The Reluctant Time Traveler – by Lynda Eymann

I was on the fence about this book, so I read a number of the Amazon reviews and most of them were favorable. I made the mistake of not reading the first few pages, a must when you’re on the fence about an author you have never read before, and I downloaded the book to my Kindle. I started reading it on a plane ride from Chicago to San Diego. When I got to 12%, I finally gave up.

In the first chapter, Susan Jaymes, the protagonist, who does not know her name or remembers anything else about her past, finds herself on an auction block somewhere in England in the 16th century, being sold by her “pig of a husband.” Another mysterious man, a gentleman, apparently, buys her as a wife.

I found the writing corny, almost puerile. The Susan character was so unbelievable and inconsistent, it seemed like I was watching a cartoon cardboard pop out figure that somebody walked across a stage with a tape recorder for a voice behind it.

He leaned farther forward then, skimmed his lips across hers, before he suddenly stopped to consider something. She could see the longing in his eyes, a longing that she could not quite understand. It was not lust – it was something else, something which was beyond her comprehension. He wanted  something other than her body alone, but she had no idea what it might be. She felt her face flush furiously, followed by a sudden, unexpected heat between her legs. He smiled faintly, knowingly, and then he ran the tip of his finger across the side of her face where the scars were so prevalent. Her heart skipped a beat at his touch.  He smiled again, a little smugly this time, and leaned back in his seat, not embarrassed or self-conscious when she could not stop her eyes from lingering for a moment on the comfortable bulge between his legs, just beneath his trousers.

  • It was not lust – it was something else
  • She felt her face flush furiously
  • Unexpected heat
  • Her heart skipped a beat
  • Comfortable bulge

Hmmm. So this woman has no idea who she is, why she is there, who the mysterious stranger with the bulge is, and where she is going. Heat between her legs notwithstanding, she sneaks a knife between her robe that she eventually takes to bed with her. Somebody that feels the things she describes above simply does not take a knife to bed so this guy can’t come close. Then, not much later in the evening, she lets the stranger “take her” completely and she has the best sex of her life. I thought she can’t remember her life? Inconsistencies abound and rather than getting pulled into the story, I found myself getting thrown out of it constantly by the juvenile language and the cardboard personalities.

This book is a romance novel disguised as something else, and I have finally concluded that I am not capable of reading romance novels. Going forward, if any description of any book or any review just contains the word “romance” I need to stay away.

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