Avon, $18.99, ISBN 978-0-06-330714-8
Historical Romance, 2024 (Reissue)

Let’s talk about our royal lovebirds, shall we? Queen Charlotte is your typical fish-out-of-water protagonist, while King George III is… well, let’s just say he’s not exactly giving Henry V a run for his money in the kingship department. George spends more time pondering the finer points of crop rotation than actually ruling, making him a king in name only. It’s as if the crown is just a fancy hat he wears to garden parties.

The supporting cast is a parade of quirky courtiers who seem to have wandered in from Renaissance faire, each one more colorful than the last. It’s like The Crown met Monty Python at a costume party, and everyone decided to stay in character.

The plot, much like a royal procession, moves at a glacial pace with occasional bursts of activity. Will Charlotte learn to love George? Will George learn to love something other than his stamp collection and turnips? These questions and more will be answered… eventually.

But here’s where things get spicy—or should I say, lukewarm. The authors attempt to tackle racism with all the nuance of a sledgehammer. Apparently, in this alternate universe, love magically overcomes centuries of ingrained prejudice faster than you can say “happily ever after”. It’s a superficial treatment that makes one wonder if these authors truly understand the weight of the issues they’re dealing with.

Now, let’s address the elephant in the room—or should I say, the amateur scribe in the palace. The writing in Queen Charlotte often feels like it was penned by an enthusiastic fan-fiction author who found a time machine and a thesaurus. The prose lurches from flowery descriptions of courtly fashion to clumsy attempts at witty banter, leaving the reader with literary whiplash.

What’s more, it’s hard not to raise an eyebrow at Julia Quinn’s sudden foray into writing black characters. Wasn’t this the same author who once claimed she’d never write about black characters? One can’t help but wonder if the siren song of Netflix’s diversity push—and let’s be honest, a hefty paycheck—had anything to do with this abrupt change of heart.

And speaking of hearts, let’s talk about the central romance. Or rather, let’s try to find it amidst the frills and furbelows of court life. The love story between Charlotte and George is about as deep as a puddle in the Sahara. Their connection seems to be based on… well, it’s not entirely clear. Shared interests? Nope. Scintillating conversation? Ha! Intense physical attraction? Well, George does have a nice… stamp collection.

The superficial treatment of their romance makes it harder to swallow than week-old scones at a garden party. We’re expected to believe these two fall madly in love, but their interactions have all the spark of a damp matchstick. It’s as if the authors decided that being in the same room and not actively disliking each other was enough grounds for eternal love.

In conclusion, Queen Charlotte is a book that exists, floating in a nebulous space between historical fiction and fantasy, with a dash of social commentary that’s about as subtle as a cannon at a tea party. If you enjoy your historical fiction with a hefty dose of anachronisms, shallow romance, and characters who have all the historical accuracy of a Disney princess, then this is the book for you. It’s the literary equivalent of a cream puff—sweet, light, and ultimately forgettable.

But hey, at least it’s not about Bridgerton brother number 27, right?