Let Down Your Hair
by Linda Jones, historical (2001)
LoveSpell, $5.99, ISBN 0-505-52451-1


Hoo boy. So many problems, where should I stick the fork into first? Oh, talk about being spoiled for choices.

The boring stuff first. This story, Let Down Your Hair is a Westernized retelling of that Dumbpunzel, I mean, Rapunzel story. You know, that fable about this princess with long hair who just can't cut it and use it as a rope to climb down her tower? She can let a prince climb up her hair to boink her silly, but she can't use it to help herself. That story, yes.

Here, Dumbpunzel is Rachel Sommerville, a twenty-year old singer at a hotel called Sommerville Towers. She is about to marry a rich, wealthy, fabulously older man who has watched her grow up. But being a trophy wife is such a drag, you know, because she misses something...

... like hero Roland Connor's broad shoulders and handsome face. Oh yeah, baby. Roland makes the move on her like a drunk fratboy in a free-for-all punchbowl-and-puke party, and she's in love. Mind you, the author is very detailed when it comes to Dumbpunzel's criteria for love: shoulders, hips, and face. No mention of character anywhere in this story. I'd have thought Dumbpunzel here is shopping for a slab of beef.

Roland, however, wants to seduce Rachel for revenge. See, his sister was violated by Rachel's hubby-to-be, so now, instead of putting a bullet through Daniel the Bastard like a real man would, he decides to seduce Rachel instead. He will get his revenge when Rachel goes to Daniel's bed skilled like a whore or something.

Talk about twisted reasons to get laid, I tell you. In the old days, people just fall in lust, get into the backseat, and rock the earth off its axis. Don't they do that anymore in romance novels?

Anyway, Roland couldn't do it, blah blah, conveniently after he has done it, so now he will abandon her for her own good, puke puke puke. At this point I am stuffing tissues up my nose to prevent a massive flooding of blood from my brain out of my nostrils.

Roland. Scum. Reptile. Oily creep. That drunk octopus smarm every woman meets at least once in high school. And a coward, passive aggressive dolt to boot.

Rachel. Dumb. Dingbat. Girlie. Shallow. Pathetic. Gullible. Corny. I think I missed "dumb", did I?

The wicked witch AKA Evil Auntie Edwina - my condolences to you for being saddled with such a braindead niece.

Daniel. Scum. Reptile. Oily creep. Rich, very rich. Treats Rachel pretty well for a creep, much better than Roland ever could. Still, because he doesn't treat his woman s**tty enough, he can't get the girl. I love romance novels, I tell you. This is the only genre where the bastards get the woman and have lots of sex to boot. Why aren't guys reading romance more? Man, the self-congratulatory fantasies they are missing.

There's a serial killer subplot... oh forget it. Just remember, there's a serial killer, and Roland, a stranger to Rachel, asks her to meet him in private. She immediately agrees. Moron, isn't she? Her ovaries churning as she hopes he will impregnate her so that she will always have a piece of him - man, oh, man, seriously, guys should really read romance novels like this one. They will think twice before wasting all those precious seed of theirs to their copy of Sports Illustrated.

Maybe this isn't a lousy story but a subversive attempt to get guys to read romance more. Let us all salute visionaries like Linda Jones for their amazing foresight! Hip, hip, hurrah! Hip, hip, hurrah!

Rating: 49


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