Avon, $5.99, ISBN 0-380-78934-5
Historical Romance, 1998
Brighter Than the Sun is where Julia Quinn takes a bold leap into the marriage of convenience trope—finally! It’s about time, and it puts some serious dent on her credibility as a respectable romance author that she took this long to fall back on that tried-and-true trope.
Reading this book feels like watching a butterfly trying to break free from its cocoon but ending up as a slightly squashed caterpillar instead. You can see glimpses of the Julia Quinn who would go on to create the beloved Bridgerton series, but here, she’s still sharpening her claws—or rather, her wit.
This book is heavy on the conversation, and you can practically hear the author practicing her banter skills with every page. Eleanor Lyndon and Charles Wycombe meet under the most dignified of circumstances: with Charles falling out of a tree, completely soused. A perfect beginning for a love story, right? Ellie, the brainy bluestocking who apparently loves math so much it defines her, decides that maybe, just maybe, marrying a tipsy treehopper isn’t the worst idea. After all, it beats dealing with her father’s fiancée, a woman so awful that Ellie thinks a loveless marriage to a stranger is a step up.
But here’s the catch: they tie the knot early on, and then proceed to drive each other up the wall for the better part of the book. The bickering is endless, and while there are a few moments of genuine humor, most of it feels like the kind of squabble you’d expect from toddlers rather than adults. And let’s not forget Ellie’s inexplicable conviction that Charles is the lecherous drunk of the century. Sure, the man enjoys a drink (or ten), but he’s hardly the rake she imagines.
Speaking of Ellie, for someone who’s supposed to be the brainy heroine, she’s awfully judgmental and not too bright when it comes to reading people. She’s convinced Charles is a debauched rogue when, in reality, he’s just a mildly amusing chap with a bit of a drinking habit. But hey, in the magical world of romance novels, love is the ultimate cure-all—alcoholism included. Who needs AA when you’ve got a love-struck bluestocking nagging you into sobriety?
As for the plot, well, calling it “thin” might be generous. It’s more like a string of contrivances to keep the couple from actually enjoying their marriage too soon. The constant delays and petty arguments make you wonder if these two were ever meant to be together at all. They’re more like squabbling siblings than a romantic couple, and it’s hard to root for them when their relationship seems to be built on mutual annoyance rather than love.
In the end, Brighter Than the Sun feels like a rough draft of the Julia Quinn we’ve come to know and love. It’s a work in progress, a prototype of what would eventually become the far superior Bridgerton novels. If you’re a die-hard fan, you might find some charm in this early effort. But if you’re looking for the wit, romance, and polish of her later works, you might want to skip this one and head straight for the Bridgertons. Trust me, you won’t miss much.
