9 of 9 people found the following review helpful
This review is from: Mr Darcy, Vampyre (Paperback)
I feel compelled to write this because `Mr Darcy, Vampyre' is seriously one of the worst books I have ever read. Aside from the obvious, that I didn't realise there was a whole genre of Pride and Prejudice (and similar) romantic twaddle spin offs, to then crossover this nonsense into cash-in post-Twilght vampire fiction, and to top it off have it written by someone whose plotting and character development is all but non-existent...well, the whole thing is just a shameful waste of space. Elizabeth and Darcy are two of the great characters of English literature. Grange reduces them to the two-dimensional parodies of themselves, the stock-in-trade of pulp romance. In terms of plot (ha!), there are over two hundred pages of practically nothing, but just so you know, in the 18th century they used bathing machines, spelled `vampire' funny, and syllabubs were popular desserts. Seriously, when I was at school, we once had an assignment to write a page of Elizabeth's diary `in the style of Jane Austen' - this is like reading a whole book of such poorly written, immature imitation. To give you an idea - on page 272, with only about 30 pages left, I was desperately hoping that something might actually happen. What happens is, Elizabeth has a little wander around a beach. "The sand was hot and she hopped from foot to foot, sinking into the fine grains which enveloped her small white toes as she landed until she reached the firmer sand. It was dark and wet and better able to support her weight, and behind her she left perfect imprints of her well-shaped feet". It is so important to me that she has well-shaped feet. It is truly a sign she is deserving of Darcy's love. Oh, and this little nugget from page 245 made me laugh out loud: "What a strange fate was hers, to meet a man she took in dislike, then to have to change all her feelings about him and realise she loved him, and then to find out he was a creature of the night. And, perhaps, fate was not done with her yet..." Oh, if only fate had had done with her 245 pages earlier. In short, this book offends me as someone who loves Jane Austen, and also as someone who has been a long-term enthusiast of books about vampires. Grange has clearly not made the slightest effort to read, research, or create a mythology behind her vacuous in-name-only `plot'. And the worst thing of all is that she's laughing all the way to the bank.