REVIEW: "A Rogue to Remember" by Emily Sullivan
As a 20-year-old — who was braver than I should have been given my inexperience — I spent a month backpacking around Europe.
When I look back on this now, I can’t believe that my mother didn’t discourage me when I expressed to her my desire to trot around an unfamiliar continent with no plan and with only my equally sheltered college roommate as a companion. My disbelief in her willingness to let me undertake such a seemingly ill-fated adventure grows even more acute when I compare my youth then to that of my own children now. I was, at the time of my departure, only 9 years older than my eldest son — who is 11 and has yet to successfully prepare toast without assistance.
Though I might not be able to understand why my mother didn't try to stop me from traipsing around Europe, I am glad she didn't, because I built so many memories on that trip.
Memories of taking in shows in the West end from nosebleed seats, thanks to student tickets purchased day-of for ￡15.
Memories of eating eggrolls on the questionably clean comforter that topped the bed in our hotel in the Paris district of Montmartre.
Memories of raising blisters on my heels, walking around Rome from sun-up to sundown.
One of the fondest in this vast collection of now rapidly fading memories is set in Venice.
The sun had just slipped below the watery horizon when my roommate-turned-travel-companion and I, hungry and exhausted after a day of exploring, decided to forgo dinner and subsist on gelato. We were standing outside of a shop — probably trying to decide whether the posted costs fit within our tight budgets — when we were approached by a raucous group of 50-somethings.
As they got closer we could hear that they were speaking English with an inelegant American accent. They must have detected that we were Americans as well, likely overhearing our conversation, as they quickly began insisting that they buy us our gelato. They forbade us from refusing, telling us they were trying to, "spend their children's inheritance.” So intense was their insistence that we did allow them to buy us our wholly unhealthy dinner of choice, despite the fact that we could easily see that they were absolutely shit-faced drunk.
I feel like those are the kinds of things that happen in Europe - the random and unexpected and semi-magical.
And though my time in Europe was separated from that of our protagonist, Lottie, by more than 100 years, her similarly remarkable experiences seem to reinforce my notion.
Though Lottie likely hoped to experience some adventure in Italy, she mainly headed to this European peninsula seeking escape. Specifically, escape from the rigid social structure of London that essentially dictated how she, a woman of means, would have to live out her life.
When Lottie — short for Charlotte — first came out in London society, the expectation was that she would quickly find a husband and settle into her role as a wife and, ultimately, a mother. But, much to the chagrin of her uncle and guardian, Lottie rebuffed all interested suitors.
While she never explained her reason for doing so — partly because her uncle wouldn’t have been swayed even if she had — there was a significant force driving her to turn down all advances: she was in love with another man.
Though, in childhood, Alec was Lottie’s friend, as she matured so did her feelings for him, growing into something much deeper.
But Alec never returned her affections, or so Lottie had always been led to believe.
And because she would rather be single than marry a man she didn’t love, Lottie has allowed herself to approach the precipice of spinsterhood.
Despite the fact that she should be spending the season in London looking for the perfect man — or any man, really — to wed, she convinces her uncle to allow her to venture to Italy under the watchful eye of a chaperone.
Shortly after her arrival, though, Lottie ditches this chaperone and runs away to a small Italian village. Before slinking off into the night, Lottie leaves a trail of made-up clues, all of which suggest she has run off with a man, ruining herself for a spouse and all but ensuring that she lives out her days alone.
But there is someone who is determined not to see her ruined. The man dedicated to defending her virtue — and, in doing so, ensuring her future — is Alec, the very same man who induced Lottie to fake her ruin in the first place.
When Alec arrives in the village in which Lottie has sought refuge, he is determined to salvage her reputation and return her to London society so that she can be married.
Though Alec is working with the blessing of Lottie’s uncle, he didn’t come to Lottie’s rescue simply at the behest of this man — with whom he has his own complex relationship. On the contrary, Alec was motivated by his own deep, unyielding feelings for Lottie.
Feelings that very much mirror the feelings she has for him.
When I picked up this novel, I was hoping to be transported. I was hoping to see a place I once knew in a time too far removed from my lifetime for me to have known it. And, I must admit, this did happen.
In her debut, author Emily Sullivan did take her readers back to a time that, while free of the complications provided by technology, was rich in complications stemming from expectations.
Unfortunately, though, despite my desire to truly immerse myself in this long-ago love story, I found myself struggling to do so.
This difficulty was owing to one major weakness: the characters.
They were flat.
Boring.
Static.
And, worse yet, they were unlikable.
What surprised me most was that, try as I might, I couldn’t bring myself to care about Lottie.
By all accounts, she should have been a character that I liked. I expected her to be a strong confident woman, determined to allow neither the expectations of society nor those of her uncle to dictate the choices she made.
The problem was, her actions just didn't fit. The things she did, the way she thought, the words she said, just didn't match up with the type of almost anachronistically headstrong woman she was intended to be.
Another factor that hindered my enjoyment of this book was the complexity of the plot. It’s not that it was hard to follow, it was just that it felt unnecessarily complex. There was an awful lot going on, and most of it just didn’t really seem to work. What was likely intended to be twisty and surprising just felt clunky and forced.
This book had its moments. I don’t regret having read it, but it certainly won’t be one that sticks with me.
It earns 2 out of 5 cocktails.
If you could travel to any European city, where would you want to go and why? Tell me about it in the comments, below.
Okay… let’s see… I think I’m feeling a thriller. Want to follow along with my reading and drinking? Subscribe to updates in the sidebar on the right and follow me on Goodreads.
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*I was provided a gifted copy of this title by the publisher*
