O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey’d monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on. – William Shakespeare
A. You get a singer and a guitar player who need their wee melons thumped, that’s what. Leastwise, that’s what I think.
Oh, and that straight thing isn’t really set in stone either, so that’s fun. And having said that, here’s another fun thing: nothing says I love you quite like telling a man he’s wrecked you for sex with other people. Aw. This book is chock full of fun things.
I guess all it means is there are lots of ways to express the concept of being a couple, though I think I like the direct approach much better. But then again, that takes all the guess work out of things and where’s the fun in that, when all that does is bypass the jealousy and agony and complications, not to mention the chance to knock out a dude’s tooth? That’s a rhetorical question, by the by. Yes, this is the eventual conclusion Sky St. Clair (nee Somers) and Brandon Fox (nee Cruikshank) come to, that maybe, maybe they can make this relationship thing work, but oh my gawd! The anxiety Melanie Tushmore put me through to get there was…so very worth it.
Oh, and there is one other lesson about love that Ms. Tushmore dispenses in this lovely rock ‘n roll romp: when a fan says, “I love you,” it’s probably wise to sniff skeptically at that sentiment. It’s also a good idea not to go larking about the countryside with a stranger you think you’re just using to bait your pseudo-enemy-love-hate-ha-take-that! person of interest. It’s sound advice; Number One Fans say the “L” word and then tend to hobble you and take a sledgehammer to your ankles. Or something else that’s potentially as unpleasant.
The Green-Eyed Monster (Crucifox #1) is the story of the rise of the band Crucifox from obscurity to the international spotlight, and the dredging and dragging along of all the good and the not so great that comes along with that success—the sex, the drugs, the alcohol, of course; you know that score by now, but you can also draw some of your own conclusions about clashing egos and sexual epiphanies and raging jealousy that seems to stem more from seeing what you expect to see than it does from witnessing what’s actually there. At least some of the time–the rest of the time what’s seen is pretty much exactly as it appears. It’s all in here, and so much of what made this book one I devoured and then went back over just to read some of my favorite parts again.
Set in the latter days of the 80s and on into the early 90s, when hair bands were big and Aqua Net was slowly but surely chewing its way through our ozone layer, The Green-Eyed Monster is like a backstage pass to a musical version of boys-behaving-badly, and it was a huge hit for me. The problem is these boys just aren’t very good at communicating what’s what: personally, I blame the drugs, alcohol, and hairspray. Sooner or later, it’s all bound to muck with a bloke’s ability to rub a couple of brain cells together and spark a clue. I don’t mind telling you I growled at this book, I laughed out loud (the previously unrealized comedic potential of haggis has now been tapped), I’m pretty sure I pffft at it a couple of times, too, and then I was left with an evil, evil cliffhanger at the end for all my efforts. I’m only mildly anxious for the sequel, if mildly is loosely defined as: can’t stop obsessing about what’s coming next for Sky, Brandon, and the band.
I’m pretty confident I just became an instant groupie.