Today was very nearly a disaster. Thankfully, it was partially redeemed by the delivery to my mailbox of the A&E version of Pride and Prejudice. To which I say: booyah. Despite my intense dislike for Collin Firth, I love this version of the film and will watch it again and again with nerdy, girlish glee. It was this version that inspired the Worst Book in History: Mr. Darcy Takes A Wife. Again and again and again. Every 3rd page, in fact.
Mr Darcy Takes a Wife picks up where Pride and Prejudice leaves off ... after the wedding and straight into the sack. That's about where the intrigue ends.
I read through some other reviews of the book, hoping to gain some better insight (and better articulation) into what others liked or didn't like beyond my fairly blanket statement of "it sucks!" I was genuinely shocked to find that all of her reviews were really positive. People love this book, praise her over the top grandiloquence, love her anachronistic metaphors, and salivate over the page upon page of euphemism to describe Mr. Darcy's uncommonly large penis. I'll admit that I've only managed to struggle through about 100 pages of this tome, but I can't help wondering when the fucking will end and the plot will begin. I can only read about Elizabeth Bennett Darcy getting lost in the vastness of Pemberly for the millionth time, Fitzwilliam Darcy's uncontrollable lust for his new wife, and how his footman is an asshole so many times before I feel like screaming. Also, seriously, if I read the words "connubial bliss" one more time I will lose it.
I will read every last word of this stupid book because my father always taught me to finish what you start, but if I don't start to see some plot soon I'm going to hunt down Linda Berdoll and have we're going to have words. While I slap her.
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