I have never been a fan of historical romance, perhaps because most of my experience with them has been of the insipid, cheesy variety. Mistress of Mogador is not that. No ridiculous fragile women seeking validation from some musclebound man, poisoned by testosterone; no need to be saved by such a man, and no absurd, quixotic ruminations about love in the vein of puerile cupidity. No, the females of Mistress of Mogador carry the modern I’m-a-Nasty-Woman sensibility, in the most attractive and honorable ways. The characters here are also sufficiently flawed to burst from the page into personhood in the … Continue reading →