new_user's Reviews > Delicious

Every character in Delicious effects a subterfuge, every one wearing a mask, Verity Durante's the most literal. Readers may grow weary of the hide-and-seek between Verity and Stuart Somerset. Stuart inherits his brother's cook and lover after that man's death, but Verity and Stuart have history and, she's decided, a doomed relationship, so she hides. He falls in love with her through her culinary delights-- and later, her afternoon delights. Hyuk, hyuk, hyuk.

I can't complain about this page after page, however. I'm suspending disbelief. Once reconciled to the premise, readers notice Delicious' realism. Sherry Thomas imbues Delicious with concrete time and place (i.e. Victorian England).

Verity mentions Fanny Hill, Stuart says "MPs," not Members of Parliament. He's a military background and mentions "bombings in the eighties" and bombings in the newspaper over breakfast, recalling to the reader the beginning of our modern era and our forebears' legacy of political violence, oft forgotten. Rather than break character to explain, as a less capable author might, Thomas expects her audience to divine clues from context.

Noble Stuart's disinterest in all things bodily until Verity may distance readers, evidenced by the secondary couple's greater appeal to reviewers (they're funnier- symphonic concerts, anyone?); likewise, Stuart and Verity's connection through her food and flashbacks versus a complete relationship, now. Whimsical, see?

Stuart and Verity's meaningful encounters in the present, however, compensate. At one time, Verity comforts Stuart, and I lauded Thomas. Her characters do not exist in a vacuum; they do not only think of their lust or even their love together. They live lives, hurt independently in "unexciting" ways, and the romantic interest is whomever's still standing, the person there to comfort them through an ugly, blotch-faced cry. This is real. Subdued her works may be, but not the less substantial or emotionally affecting for that.

Through nuances, Thomas portrays a more honest humanity, less dramatic but more complex, subtle and varied, far from cloning archetypes. She knows the pride of a man, once a poor boy, who thinks in passing, "never impose, never importune," his struggle to ask for something twice.

Food is simply a vehicle, a means for Verity to express her passion, and hunger a positive manifestation of renewed meaning to empty gestures, be that eating or a superficial marriage. For the record, I share Stuart's sentiment: "Food was sustenance, something to keep him alive and healthy, nothing more." Regarding Cinderella, the fairy tale is simply there to be negated:

"It’s because these tales have been written by men, men who have never spent so much as an hour in the kitchen. The real Cinderella curses, smokes, and drinks a bit too much. Her feet hurt. Her back hurts. And she’s resentful. She would like her pumpkin coach to run over the Wicked Stepmother. And Prince Toad too, if possible."

Delicious is not a retelling or even near one, except for Verity's ludicrous, overlong disguise and a too-neat ending; that was just an excuse. By discussing fairy tales, Verity and Stuart confess their histories and dreams and through that thin guise reveal themselves.

Like His at Night , Delicious' premise is absurd, but Delicious has more substance. I saw much more than a Cinderella remake or the silly premise. The poignant themes of grief and estrangement, a brother's death and two brothers' relationship, really resonated with me, among other things. If you like a subdued tone, realistic, flawed, three-dimensional characters (with jobs), and of course, beautiful prose in your historical romance, I recommend Delicious.