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REVIEW:  Yours to Keep by Serena Bell

REVIEW: Yours to Keep by Serena Bell

Dear Serena Bell:

Despite the fact that the United States is experiencing its highest levels of immigration since the turn of the 19th/20th century, I rarely come across contemporary romance novels that feature immigrant protagonists. And given the controversial nature of immigration policy today, especially with respect to undocumented immigrants, I didn’t ever expect to see a main character from this particular group. So kudos to you for taking on this subject, in your debut novel no less. As someone who was for all intents and purposes an immigrant, is the daughter of an immigrant, and teaches immigration history and politics, there was no way I was going to pass on the chance to read this book. It wound up being a mixed bag for me, with some good parts and some pretty problematic parts.

[Note to readers: This is a long review, much longer than I usually write. There is a lot of stuff going on in this novel and I wanted to do justice to the different issues.]

Yours to Keep by Serena BellAna Travares is a smart, beautiful woman in her late twenties whose life is completely shaped by her residency status. She came to the United States when she was seven with her mother and older siblings. After her mother died of cancer less than two years after their arrival the children somehow managed to stay together, but with lapsed visas and no way to regularize their status, they spent the next 20 years living with the consequences of that situation. They continue to live together in a small apartment along with Ana’s niece and two nephews, and all the adults have jobs. Ana, although unable to go to college, has established a business of sorts, tutoring high school students in a wealthy suburb nearby and teaching ESL classes before and after work hours for other immigrants.

When the story begins, Ana’s tutoring job is in jeopardy because the sleazy new administrator at the high school is demanding that she show documentation of work status, including her social security number. Unlike many undocumented residents, Ana hasn’t taken the usual not-so-legal measures to acquire one, and she’s in the process of staving off the sleazebag’s harassing advances when they’re interrupted by our hero, Ethan Hansen. Ethan is a widower with a teenage son who desperately needs a Spanish tutor, and before you know it, Ana has a new client and she and Ethan are falling in lust.

I liked Ana’s character quite a bit. She’s carved out a life for herself despite the structural career limitations she faces, and she has a good relationship with her sister, Cara. She’s paranoid about having her status discovered (which is understandable), but she’s not apologizing for it all the time or completely cowed down by it. Although the book makes Ana’s residency status the central focus of her life, that choice doesn’t make her as one dimensional a character as she could have been. Her interactions with Theo are warm and realistic, and I enjoyed the glimpses into her home and work life.

Ethan, on the other hand, was much less appealing to me. He’s trying to be a good father to Theo and mostly succeeding, and we are shown that he is a conscientious pediatrician. But he doesn’t have much of a personality; he watches football and hangs out with his brother. There just wasn’t much there as far as he was concerned. I could see how someone in his position could seem appealing to Ana, but I didn’t see what made him individually so appealing that she overrode her own caution in his case. He felt very reactive and conventional to me, and while I can see how conventionality can be appealing to someone in a precarious position, it’s not a great characteristic for a leading man.

In addition, I found Ethan’s backstory hard to believe from his first appearance. A prosperous pediatrician and a single parent who is clearly devoted to his son, Ethan is somehow still unmarried after seven years. He has no visible support system to help him take care of Theo, and his very nice parents don’t make an appearance until the last quarter of the book. He’s that rare pediatrician who never seems to be on call. Generally, women either ignore him or are married and frustrated and therefore hit on him. Really? A nice doctor who teaches his son to put the toilet seat down isn’t appealing to non-predatory, non-frustrated women?

The lack of a support network is glaring in Ana’s case. Ana and her family have in their lives no other extended family members, no one from their home town in the Dominican Republic, no immigrant friends who are in a better legal and financial position than they are. This is despite the fact that Massachusetts, where the story is set, has the fourth largest Dominican population in the US. I understand that this setup is designed to throw the hero and heroine together, and it happens in a lot of romance novels, but in the case of these particular backstories it seems even more unrealistic than usual. Neither Ana nor Cara seem to have Dominican friends. Ana’s brother Ricky has one friend who may or may not deal drugs, and who may or may not be interested in Cara, but who is definitely somewhat thuggish. There is some thoughtful acknowledgment of intra-cultural race issues within the Dominican community, but that and a few recipes are about all we learn of Ana’s native culture.

