Thursday, March 30, 2017

RoseBlood-y Awful

Well, that's that.  

I have been looking forward to reading this book for months.  I <3 A.G. Howard's Splintered series (except the cop-out ending, but that's neither here nor there), and expected to <3 RoseBlood, too.  I didn't.  Before I get too far into my review, though, here's the GORGEOUS cover, and the blurb from Goodreads



In this modern day spin on Leroux’s gothic tale of unrequited love turned to madness, seventeen-year-old Rune Germain has a mysterious affliction linked to her operatic talent, and a horrifying mistake she’s trying to hide. Hoping creative direction will help her, Rune’s mother sends her to a French arts conservatory for her senior year, located in an opera house rumored to have ties to The Phantom of the Opera.

At RoseBlood, Rune secretly befriends the masked Thorn—an elusive violinist who not only guides her musical transformation through dreams that seem more real than reality itself, but somehow knows who she is behind her own masks. As the two discover an otherworldly connection and a soul-deep romance blossoms, Thorn’s dark agenda comes to light and he’s forced to make a deadly choice: lead Rune to her destruction, or face the wrath of the phantom who has haunted the opera house for a century, and is the only father he’s ever known.


I can recall with crystal clarity my first introduction to The Phantom of the Opera.  It was Gerard Butler as Erik, Emmy Rossum as Christine, and Patrick Wilson as Raoul.  The atmosphere, the setting, the music, captivated me, and I must have watched that film a hundred times, listened to the score a hundred more.  No, the contemporary version definitely does not hold a candle to Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford's performance (which I saw later), but was stunning to my heart and soul, all the same.  And while I appreciate the absolute perfection of the West End Brightman/Crawford version, there's just something about the jazzed-up coolness of Butler and Rossum (and the brilliant supporting cast - Minnie Driver is incomparable as Carlotta) that keeps their representation of the tragic story relevant and relatable.  

This is the love which led me to RoseBlood.  And then RoseBlood broke my heart.

Let's start with our heroine.  (Believe me, I'm using the term very loosely here.)  She's the most Mary Sue Mary Sue that ever Mary Sued.  She is (of course) beautiful.  And she is (of course) monumentally talented (though her talent drains her).  She (of course) has a tragic past she has to overcome.  And she is (of course) kind and generous and friendly and selfless and misunderstood by the mean girls.  And she is (gasp!) cursed by gypsies!  (Insert eye roll here.)  There is no - not one - instance in this book in which I liked, or even cared about Rune Germain.  (Let's digress here for a moment - Rune brings to mind Celtic and Scandinavian mysteries, not French ones, so for me, "Rune" was a distracting misnomer.  Yes, I suppose it has something to do with her gypsy [again, eye roll] heritage, but just dislike.)  And, in my opinion, she's ignorant.  Not in a book-learnin' way, but in a way-of-the-world way.  A *mysterious* stranger tells her that she is his soulmate, destined to be his lover, and she's just like, oh, ok, sweet.  That explains everything.  Whaaaa?  She's obviously never heard of stranger danger. 

Now, I am a sucker for a good gothic mystery.  What I am not a sucker for is the most gothic of gothicy gothicness wrapped in gothicity.  This book has potentially the coolest setting imaginable - a boarding school in an old opera house situated way out in the French countryside.  There's a graveyard; there's a chapel; there's an aviary.  I mean, seriously cool.  But its extreme coolness is dulled by the fact that EVERY SINGLE element of EVERYTHING, right down to the motes of dust dancing the waltz in shafts of golden, iridescent light, is described in painful detail, which removes any opportunity I have as a reader to use my imagination.  It's as if Howard doesn't trust her readers to grasp how awesome this place is, and so she takes it upon herself to make sure the readers understand.  As a reader, I hate it when authors do this.  I like to think the author assumes I have some level of intelligence, and can reach certain conclusions on my own, without being led there every step.  The result here is pure and unadulterated tedium.

"There has to be some redeeming quality in this book," you say.  "How about the hero?  Is he dreamy?"  No.  He's not.  Oh, he's gorgeous, because in this book everything is (and the author will tell you so, multiple times, and over and over and over ad infinitum).  But Thorn exists as a tortured soul (and a thorn in the side of this book), and the pseudo-step-son of Erik, the original Phantom.  Potential!  Wasted.  Because you know what's even worse than blood-sucking vampires?  Psychic energy-sucking vampires.  Because apparently that's a thing.  Buh-bye - I'm out.

Though touted as a Phantom of the Opera retelling, it's more of a continuation of Leroux's original narrative; it picks up Erik's story (though he's not the main character here) years in the future (and for those of you who like math, you'll notice how many years...) where he is creeping around making Thorn do his nefarious deeds for him.  He leaves notes signed OG, which definitely doesn't stand for Original Gangsta', but for Opera Ghost (I just rolled my eyes so hard I saw my brain).  The turn Howard has made him take is disturbing, and the fact that he owns a rave (yes, you read that correctly - Phantom of the Rave, because dub-step is so much cooler than opera) is just this side of completely ridiculous.  And his ultimate plan something seventh level of creepy hell. 

In short, don't waste your time.  This was a complete swing and a miss for me.  I wish Howard the best of luck with her next project, because I really think she has talent and imagination, but IMO, she tried way too hard on this one.    

My next review will be of A Study in Charlotte, and will be decidedly more flattering to both book and author.  

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