Carries Book Reviews

**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**

Nothing like a last minute post because Sunday Fun day of sharing almost slipped my mind. Better late than never as they say thought right? Only three new books added to my ever towering TBR this week but with two being the fixer upper tropes and then a travel story how could I resist two of my favorites scenarios?

As always clicking the covers will take you to the book on Amazon!**

New additions from Netgalley Aug 25th  – Sept 1st

Fixer Upper meets Gone Girl in this suspenseful and witty domestic thriller set in the world of home renovation TV—featuring a woman who becomes public enemy #1 after a horrifying discovery prompts her to flee her celebrity husband with their twin babies.

Dawn Decker is an American everywoman and the salt to her husband Wyatt’s sweet, media-friendly charm on their Tennessee-based home renovation reality TV show, The Perfect Home. While Dawn bristles at the trappings of their D-list celebrity status, Wyatt hungers for greater fame. The couple also faces infertility issues stemming from Wyatt’s low sperm count. He secretly orders experimental fertility drugs, and they conceive, but his personality takes a dark turn—he becomes moody, withdrawn, and even cruel.

When Dawn discovers his horrifying plot to manufacture a tragedy in order to skyrocket their celebrity status, she takes their infant twins and goes on the run. Wyatt appears on national television to turn the public against her, painting Dawnas an unstable kidnapper suffering from postpartum psychosis. His charm is so compelling that even Dawn’s closest friends doubt her. She will have to dig deep into the past—both hers and Wyatt’s—to find allies, protect her children, and beat this beloved all-American celebrity at his own game.

Told in dual perspectives from both husband and wife, this smart, captivating, and twisty thriller is a fun, addictive read from the very first page.

In this splendidly bittersweet romantic comedy, enemies forced together by a mutual loss are led on a cross-country journey toward a second chance.

Maddie Sanderson would be proud to honor her older brother’s dying wish, that she scatters his ashes over eight destinations that the adventurous 29-year-old never got to visit before he died from cancer. But in his will, Josh assigned her an impossible partner to help complete the mission—Dominic Perry. Seriously, if Maddie weren’t already at her brother’s funeral, she would have killed him for this.

Sure, Dom was Josh’s life-long best friend. He’s also the infuriating man who broke Maddie’s heart back when she was naïve enough to give it to him. But since Dom insists on following the rules and Josh didn’t leave much room for Maddie to argue the matter, they embark together on a series of farewell trips that span thousands of miles, exploring new places and revisiting their complicated history along the way.

After a snowstorm leads to a shared bed, Maddie starts to wonder if her brother might be matchmaking from the grave. But when grief also reopens old wounds between them, Maddie will need more than Josh’s ghostly guidance to trust Dom again.

Sparks fly when an interior designer and a game designer cross paths, but they must learn if they can design a happily ever after in this heartfelt romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Jaci Burton.

Natalie Parker is in her mid-thirties, divorced, and firmly focused on her newly resurrected career and her two children. When her sister asks her to help design the backyard in the new home she shares with her boyfriend, Linc, Natalie’s more than happy to take on the project. What she isn’t prepared for is Linc’s younger brother, video game designer Eugene Kennedy. He’s smart, incredibly good-looking, and constantly flirts with Natalie. He’s also too young for her, which makes him totally off-limits.

Eugene is intrigued by Natalie’s beauty, smarts, and especially her sarcastic wit. When he teases her, she throws it right back at him. Besides that, they have an instant chemistry, but she keeps trying to get rid of him despite the sparks that fly between them. And Eugene never backs down from a challenge. 

Natalie is running out of reasons to think being with Eugene is a bad thing. Her kids adore him, her sister loves him, and even her always negative mother does, too. The only person holding her back is…her. Maybe it’s time she take that leap and design herself a love for the ages. After all, if she can create the perfect home, she sure as hell can design a happily ever after.

**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**

Title: Magical Meet Cute

Author:  Jean Meltzer

Publisher: MIRA

Publication Date: August 27, 2024

Page Count:  ‎ 397

About the book:

From the author of the buzzy The Matzah Ball comes a romantic comedy for fans of Sally Thorne, about a lonely potter who drunkenly creates a golem doll of her perfect match—and meets the man of her dreams the next day.

Is he the real deal…or did she truly summon a golem?

Faye Kaplan used to be engaged. She also used to have a successful legal practice. But she much prefers her new life as a potter in Woodstock, New York. The only thing missing is the perfect guy.

Not that she needs one. She’s definitely happy alone.

That is, until she finds her town papered with anti-Semitic flyers after yet another failed singles event at the synagogue. Desperate for comfort, Faye drunkenly turns to the only thing guaranteed to soothe her—pottery. A golem protector is just what her town needs…and adding all the little details to make him her ideal man can’t hurt, right?

When a seriously hot stranger mysteriously turns up the next day, Greg seems too good to be true—if you ignore the fact that Faye hit him with her bike. And that he subsequently lost his memory…

But otherwise, the man checks Every. Single. Box. Causing Faye to wonder if Greg’s sudden and spicy appearance might be anything but a coincidence.