Although the book is set in a major metropolitan area, there are very few immigrants woven into the story. The wealthy suburb where Ethan lives and Ana tutors apparently has no immigrants (undocumented or otherwise): no nannies, no cleaners, no yard help. This absence is especially surprised given the unflattering depictions of most of the wives and mothers Ethan interacts with; if they’re so bored, fashion-obsessed, and predatory, who’s doing the work of keeping their homes? The transnational nature of immigrant lives is completely absent from this narrative, too; no one calls family and friends in their home country, or sends money, or communicates in any other ways, despite the fact that Ana’s family must be relatively well off on her father’s side.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that no one apart from Ana is drawn with much depth or sympathy. The “villain” who sets Ana’s problems in motion is introduced briefly and he’s one-dimensional. The native-born supporting characters, even the ones who want to help Ana and her family, are portrayed as well-meaning but clueless. This would be OK if they didn’t turn out to be the people who provide Ana with the solutions to her problems. Ana’s character projects agency, but in the end she is bailed out by other people. The other undocumented people don’t have agency, and the characters who do have agency come across as not very competent, or oblivious to the problems of undocumented residents, or self-absorbed. This creates a disconnect between how the characters appear on page and what their roles in the plot are.

Back to the story: Ana and Ethan stave off their mutual attraction for a short time but then give in to it. The sex scenes are well written and advance the plot. Ethan is willing to have Ana stay over and get close to Theo awfully fast for someone who has steadfastly refused to do so for the previous seven years, but I went with it. But while their scenes together are engaging, I didn’t get a sense of what made them shift from lust to love. Their journey is complicated by Ana’s status and Ricky’s opposition to Ethan, which sets up the major conflict they have to overcome to get to their HEA. I haven’t run across any cases where an undocumented person’s family has been opposed to marriage to an eligible, professional citizen, but I suppose it’s possible. Equally implausibly, no one thinks that Ana might be taking advantage of Ethan for longer than about five minutes, even though the two have known each other for less than a month.

In the last third of the book the action ramps up and lands firmly in melodrama territory, then ends in a sugar-coma-inducing ending and epilogue. Neither was particularly believable, and the most melodramatic moment was telegraphed several times during the course of the plot. I could have lived with that, but what really bothered me was that all of the Dominican characters are saved by the white, native-born characters. Ethan saves Ana not once but twice, and for good measure he saves a couple of other members of her family (literally or financially). Everything that non-citizens in this story gain is through the largesse of the more fortunate US-born citizens around them. This portrayal does a disservice to the extent to which immigrants, legal or not, help themselves and each other.

There is also a recurring emphasis on how Ana and her family became undocumented that made me uncomfortable, and I’m pretty sure it’s incorrect to boot. I’ll put it under a spoiler cut because the information dribbles out over the course of the book and the final portrait that emerges comes quite late. And I probably go on about immigration issues for much longer than most readers are interested in, so click at your own peril.

[spoiler] Ana and other characters repeatedly stress that the family arrived with valid visas but then overstayed those visas, failed to renew them, and lost their status. The failure to renew is attributed to Ana’s mother’s illness and death. There are a number of problems with this explanation. First, it implies that coming on a legal visa and overstaying is somehow more legitimate than arriving without valid visas. But it doesn’t matter how children acquire their undocumented status; they’re children at the mercy of adult decisions, and they shouldn’t be treated as culpable whether they overstay or walk across the border, whether they lose legal status or never had it in the first place. That’s one of the key points of the DREAM Act, that children shouldn’t be punished for adult behavior (despite being set around 2010, the book never refers to any of the current immigration controversies or legislative efforts).

As for overstaying v. arriving without documentation, I’m very glad to see overstaying highlighted here, because many people assume all undocumented residents crossed a border without proper visas, but overstaying isn’t ethically superior to crossing. They’re both the same kind of legal violation, and they’re treated much the same way.

