The next night, Diana wakes up from a nightmare.  …and then goes back to sleep.  What was the point of the nightmare, you ask?  Well, who knows.  It could be that this author is being paid by the word.  It could be that someone mistakenly told her that doorstoppers are hallmark of ‘high literature.’  Maybe she just thought everything that flitted through her head was pure gold and would be a dreadful waste if not captured on paper.  There’s lots of reasons, though none of them actually pertain to the plot.

Then Diana goes rowing.  …and nothing happens there, either.  She rows, she ends her rowing, she puts her boat away, blah.  What the hell, book?  I feel like I’m reading an OCD stalker’s notes instead of reading an actual story, because there is no story here.

Along the way home, she runs into Matthew, because the only time anything actually happens, it all revolves around Matthew.  Of course.

I closed my eyes, imagining that I was nowhere—not in Oxford, nor anywhere that had a name.

[after literally running into the guy]

“There’s nothing magical about it, Matthew. It’s a game I’ve played since I was a child. It made my aunt crazy.

What game?  She just randomly started walking with her eyes closed, and then just…walked with her eyes closed.  How is that a game?

I swear, characters in this book have all the emotional depth of puppets.  They just do things, for the sake of the not the plot but a scene that the author thought was cute/funny, and then a hasty excuse is tacked on to the end.

“How was your row this morning?” Clairmont asked finally, as if he didn’t already know. He wasn’t out for a morning stroll.

He’s stalking her.  She knows he’s stalking her.  And yet all of her thoughts are about how well-groomed he is and how she looks like a shlub next to him.  Well, Diana, that could be because you just worked out and also WHO THE FUCK CARES, FOCUS MORE ON THE STALKING.

“Isn’t it risky to row in this kind of weather, when so few people are out?” […]

“Risky how?”

“If something were to happen, it’s possible nobody would see it.”

And now he’s giving her thinly-veiled threats while stalking her. 

Nevertheless, I shrugged it off.

And Diana doesn’t care.  And if Diana doesn’t care enough that he’s pointing out that he could drown her and no one would find the body, then I don’t see where I’m going to pull up the wherewithal to care either.

Four days ago I wouldn’t have accepted a ride home from a vampire, but this morning it seemed like an excellent idea.

Because in the intervening four days, he’s just done so much to reassure you of his trustworthiness?

I mean, he hasn’t been out and out hostile, but he also hasn’t been exceptionally nice either, and HE’S BEEN STALKING HER, which she knows.  Also, he just pointed out that no one can see them or stop him from doing whatever he wants.

But sure, Diana, go get in the car and gush about how luxurious it is.  I no longer care what happens to you.  It’s too exhausting to point out your stupidity.

And why the fuck does Matthew have this expensive luxury car, anyway?  Does being a scientist pay exceptionally well these days?

Sarah’s worst suspicions about vampires would be confirmed if she knew they drove Jaguars while she drove a broken-down purple Honda Civic

…what are her worst suspicions?  That vampires steal their money?  Or scam it?  And…are those things not true as long as Sarah doesn’t see the car?

In the car, he invites her to breakfast, which just reminds her that vampires eat blood and maybe being trapped in a tiny space with him and unable to defend herself is a bad idea.  Not that it comes to anything, because it books like this, the protagonist only worries about danger when there’s not actually any danger.  Because heaven forbid she have any actual consequences to deal with.

And I’m really sick of the book calling Matthew ‘the vampire’ every frikkin line.  Yes, we know he’s a vampire.  Stop with the epithets.  This is like a newbie mistake you see in fanfiction; it shouldn’t be in a professional novel.

We passed the statue of George II’s wife

Also known as Caroline of Ansbach, because she has a fucking name.  True, people probably wouldn’t be able to pick that name out as a historical figure, but I bet they don’t know what George II did with his reign, either.  If it’s just going to end up a context-less name, then why not actually use the right name?

I wondered again how old Matthew Clairmont was.

Third time she’s wondered this in this chapter, with nearly the same wording.  Just ask him already.

“I am capable of opening my own door,” I said, getting out of the car.

“Why do today’s women think it’s important to open a door themselves?” he said sharply. “Do you believe it’s a testament to your physical power?”

“No, but it is a sign of our independence.”

This is the level of drama we’re getting, people.  Arguments about who opens the door.  There’s a magic book in a magic library and a whole race of daemons being painted as criminals, but no, let’s focus on who’s going to open the door.

Uhg, just let him open the door.  It’s common courtesy.  And if it bothers you, then next chance you get, open the door for him.  No reason women can’t hold doors open; I do it all the time.  If we’re going to aim for equality (which we should), can’t we aim for us all being equally polite?

remembering what Chris had said about Clairmont’s behavior toward a woman who’d asked too many questions at a conference.

