|Come buy what I'm selling.|
The cads: These rotters work more angles than a lesser-known Kardashian. (To what end, Betty Keira? To what end? To seedy, loveless Brighton, my Betties.) They run out of petrol on lonely Dutch roads, march British nurses past antiquated mummies without a fortifying tea, stick them with the bill when offers to 'get away for a quiet weekend' are refused, run from fires, practice medicine poorly and, worst of all, damage original Gina Fratini gowns by being stupid and bad kissers.
Yes, yes, I ought to long for the complicated embrace of classic literature's multi-faceted characters. But that's like telling myself I ought to eat kale instead of hot Cheetos. Those hot Cheetos have to be eaten, ladies. Just leaving them in the pantry would be wasteful.
The cleverness: Let me give a hard eye-roll to the suggestion that sweet romance is, de facto, dumb romance.
|For the love of Grabthar's Hammer, declining to write |
about sexy-times is not proportionally related to IQ.
Betty Neels is a master of the satirical observation, the not-quite-nice impulse noted and smothered, and the soft, soft moment when everything changes forever.
The comfort: You Betties are a well-read lot so I find it particularly sweet that you've taken books from The Canon to the hospital as you've gone through surgery or turned to them after the loss of a family member.
Following the inexorable courtship of a vast Dutch surgeon and an excellent British Night Sister who will invariably fall asleep in his socking, great Bentley as he drives her into the country for a spot of fresh air before bed... It's all very gentle and undemanding. Even when Aunt Thirza dies of leukemia, it sounds like the most charming pop-off in recorded history. Tea, a moss rose bush, the lies of a medical professional, and one's own garden. I found myself nodding, "What a lovely way to die." When one is feeling poorly, Betty Neels can be counted on to deliver the goods.
|"Take some iron pills, lie down and go towards the light..."|
There's something for everyone here.
The craving: Okay, yearning. But I wanted another 'C' word since I was already on a roll. Though our characters stay well away from physical 'no-fly zones', this does not mean they are unmoved by passion. For instance, Never Say Goodbye's Isobel Barrington. I'm thinking of the amber necklace--a token from a man she is sure doesn't love her--worn surreptitiously under blouses, next to her skin. All the heroines who take dreadful private nursing jobs to run away from hot, hot Dutchmen. Proposals, second proposals, swooping kisses, gleams in hooded eyes, slowing a car through a village on the off chance he might see the heroine in the yard...
|Sometimes you have to read the subtext|
I cannot hope to spark the next battle in The Great Turban Wars with this post but I'd like to know some of your reasons for reading Betty Neels.