Second, the explanation for lapse of status doesn’t work. Ana tells Ethan that they came on derivative visas because her father was coming to the US to take a position as a college professor. They came first and waited, but their father never came, changing his mind and abandoning the family. But if he never showed up, his visa (most likely an H1-B), would have been revoked and his family would have had to return to the Dominican Republic. Their visas would only have been valid on the condition that he took the job, a condition that was never fulfilled. Therefore, they didn’t have a legal right to stay in the US without Ana’s father. If they intended to conform to the law (and the book is implicitly praising them for this), they should have returned in the first few months, well before Ana’s mother’s illness.

Finally, spouses on derivative visas cannot legally work in the US (except under very specific conditions that don’t appear to have been met in this case). So how did they support themselves for the year or so that they were in the US before Ana’s mother became ill? And why did no one come and take them home when they were all alone, especially since Ricky, the eldest and the de facto head of the family, was unhappy and having trouble adjusting? They couldn’t get in touch with their father, but they had other relatives and given their father’s profession, other relatives were unlikely to be so poor as to be unable to help.


There are also some throwaway lines that made me flinch. More than once Ethan comments on Ana’s excellent English, in terms of both her facility with the language and her accent.

With her voice, creamy calm and cool, containing only the slightest trace of her native island, the slightest hint that English was not the only language she’d ever known.

Hello, she’s been in the US since she was seven. It’s not a huge accomplishment to be fluent in a language you’re educated in and surrounded by. This is the kind of thing well-meaning but oblivious people say to immigrants all the time. At one point Ethan realizes how prejudiced he sounds:

What was wrong with him that he hadn’t put the pieces together? It was the power of denial, that’s what it was. And, he admitted, the skill with which she spoke English. People like her—God, had he thought those words?—were supposed to be barely bilingual. Barely literate. Not articulate, not skilled teachers, not well read. His prejudices had snared him.

At least he realizes those are prejudices, and presumably he realizes he is wrong about what “people like her” are like. But at the end of the book he’s doing it again:

“You’re beautiful and funny and sexy, and you have a better grasp of English than people I’ve known who’ve been speaking it their whole lives.”

Enough already.

I should add that there is quite a bit of Spanish sprinkled throughout the book, but since I don’t speak Spanish I can’t evaluate whether it was accurate or not.

I might have been able to recommend the book if the romance had been stronger. But while Ana was appealing, Ethan didn’t have much going for him, and hot sex scenes can’t make up for a drip of a hero. Grade: C-/D+

~ Sunita

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REVIEW: The Escort by Gina Robinson

REVIEW: The Escort by Gina Robinson

Dear Ms. Robinson,

It’s like there was a big neon sign on the blurb for this book that flashed “I wrote this just for Kelly.”

The Escort by Gina RobinsonYoung, beautiful Italian mail-order bride Angelina D’Alessandro is married by proxy to an older man she’s never met-her only chance to escape the poverty of Italy for the hope of a new life in America. But to join him in the wilderness of Idaho in 1899 she’s not allowed to travel alone. Now she’s torn between duty and desire as she fights her growing attraction to her handsome and enigmatic escort.

Mine owner and explosives expert Tonio Domani prefers to travel alone. In his line of work he can’t afford distractions. Against his better judgment he’s coerced into playing chaperone to a beautiful and tempting bride. The dangers he faces daily in his mine are real and the increasingly volatile powder keg of North Idaho’s mining country makes his return there even more dangerous. But what scares him most is the rising passion he feels for Angelina and the danger of losing his heart to her.

Or maybe it was subversive subliminal messaging. Either way, it worked, because The Escort scaled Mount TBR in record time.

Throughout the first half of the story, I was wallowing in the goodness: fantastic setting, compelling main characters and a bit of a twist on the mail-order bride trope. I was enjoying the ride, cruising along happily on the train ride west. But when Angelina and Tonio disembarked in Idaho, the story fell apart.

The good stuff first…. I am a sucker for immigrant stories, and both the hero and heroine have believable backstories that set up their prickly banter and relationship-building perfectly.

“You must have left Italy a long time ago. And my guess is that you’ve never been to the South. There are no men. The crop failures have sent them all away. Nearly all the able-bodied men have emigrated to find work. Or they’ve been killed in the wars. Southern women without dowries remain unmarried. And how can they get them when their fathers can’t work?”

“There is always the convent,” he said. “A wise and pristine choice.”

“Filled to capacity.”

