, no matter your relgious affiliation or lack thereof.

• Never marry a man who has no friends, for he won’t be capable of the intimacy that marriage demands.
• Never marry a man who is not responsible with cash. Most marriages that folounder do so because of money.
• Never marry a man who lets you walk all over him.
• Never marry a man who makes you feel bad about yourself.
• Never marry a man who refuses to accept responsibility for his actions.
• Never marry a man who doesn’t know how to apologize.

And these are the basics, because there’s plenty more where these came from. As NW Columnist & all-round guru Reality Chick says:

“I’m sure I’m not the first to think it’s a bit strange, a man of the cloth offering advice about marriage. After all, what would a priest know about good husband material versus blokes who, by law, should have a Run Now! warning tattooed on their charming little faces? Well, a lot as it turns out …”

Yes, marriage is a bit of a toughie, and maybe, it wouldn’t cop as much flack as it did if it came with a manual. But alas, here we are Father Pat, so excuse me while I trot off to read this for reassurance while I sing Allellujiah.

The only degrees women need to know about are on the oven: What our female PM has got me thinking

So say a few acquiantances of mine, jokingly (I hope). But I can’t help but wonder if there are still simmering attitudes about the capabilities of women floating around in our midst. Not by the Tony Abbotts of the world, not by fundamentalist honour-killing type men, not by abusive husbands with alcohol-related problems. Just by the average Australian bloke.

In the (very short) time that Julia Gillard became our first Prime Minister, a few facebook groups have crept up that, perhaps jokingly, wonder how she’s going to have time to run the country from her kitchen – out of the expectation that, just because she’s a woman, she’s supposed to be at home mopping up someone else’s mess or setting the table, having dinner ready and applying her lipstick before her man comes home.

Far be it from me to tell women how to live their lives. And I actually am one. And, lest anyone think I am on some sort of high horse: I will say this, I was rightfully criticised on Twitter for not thinking Julia Gillard is feminine enough. Yep, on some levels, I am of an old school of thought. I don’t get why everyone complains about her voice (in all honesty, I don’t get the issue) but I can’t help but imagine that my female political leader needs to be a little more graceful. The one image I have in my head is of her making crude gestures across the parliament at the opposition (and in case anyone is wondering, it’s not like I favour Bronwyn Bishop anyway). Maybe that’s politics, and it certainly is question time, but that’s not the image I have of someone leading my country. Setting an example. Representing the people.

Don’t get me wrong, I like having a female PM. We have caught on with the rest of the world. Then again, I am wishing said PM was elected. And maybe this is an archaic attitude on my part, but I wish she had epitmoised the avergae Australian woman a little more. Apparently 3/4 Australian women have children, so our new female PM might be out of touch with 75% of her female voters? I accept the fact that she might not have gotten to where she is today with a brood behind her, but then again, I reckon I’d love her if she did. I don’t want to criticise single women though, that is not my point. (And in case anyone is wondering, yes, what would men know of women, but they did have wives. And wives have an uncanny capability to influence their husbands. Plus, most of these blokes were family men, so they’d understood the plight of families. I think.)

Anyway, what I am trying to say is that I hate the way this whole shindig went down. And a very small part of me is scared. Why?

Kristina Keneally was heralded in to lead the NSW Labor party after years of its dramas. I figure most of us know they probably won’t come back. So, what, did they put her there to have the woes of the party fall on a female shoulders? And is that the same thing happening in our federal parliament? I certainly hope not. I drew the line at the backstabbing. This is not what I imagined Australian leaders to be, and boy, is it getting worse. I just saw a video of Mark Latham on The Sydney Morning Herald’s website, saying that Gillard will get what’s coming to her. I do believe in Karma, but I am wondering, would this negativity have happened if it were a man that did what she did?

I may not be happy that she is there, but I have no doubt that she won’t be able to do the job. Regardless of the qualities she does not possess, regardless of the ideals I have about a female leader, a woman can do any job. Joan of Arc led armies that united France and crowned its King. Her gender landed her in hot water (fire actually, hot fire) because she dared to do a man’s job. Julia Gillard might not be a woman of God, but it’s still time to take her gender out of the equation. It stopped being relevant now. She’s just a leader, and we need to see her as such.

Not ten minutes ago I read a tweet by Sydney journalist Sandra Lee, qouting Peter Hartcher, who “intones pompously” in The Sydney Morning Herald that Gillard “is as smart as any man”. Let’s stop comparing women to men. We’re over that. Yes, there’s something beautiful about a woman who does the house/mother thing (and that’s a part of my life I cannot wait to begin). But let’s not go dismissing women altogether because we think their capabilities lie elsewhere. We can do both if we want to. In fact, we can do anything. Degrees on the oven and degrees on the wall included.

