So Matthew’s mother turns out to be a pretty stereotypical, overbearing, disapproving, prim-and-proper type mother in law.  Apparently the fact that she’s French has something to do with this, because as we all know, French people aren’t real people, they’re French, and all that entails.  How original.  Excuse me while I go over here and yawn.

Naturally, Matthew’s mom is perfectly gorgeous and makes Diana feel like an unkempt shlub in comparison, because heaven forbid we forgo that part of the novel.  Every romance author is contractually obligated to include a scene where the protagonist feels threatened by another female’s beauty.  Didn’t you know that?  After all, we got to keep that girl-on-girl hate going.

“Diana.” Ysabeau said it with a long e rather than an i and an emphasis on the first rather than the second syllable.

Jee, thanks so much for making me read that.  I feel so well informed now.  I just don’t think I could have lasted through the novel without know how Ysabeau said her name.

So, Ysabeau and some other vampire that lives there named Marthe and Matthew all bicker in French for a while, then Matthew takes her to her room.  When he offers to carry her up the stairs, she gets indignant, like it’s an insult to her adult-ness and independence.  But she’s fine with him dragging her out of the country, snatching the phone from her to talk to her aunts, and forcing her to take sedatives when she doesn’t want to.  Somehow, though, stairs are the sticking point. 

God, we’re still in travelogue mode.  Now we’re treated to several pages of walking through the castle and being served eggs and looking at the scenery.  It’s bad enough that the book has literally run away from the plot, but it’s going to drag this shit out, too?  She sleeps, she showers the next day, we get every fucking detail and I’m just so bored.  Why is any of this in the book?  What point does it serve?   It’s almost 600 pages long, but it’s only got maybe 100 pages of stuff worth reading.

Oh, joy, a grand tour of the castle!  I’ll spare you guys.

I will say this, though.  The library has books and manuscripts that are well over 500 and 600 years old…just sitting out on the shelves, with no attempt made to preserve or protect them.  Really, a historian should know better.

Excuse me while I headdesk all over the damn place.  Part of the tour includes a stables, and we find out Diana is into horses.

“I grew up in the country and have ridden since I was a child—dressage, jumping, everything.”

NO, BOOK!  FUCK YOU!  NO!  STOP GIVING YOUR STUPID MARY SUE MORE SPARKLES TO HANG ON HER HAT!  STOP IT!

DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND HOW TIME CONSUMING HORSE RIDING IS?  DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG IT TAKES TO GET GOOD AT DRESSAGE ADN JUMPING , MUCH LESS ‘EVERYTHING’ ELSE?

DO YOU?

I DON’T THINK YOU DO!

YOU CANNOT GIVE HER MASTER HORSERIDING SKILLS ON TOP OF HER BRILLIANT ACTING SKILLS AND AWARD-WINNGIN RESEARCH SKILLS AND EVERY-MORNING SKULLING SKILLS!  STOP IT, RIGHT NOW! 

And you especially can’t toss that at us now, after you’ve already wasted thousands of words on describing Diana and haven’t once even said the word ‘horse.’  And what does growing up in the country have to do with it?  Not everyone rural has their own fucking horse.  Horses are, after all, expensive.  When I had my childhood horse-obsession phase, the best I could manage was begging a family friend for lessons, and when he left I stopped riding, because that shit costs a lot of money.

I swear, this whole bit here just reads like an author who never got over her “mommy, I want a pony” phase.

They finish the tour and Diana goes to bed and has stupid symbolik dream about being the goddess Diana and I just don’t even anymore I need a nap.