Well, Pajiba beat me to it with the review, but I also read Tender Wings of Desire and can confirm there is no sex of any bestial double entendre in this book. And honestly, we should all count ourselves grateful, because in the age of 4chan, I think the greatest Mother’s Day gift we can all give is a world that continues to be free of the canonical sexploits of Antebellum Creepy Uncle. So, without feather ado, here’s the rest of the “review”:
The “plot,” for all that there is one (there isn’t) is covered in the link above, but I need to get one thing out of the way that made no sense to me, because I AM EXPECTING CONSISTENCY AND ACCURACY in my fast-food romance. This is the cover:
A practical woman, she has even remembered her purse into the early stages of ravishment! Importantly, though, she is modeling the very latest fashion-forward mom wear from the 21st century. THIS BOOK IS A VICTORIAN ROMANCE. Lady Madeline Parker is meant to marry a duke (who she addresses as “Duke” because lol) and she wears corsets, or whatever very remedial signal that this book is historical. I feel that the cover is false advertising. I am not sure why, but I was very sold on the idea of a contemporary romance featuring, well, the two people on the cover. (Mostly the drumstick.)
Hilariously, there actually is a plausible IRL model for the dude on the cover:
See what I mean about counting our blessings that the book didn’t get too fowl? (I can’t promise that will be the last one.) Hunky Wrestler Sanders is already a thing. The human imagination needs very little suggestion.
Look, this book wasn’t good. I am extra disappointed because I was literally just putting my wishes out there into the romanceverse for some savory food lovin’. It wasn’t even really worth the chuckle that other not good books are able to deliver. There actually wasn’t even any chicken in it? Harland Sanders revealed to be an ambiguous restaurant mogul, but there is nary a reference to the 11 original herbs and spices or anything. I’m embarrassed to admit that I might have actually had some expectations, but I kind of thought that at least half of the humor would be that she’s turned on as much by fried chicken as by The One That’s Not Bernie Sanders. The best thing I can say about Tender Wings of Desire is
but it’s a disappointingly poultry attempt at even satirical romance. I guarantee you an intern wrote this in an afternoon and it was proofread by, like, E.L. James.
I know you were probably hoping for more humor, but it’s the end of the week and my brain is honestly pretty fried, and there really wasn’t actually that much material to work with here. Not gonna lie, though, I’m pretty hungry for Popeye’s now.