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon / HarperCollins  / BookShop.org / Barnes & Noble 

Excerpt:

1 

It was hard and magnificent. 

Faiga Kaplan, otherwise known as Faye to her friends, ran her hands down the long shaft of her latest clay creation. An earthenware vase—at least three feet in length and bearing a perfectly crafted slit for sunflowers at the top—lay on her studio table. Having been painted twice and forged through fire in her kiln, it was now ready for placement in her storefront window. All she had to do was get the heavy, hulking piece of pottery through the first floor of Magic Mud Pottery without breaking it. 

Cautiously, she lifted the vase from the table. Peeking out from the sides, carefully managing her balance with each step, she creeped slowly past the tables and chairs of her studio, bumping over the threshold into the hallway, heading through the first floor. She was halfway through the old wooden building, by the center staircase, when she felt something mushy and wet beneath her left foot. 

Faye didn’t need to look down. 

She knew exactly what she had stepped in. 

“Hillel.” Faye groaned, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. 

Carefully, she put the vase down beside the staircase, turning her attention to inspect the damage now seeping through her pink sock. 

“Hillel,” Faye called out again. “I’m serious. Get in here!” 

Hillel, a hairless and toothless Chinese crested, peeked around the corner. Faye had adopted the pathetic-looking creature when he was ten years old. At the time, she had considered it a mitzvah, a good deed, in the wake of a dreadful breakup. She thought she could funnel all her love into this poor creature—a dog riddled with back acne and without a home—and he would adore her forever. 

“I know you did this on purpose,” Faye said, lifting one foot up to display the mess. 

Hillel twisted away from her, tail up, his tiny butthole pointed straight in her line of vision. She swore that dog could speak English. 

She also knew that his constant accidents had nothing to do with tummy troubles. After all, Faye was a responsible pet owner. She had taken Hillel to the vet a dozen times, run every expensive test to see if there was something physically wrong with him, only to be told that the tiny monster was in perfectly good health. Indeed, the vet had promised her that Hillel would likely live another decade. No, he defecated all over her apartment for the same reason Stuart had called off their engagement. She was too much. 

“Keep acting this way,” Faye warned, narrowing her eyes in his direction, “and I’ll send you to go live with Nelly. You can wear frilly doll dresses and be the guest of honor at her Second Glance Erotic Parties for the rest of your natural existence.” 

Hillel strolled past her, unconcerned, before landing on a mess of blankets and pillow squares waiting for him by the storefront window. 

Faye had made the tiny bed for Hillel there so he would be comfortable. She figured he could watch the people walking down Main Street, see the customers before they entered her store. It was also the sunniest, and therefore warmest, spot in her building, an absolute necessity for a dog without any fur. She did everything for Hillel. She gave him her best. Devoted her love, time, and energy to his well-being. And what did Hillel do in response? 

Crap all over her. 

The thought had crossed her mind more than once to return him to the shelter. 

Faye never did, of course. No, as it turned out…no amount of snarling or defecating in high-traffic areas, or trying to bite her with his gummy, toothless mouth, would ever steer her heart away from the four-legged fur demon. 

The reason being simple enough. She had made a promise to Hillel. She had stood outside Woodstock Animal Shelter, placed him safely in the front basket of her bike, and told him in she would care for him, and protect him—and never betray his love on a snowmobile in Lapland—until the bitter end. 

Perhaps loving someone to the bitter end had always been her downfall. 

Her mind wandered to her ex-fiancé, Stuart, when most applicably her nose wrinkled. The scent of dog feces was beginning to take up residence. 

Faye hobbled on one foot up the stairs to the second floor. Finding her way to the bathtub, she set about cleaning up her foot. 

For the last three years, Faye had been the sole proprietor of Magic Mud Pottery. She lived above her store and studio in a quaint one-bedroom apartment. 

Magic Mud Pottery was one of a handful of quirky old buildings made of wood and painted in bright colors that dotted the bucolic downtown of Woodstock, New York. Set between large trees, and dotted by pride flags and double-hung windows, it was the type of town that, no matter the season, smelled like burning wood and cinnamon. 

Her apartment was small, but as a single woman, she didn’t need much space. Plus, she had gotten an amazing price. On the second floor, a cozy bedroom sat towards the back of the building, overlooking a fenced-in yard and garden. In the front, a tiny living room was divided from a half kitchen by a counter. A bathroom rested in between. 

As an old building, the layout—but especially the kitchen— was all types of weird. While the oven, stove, and sink were on the second floor, the refrigerator was too tall for the upstairs kitchen alcove. And so it sat downstairs, right behind the front counter, where Faye often rang up customers. 

At first, it was a problem. Especially at night, as Faye often liked to sneak downstairs in nothing but her skivvies and have a late-night snack. But Faye quickly realized that most everyone who owned a business in downtown Woodstock lived elsewhere, and so, even though she had invested in curtains, she never bothered to use them. 

