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brightknightie) wrote2026-05-30 09:30 am
brightknightie) wrote2026-05-30 09:30 am
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A Matter of Class by Mary Balogh
Before I donate it to the library, I want to share a quick observation about the storytelling in the short Regency romance novel A Matter of Class by Mary Balogh (original 2010, my copy 2024). For context, Balogh is a reliable, respected, bestselling author in this genre.
(The observation that I came to share is not that the cover illustration is painful: a nose-to ankles photo from behind of a woman in a costume so glaringly period-inaccurate that it has a very prominent zipper, shimmers with the syntheticness of its fabrics, and basically looks like it was purchased at Spirit Halloween. No, I'm compelled to add this only because the cover is sitting in front of me blaring its sad wretchedness and making me feel for the model, the photographer, and the actual illustrator who could have been employed and wasn't.)
What I wanted to share is that this story is structured such that the protagonists throughout know something essential that the other characters and audience do not. This is kept from the audience until the end. Once the story performs its reveal, that the protagonists were in cahoots pulling an elaborate "Please don't throw me into the briar patch" gambit by pretending to despise each other, it recasts everything that has come before, and is a relief, because it transforms the protagonists from pretty unpleasant people to pretty typical protagonists for this genre. I think that it is supposed to be amusing and cheeky, and I bet that it would be on a second read. But I almost didn't read to the end because the protagonists felt so unpleasant and doomed, being maneuvered into a marriage that apparently they did not want; knowing that this genre always ends happily, I was increasingly tense with dread that this was a kind of especially misguided execution of enemies-to-lovers. Was I supposed to have figured out their secret? If so, there were not enough clues. The only thing that kept me reading was the flashbacks to the protagonists' childhoods.
I think that the contemporary convention of this genre always being from the perspective of the hero and heroine really tripped up this idea. The same story from the perspective of a relative, friend, or employee could have been a compelling journey with clues and concerns, not a parlor trick. Perhaps ironically, a story written in the period could have pulled off this plot better (though it would not likely have ever imagined this plot) because it would have had more narrative options.
(The observation that I came to share is not that the cover illustration is painful: a nose-to ankles photo from behind of a woman in a costume so glaringly period-inaccurate that it has a very prominent zipper, shimmers with the syntheticness of its fabrics, and basically looks like it was purchased at Spirit Halloween. No, I'm compelled to add this only because the cover is sitting in front of me blaring its sad wretchedness and making me feel for the model, the photographer, and the actual illustrator who could have been employed and wasn't.)
What I wanted to share is that this story is structured such that the protagonists throughout know something essential that the other characters and audience do not. This is kept from the audience until the end. Once the story performs its reveal, that the protagonists were in cahoots pulling an elaborate "Please don't throw me into the briar patch" gambit by pretending to despise each other, it recasts everything that has come before, and is a relief, because it transforms the protagonists from pretty unpleasant people to pretty typical protagonists for this genre. I think that it is supposed to be amusing and cheeky, and I bet that it would be on a second read. But I almost didn't read to the end because the protagonists felt so unpleasant and doomed, being maneuvered into a marriage that apparently they did not want; knowing that this genre always ends happily, I was increasingly tense with dread that this was a kind of especially misguided execution of enemies-to-lovers. Was I supposed to have figured out their secret? If so, there were not enough clues. The only thing that kept me reading was the flashbacks to the protagonists' childhoods.
I think that the contemporary convention of this genre always being from the perspective of the hero and heroine really tripped up this idea. The same story from the perspective of a relative, friend, or employee could have been a compelling journey with clues and concerns, not a parlor trick. Perhaps ironically, a story written in the period could have pulled off this plot better (though it would not likely have ever imagined this plot) because it would have had more narrative options.