In Love With The Lotus Palace and the Wide World of Romance

The Lotus Palace by Jeannie Lin
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Jeannie Lin creates an intriguing, immersive world of the Pikang li, where the most unlikely of bedfellows (literally and figuratively) can lead to the love of a lifetime.

Failed scholar Bai Huang and maidservant Yue-ying, a former prostitute known as "half-moon" for the wine colored birthmark that tints part of her jaw, join forces to find the truth behind the murder of a famed courtesan. The greater mystery, however, is the undeniable bond that forms between the two outcasts, finding in each other the place where they truly belong.

The course of true love, however, never does run smooth, and Ms. Lin makes effective and poignant use of the stringent rules that shape both respectable society and the separate world of the Pikang li. Bai Huang's life is set out before him, and there is no room for one such as Yue-ying, who hopes only to remain as a maidservant. Even the status of concubine is out of her reach, and yet....

The passion in this book builds at a deliciousky decorous pace, not will they/won't they, but should they/shouldn't they until one soul shaking rain-soaked kiss proves the rule of love is the one that must be obeyed above all.

Whether a reader is new to the intricate, intoxicating world of Tang Dynasty China, or already acquainted with Ms. Lin's stories, The Lotus Palace is not to be missed.

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After reading a few Jeannie Lin books, a reader starts to wonder why there aren't more historical romance novels set in Tang Dynasty China. Seriously. With The Lotus Palace, the ever-amazing Ms. Lin entices readers into the lushly imagined world of the pleasure quarter, where courtesans, servants, scholars, villains and heroes intermingle and secrets abound.

Can I resist that kind of lure? Heck, no. I cut my reading teeth on Bertrice Small's The Kadin, and other novels where the settings were varied and scattered all over the globe, and I loved it. Over time, things changed, and the vast majority of my favorite genre settled somewhat comfortably into nineteenth century England, give or take a few decades.

Fair enough. There are some great authors who write wonderful stories in those settings. Still, my ears prick when I hear of something that blends the best of old school and current romances. Which is why I remembered meeting a friend of a friend at NECRWA a few years back, a quick "hi, person, this is other person" thing which gave way to the standard writer's conference icebreaker, a game we call "what do you write?" This person responded "historicals," which elicited a nod of recognition, because hey, I write historicals, and that advances to round two, "what era?" This is where things get fun.

The answer, in this case, was "Tang Dynasty China." I have to say I think my ears actually perked, but my hair probably covered it. Other person in this case was, of course, Jeannie Lin, and I knew then and there that I was going to have to read that book. Did I already know very much about Tang Dynasty China? Nope, not at that time, but that's one of the great things about historical romance. There's a whole wide world of it, and I say if an author has a chance to fling back the doors of history and splash out a gorgeous love story in a period that is close to her (or his; I've met some very talented gents at these conferences as well) heart, then I say not only "do," but "please do." Please oh so very much do.

Because here's the thing; the story of two people finding their ideal other half isn't restricted to one time or place. I want to be taken into another world, introduced around, well fed, learn the customs and the history and see how "ohhhh, this is going to get complicated for Our Lovers because X is going to happen, and X cannot happen between them because of reason Y, but I love them and they have to be together and I am going to stay up all night and read this entire book to make sure that they do."

Reading Romance on the Bathroom Floor

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My mother had passed on when I was fourteen, but I had some awesome aunts to see me through the turbulent teen years. One of them introduced me to the wonderful world of romance novels, by dint of writing them herself. Another story there, but the other night, while going through my TBR bookshelves (yes, plural) I had a visit with my teenage self, back when I stashed historical romance novels in the cabinet under the bathroom sink.

The bathroom was a sanctum for teen-me, the one room I knew nobody would disturb me, and thus the room I always volunteered to clean when it was housework time. I could take care of tile and fixtures lickety split, but I'd stay in there as long as I could, thanks to my secret stash.

I still remember specific books I read there, Spanish Rose by Shirlee Busbee, and Heartland by Rebecca Brandewyne, to name two. It's not only the titles I remember, but the books themselves, the smell and feel of the pages, the heft of the four hundred plus pages in my hands, the gorgeous Elaine Duillo covers - I collect those now- and the pink cardstock bookmarks with "Jan's Paperbacks" in black script on them. That UBS is long gone, and I have twice had to replace large portions of my keeper stash, but it's times like this that adult-me can make teen-me scootch over on the white and yellow tiles and I'm there again.

The world outside the bathroom door still existed, so I don't term this an 'escape,' but a respite. Time and again, no matter the setting or era, I read about strong, resourceful women who refused to sit by and let life happen to them. These gals went to war, they captained pirate ships, they navigated Court intrigues and crossed the badlands, their femininity not a weakness but a strength. These books nourished me, both as a reader and as a writer. I knew that I would be the one writing making these heroines and their heroes come to life one day; it wasn't something I had to figure out, any more than I had to figure out having green eyes. This was right. This was me. The adventure, the characters and their relationships, all the highs and the lows on the way to HEA, that was home for me.

I loved the variety of settings; a favorite author might have taken me to Renaissance Italy this time, but next time, we'd have a date for Colonial New York, then go a-viking, then attend a glittering Edwardian soiree, then elsewhere, then elsewhere, then elsewhere. I still have that literary wanderlust, asking myself where I want to go and who I want to meet this time, in a new book read or a new story waiting to be born. Even with stories scattered over space and time, it was what was the same that resonated with me the most. The women always won. They got what they wanted, sometimes at great cost, but I always closed the covers that final time with a happy sigh and the feeling that yes, life will go on. Whatever the hero and heroine had to fight to find and keep each other, they made it, and they will make it through whatever life brings in the future.