Beyond all these things, she liked the quirkiness of the building. The fact it was strange and unusual. It reminded her of an apartment she had lived in on the Lower East Side while a young lawyer in Manhattan, with a shower in the kitchen and a bathroom outside the apartment, just down the hall. 

Faye was finishing cleaning up when the bell above the front door to Magic Mud Pottery rang out. 

“Faiga,” a voice called out moments later. 

She recognized the voice as belonging to Nelly, who owned the building next door, where she ran the business Second Glance Treasures. 

It was a gentle, lovely name for a store that was essentially extra storage space for a woman who had taken the hobby of hoarding to a professional capacity. Perhaps Faye was being too hard on the eccentric octogenarian. But No-Filter Nelly—as Faye sometimes called her behind her back—was a frequent, though not always welcome, visitor. 

“One moment,” Faye called out. 

Quickly, she finished drying off her foot. Spraying down her bathtub and the floor, she popped downstairs. Nelly was standing by the storefront window, arms crossed, her entire forehead wrinkling in displeasure. 

“It smells like a porta-potty in here.” Nelly grimaced. 

Faye huffed. “Hillel had an accident again.” 

“Again?” Nelly looked towards the dog. “Maybe you should take him to the vet.” “I’ve taken him to the vet,” Faye reminded her for the ten thousandth time. Grabbing a towel and some pet odor remover, she bent down to the floor and began cleaning up his mess. 

“Can I help you with something, Nelly?” 

“I was wondering if you’re going to Single in the Sukkah tonight?” she asked. 

“I’m not planning on it.” 

“Why not?” Nelly said, following her. She always followed her. “Only twenty-four dollars a participant. For a good cause. Plus, you might meet someone.” 

Faye tossed the turd in the trash. “I’m not interested in meeting anyone right now.” 

“Why not?” 

Faye slammed the lid shut. “You know the reason.” “Because you were dumped by your fiancé of seven years after a snowmobile accident in Lapland?” 

Faye had first met Stuart Wutz during law school. After a seven-year engagement, the two-week escapade she had painstakingly planned to Lapland was supposed to be a pre-wedding getaway, a chance for them to have some fun before planning for their wedding, three months away, moved into hyperdrive. 

Instead, everything about the trip had been a disaster. 

Stuart complained constantly. About the cold. About the food. About his hemorrhoids. He nearly caused an international incident when he found out the hamburger he was eating was made of reindeer meat. But it wasn’t until that fateful snowmobile ride—when Stuart skidded out on a slick of ice, crashing into a snowy embankment—that their decade-long relationship came to an official end. Bringing her vehicle safely to a stop beside him, racing to check that he was okay, she was shocked when Stuart had stood up and lobbed his own attack. 

You’re too much, Faye. Everything you do, everything you are… it’s just too much. No wonder your own mother couldn’t stand you. 

The wedding was off. Faye was thirty-one years old, and having given Stuart the best years of her life—the best of her reproductive years, too—back to being single. It was more than betrayal. It was more than a hurt. It was an avalanche of pain that she had barely escaped from. And yet, she couldn’t completely blame Stuart for what had happened. He was simply a trigger point in a snowslip that had been building since her youth. 

“So, you had one bad experience,” Nelly said. 

“Not just one,” Faye grumbled. 

“So, you had multiple bad experiences,” Nelly said, unfazed. “Lots of people hurt and disappointed you. Because of this, you give up on love forever?” 

Faye spun around. “I don’t need a mother, Nelly!” 

Her words pierced the air and turned into ice. “Everyone needs a mother,” Nelly said, simply. 

Faye scoffed, hardening herself against the admission. Against the confession. She had already had a mother in her life, and she sucked. Some nights, she could still feel the pain in her wrist—in her fingers—from where her mom had permanently disabled her. 

Faye twisted away from Nelly. “If you’re done pestering me about—” 

Nelly cut her off. “So come for the synagogue. They always need money.” 

“How about I just write them a check and spend the night reading a book and eating hard kosher salami by myself?” 

Nelly grimaced. “This is fun for you?” 

“Yes, Nelly.” Faye threw her hands up, exasperated. “This is fun for me. Because I like being alone. More important, I’m better alone. I have no interest in meeting a man, starting a romantic relationship, or getting married. Going to a Singles in the Sukkah event would be the equivalent of false advertising.” 

Faye made her way back through her pottery studio. Picking up her vase, she turned to place it in her storefront window. And that was when she saw it. The vase she had thought was perfect…had a tiny bubble at the bottom. 

“Haman’s hat,” Faye huffed. She tried not to use curse words. 

“What’s wrong?” Nelly asked. 

Faye shook her head. “I must have missed an air bubble before drying.” 

