Tag Archives: heartbreak

the Lover Unbound review

when I broke up with my first long-term boyfriend, what made me the most terrified, the most heartbroken, was that in a couple of years it would no longer matter. I wouldn’t feel the pain, and he would be nothing more than a memory I might take out once in a while.

At the time, in the midst of breaking us up, that felt like a horror.

That’s a bit how I felt about the romance in this book. And as I realise that I probably need to catch you up on what I’ve been going on (and on and on) about (with spoilers):

Vishous is a vampire warrior/son of the vampire deity who has never let himself care about anything or anyone. Until a human cop joins the Brotherhood. Butch and Vishous become roommates and start finishing each other’s sentences. Butch becomes the first person V has ever let close.

Then V saves Butch’s life, is the only one who can keep him alive if Butch is going to do his part in the war, undertakes the gruesome rite to turn Butch into a fully-fledged vampire (no bite-and-bury in Ward’s world!) and sponsors him to join the brotherhood.

During that ceremony Butch offers his neck to V and they share the most intimate moment of any in any of the books. All the while Butch is apparently falling for Marissa, bimbo-extraordinaire. (Ok, so I don’t mind her so much outside of her capacity as Butch’s soulmate, but will talk more about Alphas and their females soon.)

Ok.

Cut to Lover Unbound, and instead of brushing the whole thing off, Ward made the decision to actually name what V feels for Butch. The book opens with a whole bunch of delicious longing on his part.

In fact, it opens with Butch half naked, forcing V – with great tenderness – to look at him with the tip of a very sharp dagger.

So, it’s official. V is in love with Butch.

And then this miraculous thing happens. He meets a woman, who from one second to the next boots Butch out of “that secret chamber in his heart”. Ta da!

Jane was actually a pretty great character – an amazing surgeon, head of the Trauma team, stands her ground with aggressive men. But there was only really one moment in the whole book when I actually believed that she had gotten through to V: she makes a silly joke to him at an inappropriate moment and surprises a laugh out of him that no one else could.

I think there was the potential between these two for a great love story, but the problem was this: his love for Butch was just too much more convincing. So to have it just disappear in a matter of minutes?

Not good.

And then once it had magically gone, there was that feeling again. Instead of enjoying his new love story, all I really felt was the great melancholy that his love for Butch wasn’t going to matter soon. And what a horror that was.

I’m sorry to say, I have a lot more rant in me on this subject, so tomorrow I’m going to briefly touch on the give-and-take between writer and reader, and what I think has happened in this case.

Then I’ll move on. Promise.

(Er, though it might just be to the next book in the series…)

love is a crutch/love makes life bearable

to my thoughts about Love I add this:

Last weekend I cleared some things up with special k – one of the effects of which is, I’m not going to mother him anymore. I decided I quite like the idea of us both being grown-ups who can deal with the world when we can and ask for help when we can’t.

And I like still feeling like me – and still being curious about him, because I don’t assume I actually know him at all.

I think when you’re in a long-term relationship with someone the easiest thing in the world is to get lazy – to sag in towards them and the comfort they provide. You start pre-empting each other and you wear grooves into certain familiar conversations.

It’s comfortable and easy, but it leeches personal initiative like nobody’s business.

But then today, when I felt like I was dying of pain (women’s business, probably best not to ask), the only thing in the world that could make me feel better was speaking to special k. I had taken too many painkillers: nothing. I had tried hot water bottle, sleeping, curtains drawn: nothing.

There was not a single safe harbour for me in the world but him. As soon as I heard his voice I could relax, and after speaking to him for ten minutes I passed out.

There’s a strong case for being independent – for still being the responsible, causative, joyful thing that generates your life. I’ve also always been a bit afraid of what would happen if special k died before me, and I didn’t know how to be without him.

But there’s definitely some equation in our society that goes: dependence = bad. Like you shouldn’t grow leaning towards anyone else.

When it’s as obvious to me as it was today that special k is something to me that nothing else on earth can be, I will gladly break my heart every day without him, if that’s what it takes to have this.

something I saw today

in the middle of the day I watched the British film The Secret of Moonacre. I wanted to see it because of the trailers, but as soon as it started I realised I knew it inside-out: it’s based on a book I loved reading as a kid, The Little White Horse by Elizabeth Goudge.

The film was good (the costumes a definite highlight) but nothing special. Except for this one moment.

Ioan Gruffudd plays the enigmatic, rude uncle our heroine goes to stay with after her parents die.

He neglects her so she wanders the house and starts playing the piano she finds in a deserted parlour, because it begs to be played. Her uncle comes to the doorway and when he sees her he breathes as though he’s reminding himself to. As though he’s saying: Just keep on keeping on, even though your heart is in pieces.