Avon, $5.99, ISBN 0-380-78933-7
Historical Romance, 1997
Julia Quinn’s novels are often dismissed as light, frothy romances, the literary equivalent of a bubbly glass of champagne. But for me, her bibliography is an intriguing journey through the land of almost melodrama. Just when you think she’s about to pen the great melodramatic epic of the year, she reins it in, pulls back, and gives us the sweet, fizzy romance her fans adore. And in Everything and the Moon, she comes tantalizingly close to going full Bollywood before opting for the frothy finish.
This one isn’t exactly a Cinderella story. Our hero, Robert Kemble, is the spoiled, somewhat bratty son of an earl, and our heroine, Victoria Lyndon, is the daughter of a clergyman. Their fathers are about as thrilled with this match as a cat at a dog show, and it doesn’t take long for young love to turn into a melodrama worthy of a Shah Rukh Khan movie. But instead of spontaneous musical numbers and epic rain-soaked confrontations, we get a broken engagement and seven years of simmering resentment. Bollywood, eat your heart out.
Fast forward to seven years later. Victoria’s trying to make a respectable living as a governess, while Robert has ascended to his rightful place as the Earl of Macclesfield. Cue the lumbering love-sick gorilla entrance. Robert, fueled by years of unspent passion and a disturbing lack of self-awareness, decides that the best way to win back the woman he once spurned is to bulldoze through her life like a one-man wrecking ball.
She’s trying to keep her job? Nope, not happening on his watch. Fired? Well, that’s just an opportunity for him to swoop in and save the day… by ruining her life all over again in the name of love. Romantic? Protective? I’ll let you decide.
What’s fascinating about this romance is how it unintentionally showcases the harsh realities of a cross-class romance. While Robert’s actions are framed as swoon-worthy acts of devotion, they feel more like the tantrums of a privileged man-child who hasn’t learned the difference between protecting and controlling. But hey, this is a romance novel, so naturally, he learns his lesson just in time for the happy ending. Crisis averted, and all that jazz.
However, the most anachronistic element here is Victoria’s stubborn refusal to marry Robert when, realistically, she’s out of options. Given the social repercussions of staying single after he’s thoroughly trampled her reputation, you can’t help but chuckle at the way the novel tries to play her “You go, girl!” antics as anything other than a mild flirtation with disaster. It’s like watching someone insist on jumping off a cliff with a “I’ll be fine!” grin.
I’d be lying if I said I enjoyed this one. The endless misunderstandings, the blundering hero, and the heroine’s repeated bouts of bad luck get old fast. But what’s truly fascinating is the dark, brooding melodrama lurking beneath the surface, desperately trying to escape the clutches of the romance tropes that keep it sweet and palatable. You can’t help but wonder what kind of story Julia Quinn would have written if she’d let herself stroll down that dark, twisted path. Probably something that would make Nicholas Sparks’s novels look like a day at the beach.
