All right, so I don’t have a dog. I wouldn’t let my cats read it, either.
Oy, Rodney! by Violet Crepuscular is one of those awful romance novels, but with an added twist: the author has hired goons–formal job description, “literary consultants”–to go into bookstores and make thinly veiled threats. The plot ain’t nothin’ to write home about, either.
Can young Lord Jeremy Coldsore, 5th Viscount Atropine, win the love of the aging but still quite homely Dame Margo Cargo, the richest woman in Scurvyshire? Or will the mysterious stranger who looks like Ed Begley, but isn’t, get in first? What is the awful secret concealed under the Vicar’s plastic wading pool? And how come there’s no character in this book actually named Rodney?
I haven’t read the book, so I can’t answer those questions.