First I want to differentiate between good trash and bad trash. Good trash is fun enjoyable stuff that doesn’t shake you out of your comfort zone, or maybe only a little, in a tingly, giddy sort of way. Am I being insulting? I hope not. I love good trash. Georgette Heyer wrote the epitome of superb trash. She’s not the only one, but she’s safely dead so I don’t have to worry about insulting her.
Bad trash . . . bad trash is junk food for the mind and the heart. You may think it tastes good on the way down—and if you’re on a steady diet of it you won’t notice the icky chemical aftertaste—but it’ll fur up your arteries and make you stupid.
I never read anything by Georgette Heyer because I had lumped her somehow into the land of Harlequin romance and Danielle Steele. (and please don't think I look down on anyone who likes the Harlequin brand of romance, it just isn't my cup of tea. I love vampire books--yes, there will be a post--and I've gotten some funny looks over that, lol.) Part of me sincerely regrets having missed, like, 10 years of reading her extensive collection but the rest of me is so happy to have found a fun, enjoyable author who obviously put time and research in her settings.
To the books! The first one I read was The Grand Sophy. Dude. I laughed out loud more than a few times. This book was just so totally not what I expected. I'm going on memory for this one because I read it a couple months ago but I do remember that the characters were really the strong point of this Sophy was larger than life as she went about arranging everyone's life (which is pretty much what the book is about). Her cousin's fiancee was the best as a moralist who liked to make veiled snide comments about everyone and everything. Seriously, if you need a fun, relaxing, say, beach read, go get this book right now.

The second one is These Old Shades. I read this one more recently so I have pretty clear memories and even noted some of the opening passage. I mean, how awesome is this description of the lead gentleman:
“He walked mincingly, for the red heels of his shoes were very high. A long purple cloak, rose-lined, hung from his shoulders and was allowed to fall carelessly back from his dress, revealing a full-skirted coat of purple satin, heavily laved with gold; a waistcoat of flowered silk; faultless small clothes; and a lavish sprinkling of jewels on his cravat and breast”
I was also unreasonably tickled by the bowing:
“He made a magnificent leg”
Anyway, even though I've gone on about the writing, the actual book is about a man who exacts revenge in a very roundabout manner. I don't want to tell any more. :P

One caution: if you hate Jane Austen, you'll probably hate Georgette Heyer. :P
Also, this is getting long BUT here's Autumn's book of the week:

I have read this book to her approximately 80,000,000,000 times. The only relief I have gotten is today because the book is in her hello kitty suitcase in the trunk of my car. She packed it to take to Nanny and Boppa's yesterday where she probably had them read it to her approximately 80,000,000,000 times.
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