Blogger’s Desk: What’s in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet…

Despite all the hoo-haa in my life at present, all I can think about these days is my name, and whether or not I will change it when I walk down the aisle in five or so months. Having written for a lot of mainstream media outlets, appeared at forums and festivals and commented on a lot of social/media issues on both TV & Radio under my current (maiden) name, I am pretty concerned with whether or not I will still be recognised should I take my husband’s name. This was something I explored not long ago over at Erica Bartle’s Girl With A Satchel blog, but in case any of you missed it, here’s the full, unedited version of my essay/rant. At the moment, I am leaning towards taking his name, but writing under Sarah A. Christie, in a little nod to the old me. But knowing me, this could all change in an hour. If you want to see where I am coming from, read on. You might be able to help me in my indecision as a result.

Most people jump straight into frenzied, exciting wedding planning when they get proposed to. I jumped straight into salvaging my identity career-wise in the wake of my life’s biggest, and arguably most exciting, change.

Before I became a journalist, I was adamant that I’d change my name after marriage. There was no question about it. After all, it had been the process du jour for hundreds of years and I didn’t want to be a woman who was threatened by her identity being usurped by that of her husband’s.

Furthermore, I had spent the formative years of my university education simply giddy at the prospect that I’d lose the ethnic name that no one knew how to pronounce or spell when and if I married my Anglo-Saxon boyfriend.

But when the day that prospect arrived, I couldn’t have been more torn. As a freelance journalist, my name is a lot more than the family in which I’ve come from. My name is my business and my brand – it’s my trademark in each and every article I write, the keyword in my website domain and the aspect of copyright that makes each and every idea that I develop into a story permanently mine.

I couldn’t help thinking that I’d be losing three years of media profiling – dozens of articles in big-name publications, presentations at industry events and interviews on TV and radio – simply by removing the surname that I’d known all my life and adding on someone else’s. It felt as though I’d be writing to a new audience and pitching work to uncaring editors from scratch.

In March 2008, The Daily Telegraph revealed that according to the Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages, the practice of changing your name to that of your husband’s had tripled in a decade, up to 12,923 in 2006 from 4020 in 1996. It seemed that women were rejecting the feminist stance that their mothers prided themselves on and decided to pursue a more conventional route for the sake of sharing the same name as their children, a decision which I found noble and cute but which I considered to be made in a situation monumentally different to my own. In my state of ignorance, it was a lot easier to change a name when you had not created your entire career out of it.

My pop-cultural heroine Lois Lane spent years wistfully waiting for her superman while simultaneously kicking corruption’s butt as the Daily Planet’s most renowned investigative reporter, earning herself an infamous reputation in the process. Her joy at finding out he was masquerading as her geeky partner-in-journalism Clark Kent was diminished somewhat when she realised, upon their happy-ever-after engagement, that she’d have to leave some of that infamous achievement behind if she took his last name as her own.

Far be it from me to consider myself a journalist in the league of my heroine – because though she is fictional she is certainly iconic – but her predicament certainly echoed my own. My name was synonymous with my job and the area I had fashioned as my specialty. It was the manifestation of my area of expertise in my profession because I wrote about race and identity and assimilation with regards to the Arab-Australian community, and I had an Arab-Australian name to justify what I was saying more than text or interviews ever could. My name translated to me living my profession, and my career and work was made credible because of it.

I knew I was being dramatic, but I couldn’t bear the thought of losing that spark of recognition if someone read an article with my by-line and didn’t register to associate it with the work I had written in the past. But what was I going to do? Stick a ‘nee’ in every by-line, when editors had enough grappling to do with matters of word counts and sub-editors and layouts? Or hyphenate it to a point where I could confuse myself further, complete with all the email, business card, website and social networking profile changes later?

The thought process was made worse by the reaction of my soon-to-be spouse. My indecisiveness about taking his name was, in his eyes, associated with my previous levels of insecurity in the relationship and my reluctance to commit out of fear of being abandoned. Back then, I was not ready to give myself to him in the eyes of church and state if I didn’t know for certain that it was going to last the distance.

But when it came down to it, I realised I was burdening myself with this decision because I felt that it was more than career history that I was throwing away. The ethnic name that I was so anxious to be rid of also became my mark. It symbolised a piece of cultural heritage that I could tie myself to, a mark of my ancestry not just in terms of family, but in faith and race too. I couldn’t see myself making kibbeh and vine leaves and tabouli without retaining an aspect of the Lebanese typecast that could help justify it all.

Still, I looked for more examples of powerful career women facing similar dilemmas in pop culture, but Sex and the City’s Carrie Bradshaw married Mr Big right at the end of the film and, although she grappled with other marital issues in its sequel, she didn’t seem to reach the point I myself was grappling with. She had no problem identifying herself as Carrie Preston when it came to the crunch.

