Mr. Impossible is the first and only book by Loretta Chase that I have read. I chose it based on the setting and the popularity of the author, not knowing, since the cover makes no mention of the fact, that it was part of a series. What I also did not realise was that Mr. Impossible is the regency historical romance version of The Mummy with the paranormal element excised. I thoroughly enjoyed the film. This book? Well, the Egyptian locales kept me engaged long enough to finish it...
1821. When widow Daphne Pembroke negotiates the release of reckless trouble-maker Rupert Carsington from a Cairo gaol, it is on the understanding that he will help her locate her missing brother, Miles. Upon returning to her lodgings with Rupert, she discovers that a certain papyrus for which Miles had paid an extortionate amount of money has been stolen.
The search leads the pair on a dangerous journey up the Nile. Unknown enemies will do anything to solve the riddle of the papyrus, which Miles was abducted to decipher; it is believed to hold the clue to the location of a royal tomb of fabulous wealth. Rupert quickly discovers what only close friends know: the family scholar is not Miles, but Daphne. And if she was not so enamoured of hieroglyphs and irritated at Rupert's behaviour, she might in turn discover that he is actually quite good-looking. And strong. And refreshingly appreciative of both her fine figure and her superior intellect.
After a catchy opening scene the first chapter of Mr. Impossible slides into a morass of back story, information dumping, and internal monologue from which the story only intermittently recovers. At times I wondered whether the author ran out of time before getting the details into proper shape. The uneven pace and lumpy storytelling put me in mind of an advanced draft which has been fleshed out with internal monologue and research results but has not received a final polish.
Another major problem for me was the mystery. The author interwove the action and romance strands tightly and interestingly, but thereby built up expectations that were unravelled by a surprisingly anti-climactic resolution to the actual mystery. After all the high-energy chasing around the country, the reason for the drama fizzles into nothingness.
Moreover, after a hurried last chapter the scene shifts abruptly to England for the epilogue. In it there is no explanation of what the transition involved for the various characters. That the loose ends included the fates of Rupert and Daphne’s adopted Egyptian “family” made me doubly annoyed when the last pages turned out to be devoted to Rupert’s family, not the hero and heroine. The ending of Mr. Impossible typifies why I normally avoid books that are part of a series.
For me, the saving grace of both prose and dialogue was the humour, largely thanks to the happy-go-lucky character of Rupert. Drawing emotional reactions from the prim Daphne becomes his chief delight, and so he deliberately tries to exceed her lowest expectations about his intellectual capacities. After all, she has told him that he is to provide the brawn, she the brain. Unfortunately, while his wit makes for entertaining reading, it also undercuts the endlessly repeated assertions about Daphne’s “formidable brain”. This is one of those novels in which the heroine is a purported genius but in which education is confused with intelligence.
Unlike Rupert, however, of whose background there is barely a hint, leaving much about his deeper character motivations unexplained, Daphne’s portrayal includes a sympathy-inducing history. Like Dorothea Brooke (Middlemarch), Daphne married an older scholar in the expectation that she would learn from him, study alongside him, and help him in his work. Instead, she was firmly shut out and told to occupy herself with women’s business. It has affected her self-esteem, and she continues to wear mourning to protect herself from a world that does not understand or approve of her. She pours all her passion into her study of Egyptian writing and its secrets.
Fun-loving Rupert, whose fondest ambition besides helping Daphne is to “get her naked”, is well-matched with Daphne. His relaxed attitude to life and his earnest admiration of her intellect and courage begin to soften Daphne, and in consequence her confidence grows and her talents blossom. After the over-emphasis on his physicality, it was a nice surprise to learn that he actually possesses an artistic talent, too; in my mind, this helped form an intellectual bridge that strengthens their emotional attachment. Although the love scenes did not move me, I very much liked that Daphne, whose husband was repulsed by her sexual longings, takes the initiative with Rupert, and that he enjoys this.
As for the depiction of Egypt, as is common the emphasis in Mr. Impossible, too, is on antiquities and the past, not on contemporary society. Locals form a dim, stereotypical mass who are referenced to highlight Rupert’s ethics, for example, or to provide comic relief. Political commentary is confined to mentions of negative views of Europeans and a strongly critical attitude toward the Ottoman rulers of the country. Still, Mr. Impossible is far from a wallpaper historical, and while I learnt little about contemporary culture I rather enjoyed the cruise along the Nile, and the visits to places such as Saqqara.
So, did Mr. Impossible persuade me to read another romance from the author’s backlist? No. Still, I saw enough of the qualities that so many readers love about Loretta Chase’s books that I remain open to future possibilities. If the setting she chooses is as fascinating as the one in Mr. Impossible, I may very well pick up that story.
Excerpt
(Berkley Sensation, 2005, page 123-4):
"She found treasure enough for her, though, deep in the bowels of the pyramid.
The chamber was all and more that Signor Segato had promised. Upon the dark blue painted ceiling gleamed golden stars. Turquoise-colored tiles covered the walls. But most wondrous of all was the doorframe. Above it and along the sides were hieroglyphs, beautifully cut in low relief.
A repeated motif adorned the sides. A falcon wearing the pharaoh's crown stood upon a rectangular pedestal divided into two squares. The top square contained three signs: at top, the hatchet that signified a god; beneath this, the almond shape that she'd decided must be the r sound; and under it a sign less familiar: a rattle, insect, flower, or musical instrument, she couldn't be sure. Four vertical sections divided the bottom square. Did these signify pillars? she wondered. Doors?
'Is that the god Horus?' came Mr. Carsington's deep voice from behind her.
The voice went straight down her spine and up again. In self-defense, she adopted her pedantic mode. 'So it appears,' she said. 'The sign below him is the one Dr. Young interprets to mean god. As you see, Horus wears a pharaoh's crown. The kings were believed to be gods. Perhaps this one was closely associated with Horus.'
'The signora can read the ancient writing?' Signor Segato asked.
'Ah, no,' Mr. Carsington said quickly. 'She has read a little Greek, though.'
'Herodotus,' Daphne said quickly.
She really must learn to keep her hieroglyphic speculations to herself. As Noxley had remarked, the Egyptians loved to talk, and news traveled swiftly."