Clay held memory. If you did something wrong at any part of the process, it would be reflected in the final work. A fingerprint at the edge. A lip all misshapen and wonky. A warp or scratch in the otherwise smooth facade, or worse…the entire thing exploding, shattering completely, when placed into the kiln for firing. Clay, contrary to popular belief, was not an easy material to work with. 

“I’m just gonna throw it out,” Faye said, attempting to move it out of her window. 

“Wha!” Nelly stopped her with both hands. “Why would you throw this out? You’ve already spent time to make it.” 

“Because it’s awful,” Faye snapped back. “No one is going to want a vase with a bubble sticking out of it!” And because looking at that bubble was a constant reminder of all the things her mother had stolen from her. 

Faye was only seventeen years old when it happened. When her mother—in another one of her random and totally unjustified rages—woke her up from a sound sleep because she had accidently left clay out on the kitchen table. Grabbing Faye by the wrist and pulling her out of bed, she dragged her down the hall to clean up the supposed mess. Faye could still recall the sensation of her hand being twisted the wrong way, the sound of it snapping as the bone broke. But most of all, she remembered screaming for her father to help her. 

The abuse Faye had endured as a child changed her. She lost the scholarship to a prestigious art school in Manhattan where she was planning to study ceramics. She became wholly focused on protecting herself, remaining independent… Changing paths, she became a lawyer instead. And when she met Stuart, she thought she had found the safe, unconditional type of love that she read about in her romance novels. 

Instead, her clay memory bubbled up and formed blisters all over their love. She became someone unrecognizable. Desperate to keep Stuart happy—desperate to prove she was someone loveable and worthwhile—she lost herself completely. The break up had been hard, but when she looked at her life now, at Woodstock and Magic Mud Pottery, she was grateful. What life had taught her, most of all, was that she had to protect herself. 

Excerpted from MAGICAL MEET CUTE by Jean Meltzer, Copyright © 2024 by Jean Meltzer. Published by MIRA.

About the author:

JEAN MELTZER studied dramatic writing at NYU Tisch and has earned numerous awards for her work in television, including a daytime Emmy. She spent five years in rabbinical school before her chronic illness forced her to withdraw, and her father told her she should write a book? just not a Jewish one because no one reads those.

Author website  / GoodReads  / Facebook  / Instagram 

**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**

The Rebound Play
Kate O’Keeffe
(Love on Thin Ice, #2)
Publication date: August 29th 2024
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance, Sports

If you get a second chance at love with your hockey star ex, should you take it?

Keira

What do you do when your NHL superstar ex skates back into your small town? Drop to the ground and hide behind the bleachers, hoping he doesn’t see you. But Lady Luck must be in a bad mood today because Dan spots me, my hood over my eyes, pretending I’m not there.

Mature? No.

Necessary? Oh, yes.

Humiliation washes over me, and the wall around my heart stands firm. Dan might be back, but I can’t afford to let him in again. Not after the heartbreak of losing him once before.

When he offers to coach my nephew, I reluctantly agree. Every smile he flashes at me, every kind word, threatens to crack my resolve. But I can’t go through that again. I have to protect my heart.

Dan

I want Keira back. End of story.

The Rebound Play is part of the Love on Thin Ice sweet hockey romcom series. It’s a second chance at love story about a jock and a nerd who get a second chance in this small town romance with all the sizzle and chemistry, but none of the spice.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

“I get it. Hockey’s your world right now,” Troy replies. “Which is why coming back to your hometown to play is so perfect for you. I can work things out with your team management to get you the time off, and we’ve got an excellent PT. She’ll get that wrist back into shape before you know it.”

“I’ve got to admit—it’s tempting.”

And besides, there’s another reason for going back home, and it’s kind of a big one. Keira Johnson. My Kiki. Only she hasn’t been my Kiki for ten years now.

Just the thought of my high school girl—the girl I left behind—has my pulse kicking up a notch or ten.

Keira is the girl I’ve never been able to forget.

Sure, there’ve been other girls. It’s been a long time and I’m no saint. Women tend to throw themselves at you when you’re an NHL player, particularly when you’re known as the pretty boy of the team. Those puck bunnies, as they’re sometimes called, simply come with the territory—and it’s fun territory, believe me.

Of course, the fact that my kid brother is the current heartthrob on the hit Netflix fantasy show, It Came One Winter, doesn’t exactly hurt, either.

But here’s the thing: Most of the women I meet are only interested in me because I’m Dan Roberts, center for the Chicago Blizzard, brother to the guy they love to watch on TV. Relationships for me tend to last a few weeks, a month, tops. My lifestyle means it’s hard to hold down a relationship. And besides, those women aren’t interested in plain Dan Roberts, the hockey-obsessed kid from Maple Falls, who worked his butt off to make it to the NHL.

So, my heart has been safe, never forgetting my first love. Keira.

 

Author Bio:

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Kate O’Keeffe writes exactly what she loves to read: laugh-out-loud romantic comedies with swoon-worthy heroes and gorgeous feel-good happily ever afters. She lives and loves in beautiful Hawke’s Bay, New Zealand with her family. When she’s not penning her latest story, Kate can be found hiking up hills (slowly), traveling to different countries, and eating chocolate. A lot of it.