I looked at the journalists around me, but many were secure in their modern forms of feminism while I was teetering on the edge of feminism when it came to things like equal pay and on the edge of the conservative when it came to marriage and children.  Others I didn’t know of – I had not paid attention to their names and even if I did it just seemed easier for those who didn’t go freelance because their name was on a masthead and people knew what they did on a title issue in, issue out.

The only person I could think of who had successfully made the transition during the points of my awareness was Victoria Beckham, but then again, her husband’s name was bigger than hers and she created an empire out of it. I didn’t dream as big, though – I just wanted to rule my brood in a house in the suburbs with a French provincial kitchen, a large entertaining deck and a walk-in wardrobe that marked my successes.

I am slowly realising that it is something that only I could make a decision about, and that I am still going to be me no matter the final signature on the back of my driver’s license. It was the name that was given to me, but I had worked hard to make it what it was. It symbolised my past but changing it would usher in my future.

I could change it countless times but the drive to write, succeed, and contribute to the world around me in the process wouldn’t make a difference to the overall task. I had spent one of the most exciting times of my life pondering if the portfolio I’d spent years nurturing and cultivating would smell just as sweet if I said goodbye to the old me, and ushered in a girl who was basically making a name for herself from scratch. I failed to realise the importance of a line from a writer whose name is iconic in our times for the lessons we found in his stories – that Juliet was prepared to love Romeo though his name was that of her sworn enemy, because she knew that he’d be just as sweet no matter the name by which he was known.

And I knew that with all this passion for my work, I’d still be worth reading no matter the name under the headline. Moreover, I have come to know that marriage is a beginning and not an end. I have all the time in the world to think about it, because I still had my words, and I still had my true love, and I still had my personality.

And I’d still be me with all of these things – because identity is inherent in more things than words, and names are just the letters on a page that might end up being forgotten in the context of that great piece of writing. And for me, that’s all that good journalism is meant to be about.

Bookshelf: Angels’ Blood

Guest Post by Liz Goralewski

Angels’ Blood, By Nalini Singh (Golancz,$22.99)

When spunky Vampire Hunter Elena Deveraux is called to do a job for New York’s archangel Raphael, she knows that she’s about to get much closer to trouble than she ever has. Expecting to be told that she is to track down and return yet another vampire, she gets the shock of her career when Raphael tells her that no, a vampire is something he can take care of himself. Her job is to track down – and kill – a rogue archangel. Therein lays the problem: mortals, such as Elena, can’t physically kill an archangel. But, an archangel can. So, Elena gets to work side-by-side with one of the most powerful and formidable creatures in existence, making way for some very heated exchanges.                                                              She may be the best hunter in the country, but everyone is afraid of something, and sometimes Fear makes people do stupid things…like cause them to fall in lust. While at first Elena manages to resist Raphael’s ancient immortal charms, she finds it increasingly difficult to come up with excuses not to get too close to him, and continues to insult him, ignoring the fatal power he holds over her. Luckily for her, he seems to get a kick out of it.

New York Times bestselling author Nalini Singh has created an interesting story with Angel’s Blood, melding crime, fantasy and romance – lots of it – into one intense story. Fans of Singh’s previous romance trysts would instantly be pulled in. However, those who are yet to read anything of hers should do some research first, because this is definitely not for everyone.

This book is written like a true romance novel, oozing with hormones and painted descriptions, which tends to steal the show from the actual fantasy/crime storyline. It is because of the overload of sex and colours that the relationships between characters don’t get a good enough chance to develop, and it makes the story feel like it should’ve been written as a sequel. Too much flirtation between the heroine and pretty much every male character in the book creates a nasty erotic edge, making the book read like a cheap sexual thrill. On top of that, the characters that Singh has created are perfect to the point of boredom, with a sexy and strong heroine, as well as a physically flawless but dangerous male lover. But, I guess that’s how it’s meant to be – it is a romance novel, after all.

Having said that, there is one important point about the plot that I found absolutely magnificent: the end. In fact, it was so refreshing that it almost trumped the negative aspects of the novel.  Without straying too far from the happily-ever-after ending, Singh pulled out a massive Deus ex machine, and may as well have attached a “press for electric shock” button at the end of the novel. But in my opinion, shocks, especially in such a formulaic genre as romance, is a fantastic thing. All in all, it’s quite an easy read, and to get to such a good ending makes the whole book worthwhile.

Liz Goralewski is a constant reader, half-time thinker, and writer in between. Currently studying English and History at Sydney University, she hopes one day that her young adult urban fantasy will be published and adored. She loves her husband and her cats more than any number of Reese’s Cups. And that’s saying something.