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I hate Nora Roberts. Her gooey romance novels feature hackneyed plots whose
only purpose is to give context to the frequent and monotonous sex scenes. Her
books are the type toted on trains and planes by semi-literate talk show addicts
who read only as a last resort. I abhor "novels" that can be purchased in the
supermarket check-out, and my only concessions to mass market fiction have been
Stephen King and Jackie Collins. Understandably, then, it gives me great pain
to admit that I read Midnight Bayou on a recommendation from my mom, only
because of my passion for all things Louisiana, and ended up loving the book.