Visit kateokeeffe dot com to sign up to her newsletter and you’ll receive a FREE romcom.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Bookbub / Instagram / Twitter

 

GIVEAWAY!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

—

 

**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**

The Kingdom of Shadows and Wolves
Martha Sweeney
(Stardust & Shadows, #1)
Publication date: August 27th 2024
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance

Being raised by the viper who slaughtered my family, along with being beaten and berated by him for merely existing, takes a toll on my heart and soul. Uncle bears the crown, has changed the name of our kingdom Soare to Krigare, and desires more destruction throughout the Fae lands. While plotting his quest to rule all, I’m bartered to forge a union with Cysgod, a formidable ally and one who could ensure Uncle’s victory. King Caelum of Cysgod has a reputation that precedes him, defining him as a tyrant as well. He killed his father for the crown and is known to be just a ruthless and bloodthirsty as Uncle.

Just when I thought the Gods had forsaken me, as they did the Enkeli and Conroicht, my life turns upside down. While I fear my new king, he and his people see me as their queen. Though he does not punish me, I expect it nonetheless and flinch at his touch.

I may be rid of Uncle, but I doubt his hold on me is truly released. Does he plan to capture Cysgod from the inside, using me as his weapon, giving him the army he needs to take and conquer any kingdom? Is there a way to stop Uncle and seek revenge for the death of my kin?

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

Your name does not fit you, my soon-to-be King,” I state. “Your father surely didn’t expect his son who is named of the heavens, where our beloved Gods reside, to take his crown by force. Did you go rabid like the Conroicht? Perhaps he should have named you—”

His grip tightens around my fingers and I’m forced to stop speaking and walking when he does. I dare not look at him, knowing I have spoken out of turn.

There isn’t a sound other than his controlled breath in and out of his nostrils.

“I have heard the rumors, King Caelum.” My stare pierces the floor. “I know a wolf in a sheep’s hide even if that wolf is a kingdom away.”

“One would almost say the same of your beloved Uncle,” he jabs.

I snicker. “Beloved is a word that has never been used to describe him.”

A hand wraps around my throat and I’m pushed against the stone wall. “You know little of me, Princess Aurora. Mind your words or I will seek pleasure in punishing you.”

My chin raises. “You know little of me.”

King Caelum’s attention lowers from my face. My dagger, which was hidden against my thigh, is pressed against the bottom of his leather chest guard. A low chuckle reverberates from him.

“With the tip of my hand like so,” I state, lowering my wrist an inch. “I merely need to press up and I will wound you greatly.”

“Princess Aurora,” Kion chides, stepping closer.

King Caelum growls at the guard who backs down a second later. “I know more about you, my soon-to-be Queen of Cysgod than you realize.”

“Not enough to know that I was armed and—”

He snarls like the wolf he is which cuts me off. “Three punishments so far, Princess Aurora. The odds gain in my favor.”

“Three?” I scoff.

The fire in his eyes intensifies. “First, for calling me a coward. Second, for calling me a wolf. And now, the attempt on my life.”

“Your life?” I balk. “You and your guards outnumber me. If you wanted, I would be dead and my blade wouldn’t be where it is.”

“Precisely.” His grip tightens around my neck, his thumb pressing into the bottom of my chin. “You pose no threat to me.”

“That is what Uncle would wish you to believe,” I inform. “Who was kneeling to whom earlier today? Not one Krigare guard rose when either of us stood, not that they have ever risen for me other than to escort me somewhere.” A yelp rushes out of me when my weapon-wielding hand is pinned against the wall. My gaze darts to its proximity and I swallow the lump in my throat when I realize its tip is a mere inch from my eye.

A devious smirk tugs at his lips as King Caelum chuckles deeply. “I’ll very much enjoy the punishments you will receive from me when we are afforded the time.”

Indignantly, I reply, “I’m certain it won’t be worse than what Uncle has done to me.”

King Caelum releases me, returning my dagger to the inside of my left thigh. I’m speechless as his fingers graze my skin and linger longer than needed. Should he lift his fingers barely an inch, he will touch a place no Fae male has ever touched. “We shall see, Princess Aurora.”

 

Author Bio:

Martha Sweeney is a BESTSELLING author who writes in a variety of genres: romance (contemporary, romcom, suspense, paranormal and historical), suspense, fantasy, thriller, coloring books, and soon, science fiction. She strives to push herself as a storyteller with each new tale and hopes to push her readers outside of their comfort zone whether it be genre or the stories themselves.

