I remember Georgette Heyer's Regency romance books vividly from my young teenage years. They always had painting-like covers showing impossibly beautiful people from times gone by. At that time, the stories didn't intrigue me; I gravitated toward Victoria Holt and Barbara Michaels in those days. But my sisters-in-law are big fans, and they recently discovered that her books are back in print. One of them gave me The Foundling to read. It stayed on my nightstand for a while, but I finally picked it up. I'm very glad I did.
What I didn't recall at all from days gone by was the humor that Heyer injects into her stories. It's like she's poking a bit of fun at the very scenarios she creates. This particular story is full of breach of promise, mistaken identity, besmirched honor, missed communications, and drawing room situations (why don't we have drawing rooms anymore?). I enjoyed the book thoroughly, and I'm taking a couple of more to the beach with me later this month.
All in all, they are not life-changing stories. They are Fluff-n-Trash at their very best. After slogging through Ahab's Wife recently, it was a welcome change of pace. The books are very visual to me--I could picture them as movies. I wonder why that hasn't ever happened to Heyer's books. Maybe now that I've read one, it will. I seem to have that mysterious power--I try to only use it for good. Sometimes I read a book only to hear that a movie is in the offing, and I want to shout, "Noooo!" Feast of Love was a recent example. But if my powers lead to a Heyer book making its way to the big screen, I could live with that. I'll let you know if I hear anything.