2023 Reread: I admit, I got a little bored of this the second time round. I wasn't feeling the romance, the connection, the chemistry, the, ahem, machinations of it all. Lucy and Catherine are not as strong, interesting, memorable or likeable (as in, I'd have liked them to have some backbone, and be steel-spined and smart) as I had once thought, and I barely remembered what they were like after my first read years ago. Before the reread, I only clearly remembered the groundbreaking twist at the end.
The writing, while not bad, gets repetitive: I am not exaggerating when I say that nearly every page contains either Lucy or Catherine "taking a breath", "holding a breath", "letting out a breath", taking long breaths, inhaling and exhaling laboured breaths, and other descriptors of just about any way a person can breathe in a standard cheesy romance novel - out of nervousness, surprise, anger, desire expressed via flushing, or passion expressed while in ecstasy. In at least a few instances, breathing is described more than once in a single page. The overuse of breathing being written in 'The Lady's Guide to Celestial Mechanics' is, if I may be so bold, fragrant and flagrant, and trite and uninspired, and it never has anything to do with the breathing exercises sometimes used to calm panic attacks or anything of the kind. The phrase "slight smile" is also noticeably overused.
And I loathe nearly every male character in the book. Mr. Frampton and Brinkworth the butler are good, though.
I appreciate the all subject matters presented, and the diversity. Writing, characters, and the slow story, not so much.
In conclusion: Maybe historical romances aren't for me, or Harlequin/Mills & Boon-esque romances aren't for me, and there are better, more entertaining LGBTQ+ books out there.
Final Score: 3/5
Original Review:
A positive, wonderful, sweet, dreamy and steamy, and extremely well written queer (w/w) historical fiction romance: between a deceased astronomer's daughter who wishes to be an astronomer herself, the young and headstrong Lucy Muchelney, and a shy yet worldly widow to a travelling scientist who is fantastic at embroidery and other artistic pursuits, the closed off Lady Catherine Kenwick St. Day, Countess of Moth.
Each woman, among many, many others, is well educated, intelligent, talented, hardworking, warm, friendly, supportive, and brilliant. And the world of 1816, England, that only favours men, will turn against them at every turn, simply in regards to their sex, when they could honestly change the world for the better. Think of the giant, progressive leaps in science - and art - they could make, if given the chance.
A chance to shine like the billions of stars and constellations seen through a telescope at night.
Women have always deserved to be recognised and respected.
What a beautifully written romance 'A Lady's Guide to Celestial Mechanics' is. This is a harlequin romance pocketbook worth reading, and not just for the LBGTQ rep in historical fiction. The pretty explicit sex scenes are only part of the passionate aspects of the book.
Lucy and Catherine, two opposites but are women of great talent and ambition (though Catherine is more reserved and repressed, not to mention simultaneously scared and bored, as the result of the social conventions she is forced to conform to, and her abusive marriage), are startling and surprising to each other; as well as to the rest of the world, and themselves. They really are adorable together, and bring out the best - and life changing revelations - in the other.
Lucy is a scientist (unacknowledged) and an avid and imaginative translator of a groundbreaking French astronomy text, recovering from a broken heart; and Catherine (coded bi) is an enchanting artist who despite being a countess is deemed a useless widow and older woman in society, who takes Lucy into her home for her to do her work. Their love ignites, blossoms and boldly unfolds in a towering, astronomical ecstasy - from the library to the bedroom. And the astronomy tower. Their star will not die.
Science and art are not so very different from each other, for they both reveal human truths in their own way. Both fields are worthwhile and important for progress, as our queer lady couple will come to realise and understand as they develop.
The side characters are well developed and memorable as well, including the maids, a butler, a female publisher, and Catherine's Aunt Kelmarsh. Lucy's older brother Stephen, who is an artist who can afford to indulge in his passion, is awful, and the men of a London Society of scientific minds are no better. Their way of thinking is not so much progressive as merely an exercise in bragging rights and penis measuring. An excuse to be patronising and superior in their white male privilege. There are some decent men in both the scientific and artistic circles, however. Not all of them are straight, either.
Thankfully there is nonwhite representation, in characters such as Narayan, Catherine's maid, and William Frampton, the genius mathematician and inventor. Sexism, homophobia, and racism are issues that are presented with care and accuracy in this book. Intersectional feminism is key.
Nice to know that LBGTQ lovers could be freer before the 16th-19th centuries. Fact.
The book loses a star for me because I think it gets weaker towards its ending, storywise - like a third act contrivance, and it loses dynamic steam somewhat. A few characters don't receive the most satisfactory final scenes either, when they show up at all; their arcs are a little flimsy and flighty.
'The Lady's Guide to Celestial Mechanics' - A celestial joy. Silky, sensual, like it was flung from space, from the celestial heavens. It is hindered only by a weak but nonetheless woke and essential ending (that "twist" is worth it). If you liked Mackenzie Lee's 'A Lady's Guide to Petticoats and Piracy', then you're sure to adore this just as much.
An important edition to anyone's LBGTQ bookshelf.
Final Score: 4/5
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