It happened one autumn, di Lisa Kleypas

It Happened One Autumn by Lisa Kleypas
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Meno male. Stavo per avere una Kleypasiana delusione, ma ho ritrovato quel che mi aveva deliziato nei romanzi della serie Hathaways. Grazie a Marcus e Lillian questo libro è piacevole e coinvolgente!

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Alcune belle frasi dal libro.

"Yesterday I finally realized that all the things that I thought were wrong about you were actually the things I enjoyed most. I don't give a damn what you do, so long as it pleases you. Run barefoot on the front lawn. Eat pudding with your fingers. Tell me to go to hell as often as you like. I want you just as you are. After all, you're the only woman aside from my sisters who has ever dared to tell me to my face that I'm an arrogant ass. How could I resist you?" His mouth moved to the soft cushion of her cheek. "My dearest Lillian," he whispered, easing her head back to kiss her eyelids. "If I had the gift of poetry, I would shower you with sonnets. But words have always been difficult for me when my feelings are strongest. And there is one word in particular that I can't bring myself to say to you...'goodbye'. I couldn't bear the sight of you walking away from me. If you won't marry me for the sake of your honor, then do it for the sake of everyone who would have to tolerate me otherwise. Marry me because I need someone who will help me to laught at myself. Because someone has to teach me how to whistle. Marry me, Lillian...because I have the most irresistable fascination for your ears.” 
***
“There is nothing on earth more beautiful to me than your smile...no sound sweeter than your laughter...no pleasure greater than holding you in my arms. I realized today that I could never live without you, stubborn little hellion that you are. In this life and the next, you’re my only hope of happiness. Tell me, Lillian, dearest love...how can you have reached so far inside my heart?”
***
“You know,” she said dreamily, passing over his question, “you’re not nearly as handsome as Lord St.Vincent.”
“There’s a surprise,” he said dryly.
“But for some reason,” she continued, “I never want to kiss him the way I do you.” It was a good thing that she had closed her eyes, for if she had seen his expression, she might not have continued. “There is something about you that makes me feel terribly wicked. You make me want to do shocking things. Maybe it’s because you’re so proper. Your necktie is never crooked, and your shoes are always shiny. And your shirts are so starchy. Sometimes when I look at you, I want to tear off all your buttons. Or set your trousers on fire. I've so often wondered-are you ticklish, my lord?” 
***
“Fear you?" she said without thinking. "Good God, I would never do that."
Easing her head back, Westcliff looked at her while a slow smile spread across his face. "No, you wouldn't," he agreed. "You'd spit in the devil's eye if it suited you.” 
***
“Was she terribly ravishing in her underclothes?” Livia asked craftily. “Yes,” Marcus said without thinking, and then scowled. “I mean, no. That is, I didn’t look at her long enough to make an assessment of her charms. If she has any.” 
“Marcus…you are a healthy man of thirty-five—and you didn’t take one tiny peep at Miss Bowman standing there in her drawers?” “I don’t peep, Livia. I either take a good look at something, or I don’t. Peeping is for children or deviants.” 
***
“There was another crashing sound, this time coming from directly overhead, and a chorus of excited bellows from the onlookers caused the walls to tremble. Above it all, the innkeeper could be heard complaining shrilly that his building would soon be reduced to matchsticks.
“Mr. Hunt,” Lillian exclaimed, “I do wish that you would try to be of some use to Lord Westcliff!”
Hunt’s brows lifted into mocking crescents. “You don’t actually fear that St. Vincent is getting the better of him?”
“The question is not whether I have sufficient confidence in Lord Westcliff’s fighting ability,” Lillian replied impatiently. “The fact is, I have too much confidence in it. And I would rather not have to bear witness at a murder trial on top of everything else.”
“You have a point.” Standing, Hunt refolded his handkerchief and placed it in his coat pocket. He headed to the stairs with a short sigh, grumbling, “I’ve spent most of the day trying to stop him from killing people.”
***
“My lord,” came Daisy’s anxious voice, delaying him briefly. “You will find her, won’t you?” “Yes,” he said without hesitation. “And then I’m going to strangle her.”
***
“Westcliff looks for any excuse to demonstrate his superiority, doesn’t he?” “Was that what he was doing? It looked rather like he was trying to find an excuse to put his arms around you.”
***
“I know that he is not the easiest man to love. However, if you could bring yourself to meet him halfway…perhaps even a bit more than halfway…I believe you would never have cause to regret it.”

