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As a deliberate interruption to all the news-reading, browser-refreshing, worrying, hoping, and waiting, [personal profile] rachelmanija and I have been watching some movies. And yesterday, we watched Audrey Rose.

Audrey Rose is not necessarily a good movie to watch to bolster your sense of sanity, but it’s a great movie to watch if you want to spend two hours thinking of something other than the election. Specifically, you’ll be thinking “WTF?” and “THIS POOR KID.” I don’t recommend this movie at all, but it’s nonetheless a fascinating—and diverting—clusterfuck of offensiveness, wasted potential, and bizarre decision-making. I was tricked into believing this would be good because it was directed by Robert Wise and made in the seventies, two factors that are usually pluses for me, but alas.

This is a movie that begins with a great setup of ambiguity and creeping dread. The Templetons are an upper-crust Manhattan family who live in a luxurious apartment with, as it turns out, ill-advisedly specific décor. Lately, a man has been following them—in particular, following them when they’re with their young daughter, Ivy, who is eleven. He calls their home when Ivy misses school, wanting to see that she’s all right. He manages to slip a gift to her. The Templetons have no legal recourse against this kind of stalking, so naturally when the man—Elliott Hoover, played by Anthony Hopkins—calls them up and asks them to have dinner with him, they say yes.

Wait, what? No, Templetons! You do not naturally say yes to this! You stay as far away from this guy as possible! He’s stalking your eleven-year-old daughter and he’s played by Anthony Hopkins, who exudes a hyper-intense sense of vague menace at all times! Use some common sense! You’re rich white people in Manhattan, just insulate yourselves from this a little more! You can afford private security!

Read more... )
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Despite the title, there is, disappointingly enough, no amnesia in this book. It's a childhood acquaintance-to-lovers story, a first-time-with-a-woman story, and a we-will-break-up-for-whatever-reason-is-currently-dictated-by-the-plot story. As you can tell by that last bit, I wasn't wild about it.

Samantha is a successful art dealer who spends her days traveling and her nights having casual sex with a string of good-looking men she mostly doesn't become attached to; one morning, she wakes up hungover, pleasantly sore, and realizes that her partner last night was a woman. Whom she doesn't remember. Mystery woman bows out but later resurfaces, and Sam finally remembers her name: Mia. She's the little sister of Sam's first high school boyfriend. She had an enormous crush on Sam when she was twelve and she never forgot about it.

Despite still thinking of herself as straight and despite having spent the opening of the novel telling us that she's not the settling down type, Sam is almost instantly intrigued by Mia. She changes her flight to stay another night with her--and then blows it by panicking and running away when Mia asks if Sam is going to break her heart. Which is understandable, because it's a weird thing to ask someone on what's basically a first date. The two of them later reconnect. And break up, this time with bonus family issues. Then get back together, very dramatically. Then talk about breaking up again. Then decide to get married. You could get whiplash from the way their decisions are made, and their character traits ultimately feel shaped by the length of the novella, more than anything else: oh, not quite at the end yet? Better throw in another breakup, but this time, let's sort of make it Mia's fault, for variety!

And the weird thing is that the book is perfectly set up for a good, slow-burn conflict already. Sam has an image of herself that's not compatible with her relationship with Mia; there's a promising emotional lopsidedness in the way Mia remembers their first encounter but Sam doesn't and the way Mia has been holding onto this crush all the while. You could do things with both of those. But instead, Samantha's cut-and-run habits surface at random--at other times, she's considering dropping New York and all its galleries to move to Atlanta to live with Mia and freely and immediately professing her love for her. Though at least Sam is kind of a character, with messy insecurities and a detailed history, which is more than you can say about Mia, whose past is relevant only as it intersects with Sam's. This is Spencer's first novella, and I think it shows, though there's ultimately enough here that's promising that I think her later books could still be interesting, once she gets a better handle on her material.

Bonus awkwardness: Sam makes an out-of-nowhere late-story confession about a "terrible" thing she did in her thirties, which is that she had an abortion without consulting the nice man she was involved with at the time. This has basically nothing to do with anything and is odd to read about, especially since Sam's guilt feels totally inorganic for her character. Mia's response at least seems more reasonable for hers--she maintains that Sam had the right to have it without talking to anybody else about it but admits that if they'd been together and Sam had done the same thing, she'd be upset. This seems like it's supposed to sort of serve as a catalyst for them deciding to have a child together, but it's weird and unnecessary.
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Alexis Hall is one of my go-to queer romance authors--he has a great, wide range of genre interests and often likes to write about prickly or damaged characters, both of which are great for me. His Kate Kane series is a lesbian riff on paranormal romance/urban fantasy conventions, and it combines tongue-in-cheek satire with dark and wondrous worldbuilding while throwing everything at you but the kitchen sink. It's kind of a mess, but it's an enjoyable mess that feels like being dropped into someone's iddy f/f dream canon.

Kate Kane is a PI whose partner (named Archer, for you Maltese Falcon fans) has recently been murdered under complicated circumstances. She's been in an emotional rut ever since and is down on her luck enough that she breaks one of her hard-line rules and agrees to work for a vampire. (This is a world where supernatural creatures are not openly known, but Kate never spends any time with anyone who isn't in the know, so it's virtually irrelevant--it's mostly just a hand-wave as to why they can't go to the police.) See, when Kate was sixteen, she dated a vampire named Patrick, an Edward Cullen send-up who drew her into a realm of unending melodrama and even now sometimes breaks into her apartment to leave drawings of her on the pillow next to her head. The last thing Kate wants is more of that. But all the same, when Julian Saint-Germaine, the vampire Prince of Cups (the title doesn't correspond to the holder's gender), hires her to look into the matter of a werewolf murdered at one of Julian's nightclubs, Kate's desperate enough to take it.

Also, Julian is wickedly attractive and begins hitting on Kate at once, in the way of vampires in paranormal romances:

"You distracted me," she complained, as though it was somehow my fault that she'd jumped all over me. "There's a dead body in the alley outside."

"And it just slipped your mind?"

"No, I just decided to seduce you first."

"Corpse first."

"He's dead, he's not going anywhere."

"You're dead."

"Yes, but I'm better in bed."


Julian eventually proves to be the main love interest of this volume, at least, but Kate is constantly tripping over model-gorgeous supernatural women who are hot for her, you know, as you do: there's Tara, the posh head of the local werewolf pack; Elsie, her late-in-the-book acquired assistant who is a statue who was brought to life; Nimue, a friend of hers who is the head of the mages... and so on. And then you also have Patrick, lurking around broodily and annoying her; a reformed ex-incubus; a trans werewolf; a vampire drag artist who was dating the murdered werewolf; and, of course, Kate's mother, the Faerie Queen of the Hunt, who has imbued Kate with special, dangerous powers that will gradually consume her the more she uses them and who is always lurking in the back of Kate's mind, hinting that she might one day take over entirely. And, arguably best of all, there's a collective of rats that sometimes disguise themselves as people in your basic three-kids-in-a-trenchcoat-gag and communicate with each other telepathically. I think from all this you can see that there is way too much going on here--I still have not mentioned that Julian is a former twelfth century ninja nun who fought demons--and that the plot gets muddied and over-complicated. But Hall is very good at throwing delightful things at you to distract you from that.

The Kate/Julian romance happened too quickly for my tastes, but I liked their banter a lot, and they have a lot of shippy potential. That's what I mean about this feeling like a fan-made canon--there's less development here than is typical for Hall, in my experience, but there's just potential exploding out everywhere in a way that's pretty attractive all on its own. All in all, great fun and eminently likable.

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