Angelina’s transition from Sheltered Italian Virgin to a Confident American Woman in the early chapters was a highlight; I loved that she makes her choices deliberately. The freedom in America both frightens and thrills Angelina, and it’s fascinating to see her struggle with what kind of woman she wants to be. I had issues with some of those choices in the latter part of the story, but by that point, I had bought into her character enough to get annoyed. Which is a good thing. No, really.

The trope twist — Angelina is already married by proxy to a friend of her father’s — is a much-needed extra edge of conflict and angst. That impediment gives the relationship enough tension to prevent it from devolving into a predictable mail-order bride formula.

As a history geek, I’m all about the historical world-building, and the turn-of-the-century New York-to-Idaho journey was spot-on. Tonio and Angelina take advantage of the “Italian Immigrant Network” to make their way across the country, and their shared background and language provides a sense of intimacy even when they’re “chumming” with dozens of other passengers on the train.

And oh lordy, the Total Drama Moment, with rescue-by-explosion and the swoon-worthy aftermath:

He spoke. “I’m alive—”

She couldn’t hear the rest clearly. It muffled as he pressed his lips between her breasts. She thought he said, “For the first time in years.”

I was really looking forward to even more drama when the happy couple reached their destination in the mountainous mining communities of northern Idaho. Unfortunately, this is where the story started caving in on itself. [That was an attempt at a mining metaphor.]

Instead of relevant tidbits that advance the plot and build characters, we get info-dumping. A LOT of info-dumping. Long paragraphs and lengthy dialogues between rarely-seen secondary characters about the politics of violent unionizing. At the 85% mark, when the tension should be at the “omg holy sh*t” level, we get nearly four pages of post-strike details that add nothing to the story.

We also get several extended episodes of unnecessary and intrusive fashion porn, along with some random architectural detail (Hipped roof. Second story bay window above an inset porch. Gabled ells at front and side…) that I seriously doubt the daughter of an impoverished Italian peasant farmer would know.

And that segues into my biggest frustration with the downward slide of the second half.

Early in their journey, Angelina observes her first dice game as Tonio attempts to win enough money to upgrade to first-class accommodations. She instinctively calculates the odds of each throw, and winds up spiking the game by spotting and staring down the cheater sitting across the table. The next evening, she’s whispering betting instructions in Italian in Tonio’s ear. And I’m thinking, “oh, hell yes, I love this woman.”

But then…our strong and capable heroine steps off the train and suddenly becomes a simpering idiot.

“I’ll put on my Italian accent and smile just so. I’ll flirt but only in an innocent, friendly way. The men love that. We’ll sell all the more cookies.”

And later….

“She used her foreign accent on them to such effect that they were overwhelmed by her charm. After a few days, she suspected that they bought cookies almost more for her smiles and small flirtations than for her culinary talents. That fact didn’t bother her at all. She brought a small bit of sunshine to their day, she reasoned.”

I’m sorry, but – oh, BARF. It’s great that Angelina finds a way to use her experience as a cook to make her own way in a foreign land. But she decides, because she’s a “natural flirt,” to use her feminine wiles and her exoticness to tease the rough and dirty miners into buying her profiteroles (which are “…exactly like a woman’s bosom – soft, creamy and ever so inviting.”) Yes, she chooses that approach deliberately, but I really really really wanted to see more of her steel-trap brain and not her batting eyelashes.

And one final hissy fit: They let the bad guy go. They had him at gunpoint AND knifepoint, and instead of tying him up and clobbering him with a shovel, they LET HIM GO. And then they whined in the next chapter that he’s “on the loose.” Oy. Uff da. WTF.

At the risk of instigating yet another flail over self-publishing, I think The Escort is an example of both good and bad. It stood out above thousands of other historical romances, it kept me reading, the copyediting and ebook formatting were flawless, and I am definitely going to consider reading upcoming titles. However, it is in dire need of a hard-ass editor to (1) address the pacing and character arc problems, (2) kill clichés like “not a classic beauty” and purple prose like the fir tree that “emitted its life’s essence,” and (3) bring out the authorial “voice” that I sense is in there somewhere.

After dithering quite angstily over the letter grade, I settled on a C — I can’t really recommend this title, but going by the overuse of italics in this review, I obviously felt strongly about it.

~ Kelly

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