Summer of a secret night, di Lisa Kleypas

Secrets of a Summer Night by Lisa Kleypas
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Ok, a little downfall for my moment-of-love for Lisa Kleypas.
Yes, this book is well written.
But I despised Annabelle.
And I didn't like Simon.
And I didn't find the witty humor and the heart-thuddering moments that make her other books so enthralling and compelling.
The plot is predictable, the right person is always in the right spot at the right time.
I haven't cared for these two, as sad I am in admitting it.
Three stars only thanks to Marcus, and Gideon Shaw, and Stony Cross estate, and the adder.

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Lisa Kleypas

A volte succede che, a seguito di innumerevoli delusioni, della deplorevole scelta di copertine da parte di alcuni editori e dell'ineludibile abbassamento della qualità artistica dall'originale alla traduzione, si perdano delle perle.
A me succede abbastanza spesso con i romanzi storici.
Quelli che ho letto anni fa in italiano mi hanno abbastanza delusa, perciò difficilmente, anche in questi ultimi tempi, mi avvicinavo a certe autrici, benché pluripremiate e straosannate. Avevo ormai una certa nicchia di autrici che sapevo non mi avrebbero delusa, e raramente mi muovevo da essa.
Tuttavia, ultimamente, grazie a Katharine Ashe, mi era tornata voglia di leggere qualche historical romance, e mi sono detta...va bene, scegliamo la Kleypas, è così amata, anche se quel che ho letto in italiano non mi ha conquistata, probabilmente in inglese è meglio. Scegliamo il libro che ha il giudizio più alto su goodreads, Devil in winter, proprio brutto non sarà.
Un gioiello. La scrittura è raffinata, attenta, vivace, ha guizzi di umorismo, ironia e sarcasmo straordinari e dei dialoghi sapienti, personaggi interessanti, vivi, dettagliati, a tutto tondo, capaci di farti innamorare.
A Wallflower Christmas: una delle più belle lettere d'amore mai scritte.
Poi la serie Hathaways: ironica, divertente, coinvolgente, personaggi strani ma amabili, del tutto anticonvenzionale e con quei dialoghi freschi, intensi e scintillanti, e dei personaggi con uno stile arguto di battuta che Oscar Wilde avrebbe adorato.

In Italia non c'è bisogno di elogiarla, a differenza di altre autrici lei è già amatissima, ma non potevo non renderle omaggio ora che anche io l'ho scoperta!




Perciò....qualche frase dall'ultimo romanzo della serie Hathaway, Love in the afternoon.


“One could pick apart love, examine every filament of attraction, and still it would never be fully explained.
It simply was.” 

***

“My family has always believed that when we are faced with large and apparently impossible problems, the best solutions are found by the insane people, not the sensible ones.” 

***

“You are your own worst enemy. If you can learn to stop expecting impossible perfection, in yourself and others, you may find the happiness that has always eluded you.” 

***

“When Christopher finished, there was a moment of silence.
Leo looked at Cam expectantly. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Now is the time when you dredge up one of your blasted Romany sayings. Something about roosters laying eggs, or pigs dancing in the orchard. It’s what you always do. Let’s have it.”
Cam gave him a sardonic glance. “I can’t think of one right now.”
“By God, I’ve had to listen to hundreds of them. And Phelan doesn’t have to hear even one?” 

***

“I beg your pardon?” Catherine interrupted. “Are you implying that women have poor judgment?”
“In these matters, yes.” Leo gestured to Christopher. “Just look at the fellow, standing there like a bloody Greek god. Do you think she chose him because of his intellect?”
“I graduated from Cambridge,” Christopher said acidly. “Should I have brought my diploma?”
“In this family,” Cam interrupted, “there is no requirement of a university degree to prove one’s intelligence. Lord Ramsay is a perfect example of how one has nothing to do with the other.” 

***

“The trick was forgetting about what she had lost ...and learning to go on with what she had left.”

