Ellman's (
Sweet Deserts; Varying Degrees of Hopelessness;) thin romantic plot is virtually obscured by lists, prattle, and rant, all of which might be palatable if not so buried under the author's distracting treatises. On a steady stream of exclamation points, italics, capital letters, plays on words, and alliterations, readers are force-fed heavy-handed feminism along with a bit of bawdy sex. In place of literary substance that might better bolster and advance the story line, lists pop up as the device of choice, page after page of: Why I Hate Bathrobes, Things That Bug Me, etc. Also tossed into the mix are songs, recipes, and other asides.
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