My Lady Pirate
by Elizabeth Doyle, historical (2001)
Zebra, $5.99, ISBN 0-8217-7059-4

Aaaargh! Aaaaaaahhhh! Oh my God. Aaaaaaahhhhh!

Can I scream once again? Gawd, I have no idea how to explain the complete meltdown of my brain as this My Lady Pirate story goes on and on. The nicest word I can think of to describe this story is, pardon my lack of eloquence, stoopid.

Okay, here's a litmus test. Read this paragraph from the story carefully.

She was a grown woman now, no longer a captive of the nuns. They had let her remain as a housekeeper, but everyone knew she was hopeless at polishing and dusting. She could not see the spots she missed, because to do so, she would have to break free of her daydreams and look around. No, she was becoming a burden to the nuns, and she knew it. They would be glad to see her go. And besides, if she stayed here, she would certainly never find a husband. And she would certainly never meet a werewolf.

(Incidentally, the werewolf statement is a follow-up to her wondering whether there are werewolves in the woods outside the nunnery in the previous paragraph.)

You like? Go grab this book.

But the heroine Isabella ("she" in the above masterpiece paragraph) is really that stupid. She talks to dogs, she blinks at the pirates who have kidnapped her and asks, "Are you going to ravish me?", and I think the author should be fined for putting "grown woman" in the same paragraph as "hopeless in dusting and polishing".

Don't get me started about the pirate hero, who is as vapid as they come. He makes love to her, but first, he must slowly eety-beety make her frightened because you know, zem womon zees best shagged when zey are frighten'd. And of course, he must slowly mek luuuurve so she enjoy it before he throw her out of his life. My man. My heart is having aneurysms and abnormal palpitations because of you, jerk. And when he realizes he is just too good for our daydreaming, vapid, kooky-lala "lady pirate" (haw, haw, that's so funny), he just have to fondle some harlot's non-virginal nipples to drive pure, pristine drug junkie Isabella away.

Not that I'm saying the author comes out and says Isabella's a junkie. But seriously, who is Ms Doyle trying to fool? Yeah, yeah, junkies need love, et cetera, but love among junkies come with a stipulation, and that's rehab.

Perfect for readers who adore reading about manly, insensitive, fake Romeos banging inanimate feminine figurines.

Rating: 02

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