Sensuality rating: Steamed and Chocolate Dipped

I was a little nervous starting this. Florand had two five star book in a row, for me — could she possibly pull off a hat trick? Yes. Yes she could.

Magalie, the daughter of a trans-continental marriage, spent her youth being shuttled between France and America.  As an adult, she made the most secure, permanent home possible for herself in the whimsical, witch themed chocolate shop of her aunts, cooking chocolat chaud that she infuses with appropriate wishes for its drinkers. (One of these fortunate drinkers was Cade Corey, heroine of The Chocolate Thief, and it worked out very well for her.) When world famous patissier Phillipe Lyonnais decides to open a new shop on her street, Magalie feels threatened enough to move out of her comfort zone and beard the lion in his den. Phillipe tries to soothe her with one of his exquisite handmade creations, she defiantly refuses… and the battle is on.

The Chocolate Kiss is very like Florand’s previous amour et chocolat books in many ways, but has a few key differences. In this story, both characters put their heart and soul into their delicious sweets, and their increasingly desperate efforts to make the other have a taste makes for one of the most delicious wars in the history of romance. Phillipe continually outdoes himself in dreaming up symbolically meaningful pastry to woo Magalie.  The defiant Magalie tries to infuse humility for him into her chocolate, yet keep unconsciously stirring her own unadmitted longing for Phillipe into it, causing him to be constantly pursued by random chocolate drinkers.

The story also differs from the previous books in being unexpectedly sad, at least for me.  Magalie is so wounded underneath the desperate armor of her Parisian chic, I couldn’t help crying for her.  For awhile I was even aghast about Phillipe’s seeming indifference to how much his shop threatened Magalie, because I identified so strongly with her that despite her aunts’ unconcern, I didn’t realize it was never a genuine threat.

Florand makes art and magic with words as she describes how Phillipe and Magalie make art and magic with food. Every word had meaning; I had to keep slowing down and going back, to savor phrases that had rushed by too fast to be appreciated.  She fills her books with rich metaphor — like all of her food magicians, Phillipe is his creations, but he is also a lion, and a prince, and he’s wary that a witch might turn him into a beast (or a frog.)  Magalie is a witch trying to stifle her longing to be a princess, but she’s also Rapunzel trapped in her tower, and a dessert that melts into goo from Phillipe’s attention. It sounds overly complicated and mishmash, but it all swirls together into a perfect mix of flavors.

This phrase struck me as being representative of Florand’s unique style:

“His laughter expanded into the whole room, his energy embracing everyone and everything in it. And that bell in her shop rang again, pure and clear, piercing her through the heart — which hurt like hell — and holding her there, impaled for somebody else’s pleasure.”

I love how her characters embrace metaphor so thoroughly, they make it almost literal. They also invariably think along the same lines — while Magalie tries to make sure no chocolate skulls are left off the fence that guards her Baba Yaga display, Phillipe immediately notices the one that’s fallen, which means the fence can no longer keep a prince out. This completely works with the gentle magic realism that’s especially strong in this story.

I read this with gusto, making gleeful noises and awwws and sobs as I went. I adored Phillipe, so large and competent and sure of himself, yet so vulnerable as he falls hopelessly in love with a walled-off princess who thinks she can’t have a prince.  (I was amused when I looked up “Magalie” and discovered it means “pearl” — she could not be more aptly named.) He truly needs the patience of someone who takes the utmost, delicate care with his work. And I cheered as Magalie starts letting her armor drop enough to enjoy a run — impossible in the high heels she unusually insists on — and even begins to believe in the power of her own magic.  It’s yet another 5 stars — or maybe that should be 3 Michelin stars. You can buy it here.

Published by Kensington. Review copy from the public library.

Sensuality rating: candyfloss

What I most love about Rainbow Rowell’s books (among with their wit, emotional resonance, perfect zeitgeist and so on) is that they make me feel like there’s a place for people like me, my husband, and my friends in romance. Not that either of her first two books is a romance in the genre sense, but I certainly don’t care.

This story alternates between two narrative styles. Half is told in the form of chatty emails between two coworkers at a newspaper, Beth and Jennifer. The other is from the point of view of Lincoln, the guy in charge of reading any company emails that send red flags, and then reprimanding the senders. But Lincoln loves the funny, interesting emails so much, he can’t bear to make them stop, or to stop reading them.

Jennifer is married, Beth is… kind of wishing she was too, but her ultra-cool musician boyfriend isn’t into it. And Beth is the one who becomes increasingly important to Lincoln.

She and Jennifer were both funny, both caring, both smart as whips. But Beth’s whip always caught him by the ankle.

He loved the way she put on kid gloves when Jennifer talked about her marriage and Mitch. He loved the way she riffed on her siblings and her bosses and herself. He tried not to love that she could recite scenes from Ghostbusters and could name all of the original X-Men — because those seemed like reasons a guy would fall for a girl in a Kevin Smith movie.

It’s lovely to see geeky characters who are neither made fun or nor idealized.  Lincoln, who’s never quite recovered from being dumped by his first love,  would look like a total loser on paper — underemployed, lives with his mother, still plays Dungeons and Dragons with his college friends. But he has enduring qualities like loyalty, sincerity, intelligence, and respect for love and relationships. So do his college friends, who would be a bunch of stereotypical dweebs played for laughs elsewhere. Most of them are married, some to each other; they have homes and kids. They still play games because they really like playing games. I was never much of a gamer, but most of my friends were/are, and I appreciate seeing that reality portrayed.

The book is mainly about Lincoln’s journey to full adulthood,  as he finally starts to let go of the past and blossom as a single guy, and it shows us why he’s an awesome person. He’s so tender and has so much to give; he cares in all the right ways.  We don’t see Beth other than in her emails until the end, but they show her humor and kindness, and the need she has for someone like Lincoln in her life.

This was my second read of Attachments — reading Rowell’s latest book Eleanor and Park made me want to reread it — and on this reading I was struck by a minor subplot about a bar-hopping player type and a woman he picks up. Romantic Lincoln thinks it would be impossible to find true love in a bar, but in fact that presumed one-night stand turns into a genuine relationship. I really liked how Rowell included a very different type of person, pursuing companionship in a very different type of way, but gave him just as happy an ending.  Yes — I won’t say how it works out, but the book does have a happy ending.

I gave Attachments 5 stars on the first reading; I think I liked it slightly less on the second, because I read it too soon after Eleanor and Park, but I’m not changing the grade — it’s an amazing book. You can buy it from Amazon here.

Published by Dutton. Review copy borrowed from the library.

P.S. I can’t write anything about geeks without including this video. It’s the law.