Wednesday, March 9, 2016
Smite Turner is a very difficult person. First off, he was named Smite by his mother (or rather, a long biblical verse for which Smite was how it was shortened).
He is the most damaged of the brothers, Ash having escaped to go make his fortune, and Mark having been protected by his older brothers.
And Smite is very damaged.
But he is not a bad person, just one that cannot relate normally to others.
Smite knew he was being rude, retreating from the conversation as he was. But he had little truck with easy conversation. Nothing about him was easy; why should he pretend otherwise?
“Don’t think anything of that,” Miranda said, coming to stand by Smite. “For him, that was an apology on bended knee. Anything more than he just managed, and he’ll overload his sentimentality quota.”
Smite felt a touch of annoyance, and he yanked his hand away.
But (the man) gasped. “Never tell me he still has the sentimentality quota.”
Miranda’s look of surprise mirrored his. “Never tell me that the sentimentality quota truly exists.” The two of them exchanged shocked glances, and Smite found himself folding his arms across his chest.
Miranda Darling has been surviving in Bristol mostly by her wits. The daughter of actors, she was orphaned and had to make her way on her own–all the while carrying for a young boy who somehow ended up in her care.
The authors of heartwarming books apparently had no contact with actual adolescent boys. They weren’t kind. They didn’t know how to adore. They were just surly.
She hasn’t done anything truly illegal, but she is involved in a shadowy organization run by The Patron.
I very much liked the premise of this story. First, that Miranada was so willing to become a mistress to secure her future felt true to both her character and the times. (So I’m not ALWAYS against boinking prior to marriage in books.)
I also like how Smite was not miraculously healed of all of his issues by love. Yes, he does change, but he remains a difficult man who has many problems he will probably never get over.
Miranda leaned over to the other woman. “Despite his apparent fluency in the English language,” she said earnestly, “Smite lacks the capacity to express some very basic thoughts. Compliments that other people manage quite easily, like ‘My, you look lovely,’ or ‘I hope you don’t die tonight’ are quite difficult.”
I liked this story, and I liked Smite–damaged as he was.
Published by Courtney Milan