***

“He’s a man, dear,” Amelia explained kindly. “Sustained thinking is very difficult for them.” “As opposed to women,” Leo retorted, “who have the remarkable ability to make decisions without doing any thinking at all.”

***

“Beatrix puts a distance between herself and the rest of the world. She’s very engaging, but also quite private in nature. I see the same qualities in Captain Phelan.”
“Yes,” Amelia said. “You’re absolutely right, Catherine. Put that way, the match does seem more appropriate.”
“I still have reservations,” Leo said.
“You always do,” Amelia replied. “If you’ll recall, you objected to Cam in the beginning, but now you’ve accepted him.”
“That’s because the more brothers-in-law I acquire,” Leo said, “the better Cam looks by comparison.”

***

“Aristotle taught that stars are made of a different matter than the four earthly elements— a quintessence— that also happens to be what the human psyche is made of. Which is why man’s spirit corresponds to the stars. Perhaps that’s not a very scientific view, but I do like the idea that there’s a little starlight in each of us.” 

A love letter

A love letter

"The letter had been crumpled up and tossed onto the grate. It had burned all around the edges, so the names at the top and bottom had gone up in smoke. But there was enough of the bold black scrawl to reveal that it had indeed been a love letter. And as Hannah read the singed and half-destroyed parchment, she was forced to turn away to hide the trembling of her hand.

—should warn you that this letter will not be eloquent. However, it will be sincere, especially in light of the fact that you will never read it. I have felt these words like a weight in my chest, until I find myself amazed that a heart can go on beating under such a burden.

I love you. I love you desperately, violently, tenderly, completely. I want you in ways that I know you would find shocking. My love, you don't belong with a man like me. In the past I've done things you wouldn't approve of, and I've done them ten times over. I have led a life of immoderate sin. As it turns out, I'm just as immoderate in love. Worse, in fact.

I want to kiss every soft place of you, make you blush and faint, pleasure you until you weep, and dry every tear with my lips. If you only knew how I crave the taste of you. I want to take you in my hands and mouth and feast on you. I want to drink wine and honey from you.

I want you under me. On your back.

I'm sorry. You deserve more respect than that. But I can't stop thinking of it. Your arms and legs around me. Your mouth, open for my kisses. I need too much of you. A lifetime of nights spent between your thighs wouldn't be enough.

I want to talk with you forever. I remember every word you've ever said to me.

If only I could visit you as a foreigner goes into a new country, learn the language of you, wander past all borders into every private and secret place, I would stay forever. I would become a citizen of you.

You would say it's too soon to feel this way. You would ask how I could be so certain. But some things can't be measured by time. Ask me an hour from now. Ask me a month from now. A year, ten years, a lifetime. The way I love you will outlast every calendar, clock, and every toll of every bell that will ever be cast. If only you—

And there it stopped."

Lisa Kleypas, A Wallflower Christmas

Sognando te e L'amante di Lady Sophia, di Lisa Kleypas

Sognando te by Lisa Kleypas
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

E' il primo libro di Lisa Kleypas che leggo. L'ho apprezzato, soprattutto per la definizione non scontata dei personaggi, davvero ben rifiniti e originali. La trama, invece, ha avuto alcuni "colpi di scena" davvero prevedibili e alcune "coincidenze" troppo tirate. La conclusione mi ha ricordato un altro romanzo che lessi anni fa (il cui titolo andrò a cercare...l'elemento comune è l'ex di tuo marito che dà fuoco alla bellissima casa di tuo marito, che toh, in quel libro si chiamava Villa Craven, come il cognome del protagonista di questo). A parte questi elementi, però, è davvero un bel romanzo.



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L'amante di Lady Sophia by Lisa Kleypas
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Mi dispiace, ma, a differenza di tante persone, non sono riuscita a connettere con questi personaggi, né con la loro storia. Il libro è indiscutibilmente scritto bene, ma non mi ha fatto battere un palpito di cuore più del necessario. In alcuna scena. Non vi ho trovato suspance, romanticismo, profondità, sensualità particolari. Tutto mi è sembrato estremamente piatto. Proverò a leggere qualcosa di contemporaneo in lingua originale, chissà che finalmente anch'io non capisca questo sviscerato amore che le lettrici hanno per le sue storie.

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