He didn’t want to answer her question, and when she pushed him for an answer, he got mad at her for pushing.  Nothing about the story indicates that it was because she was a woman, but I guess it means that he’s dismissive towards women?  Certainly he doesn’t care about Diana’s autonomy or rights, but we haven’t seen him interact with any other women or do or say anything gender specific.  Really, at this point he has the potential to be an equal-opportunity ass.

“You’re impossibly old-fashioned,” I said with a sigh, deciding not to fight it. He could open doors for me this morning so long as he was prepared to buy me a hot breakfast.

…so, it’s an affront to her independence to have him open doors, but she fully expects for him to pay for breakfast?

Why is your brain so broken, Diana?

I…just…there’s so much stupid so densely packed that I want to pull out every line, but I’ll be here all day if I do that.  Basically, Matthew is acting protective and Diana compares him to a wolf again, even though I’m pretty sure wolves don’t curl up menus when they’re antsy.

“I’m really hungry,” I said apologetically, ordering two scrambled eggs, four pieces of toast, and several rashers of bacon.

Don’t apologize for eating when you’re hungry!  Considering how much she works out, that’s not even a large breakfast!  Why the hell do you think you need to say sorry for eating food?

Matthew hasn’t come out as misogynist (yet), but this book is sure laying it on.

They banter on with some useless backstory about the cafe owner’s husband and Diana’s tea.

His eyes glittered with another wave of sudden anger. “You don’t really believe that—that scientists don’t care about why [we’re here].”

Seriously, what kind of scientists have you been talking to?  Because I think they were all trolling you.

“Now it seems all they’re concerned with is the question of how—how does the body work, how do the planets move?”

…So, Diana seems to think this stands on its own, but I’m not convinced.  What’s really the difference between “why do we fall in love” and “why does this specific set of circumstances release this specific set of hormones in our brain?”  They’re asking the same why, just one actually has the chance of an answer and the other is open ended and directionless. 

Is she saying that we should be trying to answer philosophical questions with science?  Oh, wait, we’re doing that, too.  (Some of them at least.)

Basically, Diana is a hipster who has no idea what science actually is and apparently thinks that fate (?) rules the world and it’s just now awesome unless we can’t understand it.

“Someday you’ll have to explain to me the relationship between neuroscience, DNA research, animal behavior, and evolution. They don’t obviously fit together.”

How…how did you get a PhD?  Just, how?

The only other explanation is that you’re an intellectual magpie—which is ridiculous, given how highly regarded your work is—or maybe you get bored easily. You don’t seem the type to be prone to intellectual ennui. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

What in the past four days has convinced you that he can’t flit from one subject to the next?  Just about all you know about him is that he flits from one subject to the next.

What is wrong with your brain?

Diana goes on from failing to understand science to failing to understand history.

At Oxford the professors made the past a tidy story with a beginning, a middle, and an end. Everything seemed logical, inevitable.

Really?  Because I’ve found history to be a hot mess of intersecting influences and accidents, with every single thing in the world affecting every other thing, until you try and figure out why something happened and end up with a dozen explanations that all conflict and at the same time are all true.  Me thinks your Oxford professors have been editing history to either make it fit into a lecture or to support their own pet theory.

And on top of that, we don’t even know all of history.  We’re learning new things about history all the time.  Today’s historical fact will be tomorrow’s misconception.

They have their secrets and obsessions—all the things they won’t or can’t reveal. It’s my job to discover and explain them.”

“What if you can’t? What if they defy explanation?”

“That’s never happened,”

Never, eh?  Well, I would say she’s been picking some very easy secrets, but I guess she is a witch.

“I wanted to know how humans came up with a view of the world that had so little magic in it,” I added abruptly. “I needed to understand how they convinced themselves that magic wasn’t important.”

Because it’s not real.

I know in the book it is real, but the book doesn’t seem to realize that.  The book isn’t taking into account how much real magic would have changed history.  If you want to make a world in which magic is real, then you need to make a world where magic is real.  We came to the conclusion that magic isn’t important because spells and curses weren’t actually doing anything.  If they did stuff, we would have kept around a belief in them.  Either those old witches were keeping things quiet and the people accused weren’t really witches/alchemists, or they really were slinging magic and present day would be different.  Or some third option if you can think it up, but in that case, tell me.  The history of our current culture is (partially) dependent on magic not being real, so when you change that, you need to take that into account, not just wonder why people suddenly stopped believing.

It’s the same problem I have with every Percy Jackson-esque story.  If Zeus is real and slinging thunderbolts at people and fucking everyone’s sister, why the hell would we stop believing in him?

Blah, blah, blah, philosophical fapping over alchemy and how sad it is that people don’t believe in magic anymore and ugh, get over yourselves.

Then Matthew invites her to go to yoga, while acting like his class has some mysterious element to it, because if there’s one thing this book needs it’s even more hipster-ism.  (And I like yoga!  But you know they’re just going to get overdramatic about it.)