With a B.S. in Psychology, Martha utilizes her knowledge of human and animal behavior successfully in the business world and in her writing to present realistic characters and situations. She’s been creative since she was little, always drawing, coloring or making crafts, so her venture into being an author was a natural transition.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram

 

GIVEAWAY!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

—

 

**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**

Black Love Matters: Real Talk on Romance, Being Seen, and Happily Ever Afters
Jessica P. Pryde
Publication date: Feburary 1st 2022
Genres: Literary Fiction, Romance

An incisive, intersectional essay anthology that celebrates and examines romance and romantic media through the lens of Black readers, writers, and cultural commentators, edited by Book Riot columnist and librarian Jessica Pryde.

Romantic love has been one of the most essential elements of storytelling for centuries. But for Black people in the United States and across the diaspora, it hasn’t often been easy to find Black romance joyfully showcased in entertainment media. In this collection, revered authors and sparkling newcomers, librarians and academicians, and avid readers and reviewers consider the mirrors and windows into Black love as it is depicted in the novels, television shows, and films that have shaped their own stories. Whether personal reflection or cultural commentary, these essays delve into Black love now and in the past, including topics from the history of Black romance to social justice and the Black community to the meaning of desire and desirability.

Exploring the multifaceted ways love is seen—and the ways it isn’t—this diverse array of Black voices collectively shines a light on the power of crafting happy endings for Black lovers.

Jessica Pryde is joined by Carole V. Bell, Sarah Hannah Gomez, Jasmine Guillory, Da’Shaun Harrison, Margo Hendricks, Adriana Herrera, Piper Huguley, Kosoko Jackson, Nicole M. Jackson, Beverly Jenkins, Christina C. Jones, Julie Moody-Freeman, and Allie Parker in this collection.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

A Short History of African American Romance

Beverly Jenkins

Slave narratives were the first instrument used by African Americans to tell their own stories, so, in order to examine the history of African American romance, we must begin there. One of the earliest narratives my research turned up was one by Briton Hammon, published in 1760. It’s memorable for the title’s content and its length:

A Narrative of the Uncommon Sufferings, and Surprizing Deliverance of Briton Hammon, a Negro Man,-Servant to General Winslow, of Marshfield, in New-England; Who Returned to Boston, after Having Been Absent Almost Thirteen Years. Containing an Account of the Many Hardships He Underwent from the Time He Left His Master’s House, in the Year 1747, to the

Time of His Return to Boston.-How He Was Cast Away in the Capes of Florida;-The Horrid Cruelty and Inhuman Barbarity of the Indians in Murdering the Whole Ship’s Crew;-The Manner of His Being Carry’d by Them into Captivity. Also, an Account of His Being Confined Four Years and Seven Months in a Close Dungeon,-and the Remarkable Manner in Which He Met with His Good Old Master in London; Who Returned to New-England, a Passenger in the Same Ship.

Try putting that title on a book today.

Narratives by women don’t show up until more than half a century later, in 1831, with Mary Prince, a West Indies-born woman whose dictated story became Great Britain’s first published account of an enslaved Black woman’s life:

The History of Mary Prince, a West Indian Slave. Related by Herself. With a Supplement by the Editor. To Which Is Added, the Narrative of Asa-Asa, a Captured African.

Her story was published as calls for the abolition of slavery were on the rise.

I was immediately sent to work in the salt water with the rest of the slaves. This work was perfectly new to me. I was given a half barrel and a shovel and had to stand up to my knees in the water, from four o’clock in the morning till nine, when we were given some Indian corn boiled in water, which we were obliged to swallow as fast as we could for fear the rain should come on and melt the salt. We were then called again to our tasks and worked through the heat of the day; the sun flaming upon our heads like fire and raising salt blisters in those parts which were not completely covered. Our feet and legs, from standing in the salt water for so many hours, soon became full of dreadful boils, which eat down in some cases to the very bone, afflicting the sufferers with great torment. We came home at twelve; ate our corn soup, called blawly, as fast as we could, and went back to our employment till dark at night. We then shovelled up the salt in large heaps, and went down to the sea, where we washed the pickle from our limbs, and cleaned the barrows and shovels from the salt. When we returned to the house, our master gave us each our allowance of raw Indian corn, which we pounded in a mortar and boiled in water for our suppers. We slept in a long shed, divided into narrow slips, like the stalls used for cattle. Boards fixed upon stakes driven into the ground, without mat or covering, were our only beds. On Sundays, after we had washed the salt bags, and done other work required of us, we went into the bush and cut the long soft grass, of which we made trusses for our legs and feet to rest upon, for they were so full of the salt boils that we could get no rest lying upon the bare boards.

Although the United States had banned importation of slavery in 1800, and the UK in 1807, the institution remained firmly entrenched. Mary Prince’s account moved so many people, the book sold out three printings in its first year. Little is known about her after the printings other than three lawsuits that were filed as a result of the book. Prince testified at all three. One was brought by the master of the salt ponds, who said he had been defamed. He eventually won.

Prince’s narrative was followed by those of such notable women as:

Truth, Sojourner, 1797-1883. Narrative of Sojourner Truth, a Northern Slave, Emancipated from Bodily Servitude by the State of New York, in 1828. Edited by Olive Gilbert. Boston: The Author, 1850.

