I found a cache of old Harlequin Romance novels at the UBS in my neighborhood. This is rather remarkable for two reasons: 1) because genre romance is not a staple of their offerings, and 2) when I say old, I mean, published back in 1967. Which means these little bits of paper and glue are 42 years old, which in book life span is ancient — mass market paperbacks are very disposable.
So, the books I bought were:
Man of the Islands by Henrietta Reid.
Greg Hallam’s name was a legend among the islands, and when his schooner put into Yara, Verity fell in love with the man as well as the legend. But what chance had Verity when Stella was also on Yara.
Where’s Yara? I don’t know, and I really don’t care. Which islands? Ditto. There’s a schooner, which means sailing, which can be romantic.
The Courageous Heart by Jane Marnay
Barry Kane is the moon and the stars to Carey Howes. Then he marries Zoe and Carey’s cherished dreams crash about her feet. By the time Barry’s marriage ends in tragedy, Carey is empty of all feeling and her only tomorrow is dancing. When an accident takes away this one consolation, the courage to overcome sucha a cruel blow seems unattainable. Doctor Simon Forrest brings her back to life, but Carey is not ready for the love her offers her. Later, Carey’s feelings begin to reawaken, but it looks as though once again she has lost the man of her dreams. Just in time, Barry clears the way for the happiness of the girl he has always loved.
Doctor-hero! Betrayal! Professions denied! Oh, the melodrama. It reminds me of Betty Neel…on steroids.
And I’ve saved the best for last.
The Pride You Trampled by Juliet Armstrong.
At first meeting, Julian accused Sylvia of being a common little adventuress. He soon realised his mistake, and tried to make amends. But it was too late. The damage was done, and Sylvia’s pride bitterly hurt. Would he ever be able to make her see him in a more favorable light?
Okay, seriously, that title? Rocks. The heart break! The drama! The groveling implied in the blurb!
I know y’all are jealous that I have such delicious stuff to read. Aren’t you?
Unrelated: I think Tennyson is rolling over in his grave at Blago’s use of his "to strive, to seek, to find and not to yield."
Also, is there really an audience for a memoir from the shrub? Despite the hints of historical reconstruction, I’m thinking it would just be a fictionalized, whitewashed account of his occupation of the WH.