For me, that is happily-ever-after, not that there will never be any bad times, but that we will make it through whatever comes, and we don't have to do it alone. Sorting through my shelves, I got a lot more than the chance to pick out what I wanted to read next. I got a chance to reach back through time and for a few minutes there, I was reading romance on the bathroom floor once again. It's the closest thing I can think of to a meeting of minds between teen-me and adult-me, and I have to say we had a fabulous time. We're meeting again tonight.

Snow Day!

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Yeah, that's pretty much me. I love the white stuff, so when it started yesterday (happy Boxing Day to me!) I was very happy to see it. White Boxing Day still counts as White Christmas in my book, as this week between Christmas and New Year's is my favorite week of the entire year, all tucked away between two holidays.

Maybe it's a leftover from school vacations and maybe it's a leftover from family Christmases where lolling about with relatives and leftovers, cavorting in the frozen outdoors until it's time to gear up for New Year's Eve. Maybe I'm still running on peppermint starlights and twinkly lights (guilty) and fumes from reading a book from my special shelf. That's where I keep highly anticipated books for when I've been really really good or am feeling really really bad. These can be treats or therapy. Sometimes both.

Holiday stress drove me to this shelf on the 23rd, and I selected Silk and Shadow by Aola Vandergriff. I had a hunch that our usual Monday Morning write-in at Panera would be taking a snow day, but still planned on going on my own...though being no dummy, I did put my commute on delay. I spent an hour curled on the couch, under the beyond gorgeous afghan my friend Linda made for DH and me for Christmas, and time zoomed by as I turned pages, caught in a complex web of intrigue, emotion, romance and family dysfunction in early 19th century Louisiana. I haven't read a single thing by Ms. Vandergriff that I haven't loved, though her books are long out of print; this one has a 1981 publication date.

I determined to stay under the afghan until I finished and consider that time extremely well spent, but it does bring me back to "okay, what do I read now?" Some books are a hard act to follow. We are in that tucked away week, though, so I think the afghan and I will have ample opportunity to figure something out, and there is a whole new year's worth of reading to plan. I'm hoping to work out a system so I have a good mix of new and classic romances in rotation.

What do you do during this tucked away week? Any reading goals for 2011?

It's official; I am in a phase of not reading. The image, of my furry friend Michelangelo, expresses what this is doing to my fragile psyche. Over the Christmas holiday (which in my family technically lasts until January 6th) I had planned to devour a whole stack of books I'd been slavering over for months, many of them Christmas or winter themed, and my total count of books read over that week is...wait for it...zero. Zero. Nothing.

It's not for a lack of books to read. :points to aforementioned stack and also to TBR mountain range: Those, I got. It's that nothing seems to stick, or my brain won't follow it. All of these books are books I actually went somewhere and selected from all the other books in that place, so I wanted them when I got them. So why aren't they doing the job now?

Before trying-to-be-helpful people swoop in with "maybe you've outgrown romance and now want to read my favorite genre instead, oh happy day" (this type of person generally goes away from said conversation somewhat singed around the edges) that's not it. Historical romance is my home and I'm not leaving. that's the way I naturally read, and the way I naturally write. There's nothing I love more than a big, thick bug-squasher of a historical romance with swash and buckle and an alpha heroine who gives the alpha hero a run for his money. Those, alas, aren't exactly thick on the ground these days, and that might be part of my :points to Michelangelo:...that.

Though I know everything in publishing goes in cycles, I don't like the phase of the cycle where I can't read. Makes me want to stomp around in circles and shoot fire out of my eyeballs. If I knew what was causing it, I could fix it, but I don't, so I can't, and some battles can't be fought. So for now, I'm not reading, apart from flipping through some art magazines, but I must confess I'm mostly looking at the pictures. This will change eventually, but for now, it is what it is.

My Summer of Mary Jo Putney, part 2

Almost done with the final book in the Fallen Angels extended series, The Bartered Bride. After that, Loving a Lost Lord, the new book in her next series. As I am given to ah, discussions, of such and visited my friend, Mary, :waves: this past weekend, and we always talk romance books, expect some ponderings on that subject soon. (Sidebar: apparently Eloisa James’ next book is *not* in a series. That alone sticks it on my TBB list.) Still not sure how/if Ms Putney’s first two books, The Bargain and The Rake relate to the Fallen Angels (satellite books?) they will come after Loving a Lost Lord.

Apart from Putney, and partly thanks to, I’m on an exotic settings kick at the moment. Partly from reading and partly because I need to research the British in early 19th century India for my next historical. Most of what I’m finding right now covers the Raj, which is a few decades later than what I need, but I will persevere.

Talking with Mary always brings me right back to the early days of my romance reading life. Historicals were still divided between historical romances and traditional Regencies, the early 19th century seeming almost reserved (in both senses of the word) for the trads, and the big, thick historicals could happen anytime or anywhere. Case in point, Mary asked what period Johanna Lindsey wrote in, and my response was “most of them.” Variety ruled. Favorite Author’s new book might take place on a Carribbean plantation in the middle of the seventeenth century, while her last one was set during the Alaskan gold rush, and the next would be Moorish Spain or the French Revolution or maybe Ancient Rome. (Laura Kinsale, I have not forgotten your tease of wanting to write a Roman book. I promise readers would buy it.) I loved the variety and would love to see a return to that.

So far, I’ve written in 1720 New York, 1900 England and Italy, 16th century Cornwall and 17th century Netherlands and Isle of Man. Current time travel ms is modern day NYC and early 16th century Scottish Highlands. I like to get around. I plan to get around even more. Which begs the question(s): where/when would you like to see a historical romance set if there were absolutely no restrictions (other than the historical designation?) Writers, if you *knew* it would sell, what era would you pick for your next book? Extra points if you can name three different ones. Because I’m nosy like that.