Jacobs, Harriet Ann, 1813-1897. Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl. Written by Herself. Edited by Lydia Maria Child. Boston: The Author, 1861.

Elizabeth, 1766-1866. Memoir of Old Elizabeth, a Coloured Woman. Philadelphia: Collins, 1863.

Elizabeth, 1766-1866. Elizabeth, a Colored Minister of the Gospel, Born in Slavery. Philadelphia: Tract Association of Friends, 1889.

Dubois, Silvia, 1768-1889. Silvia Dubois, (now 116 years old): a Biografy of the Slav Who Whipt Her Mistres and Gand Her Fredom. Edited by Cornelius Wilson Larison. Ringoes, NJ: Larison, 1883.

So we as a race began telling our stories first of bondage, and then of escape.

Brown, Henry Box, 1815-1897. Narrative of Henry Box Brown, Who Escaped from Slavery Enclosed in a Box 3 Feet Long and 2 Wide. Written from a Statement of Facts Made by Himself. With, Remarks upon the Remedy for Slavery. Edited by Charles Stearns. Boston: Brown and Stearns, 1849.

Henson, Josiah, 1789-1883. The Life of Josiah Henson, Formerly a Slave, Now an Inhabitant of Canada, as Narrated by Himself. Edited by Samuel A. Eliot. Boston: A. D. Phelps, 1849.

After escape came narratives of freedom:

Keckley, Elizabeth Hobbs, 1818-1907. Behind the Scenes,

or, Thirty Years a Slave and Four Years in the White House. New York: G. W. Carleton, 1868.

Love, Nat, 1854-1921. The Life and Adventures of Nat Love, Better Known in the Cattle Country as Deadwood Dick.” By Himself. A True History of Slavery Days, Life on the Great Cattle Ranges and on the Plains of the Wild and Woolly” West, Based on Facts, and Personal Experiences of the Author. Los Angeles: The Author, 1907.

So how and where does romance fit into these narratives of telling our own stories?

They begin with the optimism that the race embraced after the Civil War. The abolition of slavery brought not only sweeping change to the three million people who’d been held captive against their will under threat of violence in the South, but changes for a nation that saw a Black governor and lieutenant governor in Louisiana. Integrated legislatures in places like Florida, Mississippi, Georgia, and South Carolina. Two United States senators from Mississippi and twenty-one Black congressmen from all over the South from 1870 to 1901. We as Black people were optimistic about everything from education to owning our own businesses, and the HEA was pursued by formerly enslaved men who spent months and even years walking across the South from plantation to plantation, looking for their wives sold away by slavery. (Even as we still fight the stereotype that our men don’t love.) These days also brought hope that the country would live up to the promises stated in the Constitution and that we as a race would get our HEA. But it didn’t happen.

When Reconstruction died in 1876, ushering in the hateful, bloody years of Redemption, hope began to falter, but ironically, Black women like Frances Ellen Watkins Harper and Pauline Hopkins held on to that hope and became two of the race’s first romance writers. Their stories were based on what scholars called the Victorian love and marriage plots-complete with happy endings. I was surprised to learn that Harper had written one of the earliest romance novels, Iola Leroy, or Shadows Uplifted, because she is more remembered for being a poet, lecturer, and fiery speaker for abolition and for suffrage, especially for Black women battling both sexism and racism.

Born free in Maryland in 1825, Frances Ellen Watkins Harper became an orphan at the age of three when both her parents died. She was raised by an aunt and an uncle who was a staunch abolitionist and the founder of the Watkins Academy for Negro Youth, which Frances attended. She published her first book of poetry, Forest Leaves, at the age of twenty and, at the age of twenty-six, became the first woman instructor at Union Seminary, a school for free African Americans in Wilberforce, Ohio. When the state of Maryland passed the law forbidding free Blacks ’entry into the state, she was unable to return home, and so moved in with Philadelphia’s William Still, the famous underground railroad conductor, and his wife, Letitia. Encouraged by the Stills, Frances began writing poetry for anti-slavery newspapers. Her poem Eliza Harris” was published in William Lloyd Garrison’s The Liberator and the newspaper Frederick Douglass ’Paper.

An 1859 letter penned by her to the condemned John Brown, offering her support of him and his wife, was smuggled into his cell. It somehow wound up in the newspapers and was

reportedly read by tens of thousands of Americans; it thrust Frances onto the national stage. Also that year, her story The Two Offers” was published in The Anglo-African Magazine, earning her the distinction of being the first Black woman to publish a short story.

For the next decade she traveled across the United States and Canada, speaking out against enslavement on behalf of anti-slavery organizations that had hired her as a traveling lecturer. She also spoke on suffrage. In May 1866, she spoke at the eleventh National Woman’s Rights Convention in New York, sharing the stage with Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony. Her speech, We Are All Bound Up Together,” touches upon the state of the nation and her desperate attempts to provide for her children after her husband’s untimely death. She took white suffragettes to task for their efforts to exclude Black women from the conversations and activism tied to women’s rights. The speech is as relevant today as it was then. Reading it gives a good sense of who she was and where she stood. As does this quote from the speech: I do not believe that white women are dew-drops just exhaled from the skies. I think that like men they may be divided into three classes, the good, the bad, and the indifferent.”

In the years after, she would break with Stanton and Anthony over their denunciation of the Fifteenth Amendment, and go on to help found the National Association of Colored Women’s Clubs in 1896. She died on February 22, 1911.

Harper is known for many firsts, but her 1858 poem Bury Me in a Free Land” was as iconic to the pre-Civil War abolition era as We Shall Overcome” would be for US civil rights. It was read to open and close anti-slavery meetings, was recited at churches and funerals, was tacked on walls of African American homes, and was memorized by African American schoolchildren all over the quasi-free North.

Bury Me in a Free Land

Make me a grave where’er you will,

In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill;

Make it among earth’s humblest graves,

But not in a land where men are slaves.

I could not rest if around my grave

I heard the steps of a trembling slave;

His shadow above my silent tomb

Would make it a place of fearful gloom.

I could not rest if I heard the tread

Of a coffle gang to the shambles led,

And the mother’s shriek of wild despair

Rise like a curse on the trembling air.

I could not sleep if I saw the lash

Drinking her blood at each fearful gash,

And I saw her babes torn from her breast,

Like trembling doves from their parent nest.

I’d shudder and start if I heard the bay

Of bloodhounds seizing their human prey,

And I heard the captive plead in vain

As they bound afresh his galling chain.

If I saw young girls from their mother’s arms

Bartered and sold for their youthful charms,

My eye would flash with a mournful flame,

My death-paled cheek grow red with shame.

I would sleep, dear friends, where bloated might

Can rob no man of his dearest right;

My rest shall be calm in any grave

Where none can call his brother a slave.

I ask no monument, proud and high,

To arrest the gaze of the passers-by;

All that my yearning spirit craves,

Is bury me not in a land of slaves.

Harper’s 1892 romance, Iola Leroy, has an interesting plot, for the times. Our heroine, Iola, is a light-skinned, blue-eyed woman who doesn’t realize she’s Black until after the death of her wealthy planter father, when she and her mother are sold into slavery by an unscrupulous relative. Lots of drama ensues. Refusing to pass, she embraces her racial roots and becomes a nurse during the Civil War. She eventually falls in love with a Black doctor. They find their HEA, and both continue to devote their lives to uplifting the race. Dr. Bill Gleason, who teaches English at Princeton and is a romance scholar, says this: The last paragraph is something like: Now, the shadows were lifted off the hero and heroine, and they’re blessed, and can be blessings to each other.” Gleason continues, Harper has a note at the end that basically says: By the way, the mission of this book is to give people faith that this can really happen.”

Hope, and an HEA!

The story speaks to race, class, citizenship, gender, and community. According to some reports, the literary critics of the time awarded Harper’s 282-page novel more blame than praise,” but it was still continuously reprinted until 1895. After that, it wouldn’t see the light of day for over seventy-five years, when it was brought back into print in 1971.

But why would a woman known for her social militancy pen a romance novel at the age of sixty-seven? Was it due to the love she’d found with her husband, who died during their marriage? Had she read Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, which is embraced as the foundation of modern romance? Toni Morrison famously said if the book you wanted to read isn’t in the marketplace, then write it yourself. Was that the reason? Or was Harper simply a romantic at heart, like most romance writers and readers? We’ll never know, but the fact that she wrote Iola Leroy makes her Black Romance’s foundation.

Now, this is 1892. The situation for the race has become more and more dire. Jim Crow is everywhere, Black people are being lynched, disenfranchised, and denied the right to vote. In 1896, the Supreme Court hands down its ruling on Plessy v. Ferguson, and by a 7-1 decision makes the Separate but Equal doctrine the law of the land. Yet, in 1900, Pauline Hopkins continues to hold on to the hope and optimism that fueled Harper’s Iola, and writes a romance called Contending Forces. She goes on to write other books in 1901, ’02, ’03, but each has a tragic ending. Why? Scholar Claudia Tate says in her book Domestic Allegories of Political Desire: Hopkins gave up on romance because the optimism was gone.” The race’s last hope of an HEA from America was dashed on the rocks of the Plessy v. Ferguson ruling, and what little bit of optimism we had dried up like rain in a desert.

 

Author Bio:

Jessica Pryde is a contributing editor for Book Riot, where she is the co-host of the When In Romance podcast and writes about bookish things of all kinds. Having earned a Bachelor of art in the interdisciplinary project in humanities at Washington University in St. Louis and her Master of library science at San Jose State University. She is now a librarian in Tucson, where

she lives with her husband and an ever-growing collection of Funko Pops. “Black Love Matters” is her first book.

Website / Twitter

 

GIVEAWAY!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

—