The back cover summaries of books provide just a mere insight into how editors (or the authors themselves) regard the stories they’re about to deliver. As in the case of movie trailers, there seems to be a pre-established pattern when creating an impactful description: tempting keywords, a relatable major crisis and a set of thought-provoking questions. Under such circumstances, the reader has no choice but to snatch as many books as possible, in hope of finding some sort of remedy throughout the pages. But do the descriptions always stick to their promise of putting forward a meaningful journey? Or do they have the tendency to mislead the readers and encourage them to expect something else?
If we were to talk about Sharon Gosling’s The Diamond Thief, the main engaging elements would be a skilled burglar who steals for her circus owner, and some cursed diamonds. The action takes place in a Victorian London and it mostly focuses on Rémy Brunel, the trapeze artist who draws in huge crowds at the circus. She is the “Little Bird” who risks life for entertainment, after all. As soon as the gripping show is over, though, Rémy steps out of her comfort zone and faces more nefarious tasks. Her current (possibly the greatest, most likely the last) assignment is to break into the Tower of London and steal the fascinating Darya-ye Noor diamond (not your average piece of accessory, if I may say so). A high-risk heist should naturally include a mixture of tension and hesitation. At times there is a hint of it, but soon the main body of the story seems to lose the introduction’s impetus. Who would have expected that a young detective could simply shove away all the excitement I was rooting for?
Thaddeus Rec is perhaps the sort of investigator you would come across in the Victorian era. By no means does he resemble a modern cop. He gives you the impression that he’s an up-and-coming detective who wants to be perceived as the law itself whenever he walks down the streets. However, the plot gets a bit trickier when Thaddeus and Rémy’s paths intertwine, and the boy is suddenly suspected of having stolen the precious jewel. At this point, the reader still hopes for a spellbinding adventure, with Rémy as the star of it, but unfortunately that initial feeling of magic is neglected. The two teenagers fall in love with each other... and I couldn’t be more irritated.
If someone told me that I appeared to be cold-hearted, I wouldn’t blame them. My particular discontent with the portrayed young love puts me in a disapproving position, indeed. But in my defense, the gradual process of falling for a person will always be cherished a whole lot more than a rushed-up one. Undeniably, the action progresses throughout the course of a week, therefore how could someone possibly create a potentially incontestable relationship between two characters, within 270 pages? This requires at least a 3-book series filled with self-discovery and a better understanding of each other’s personality.
I suppose my bitter indignation is also due to the fact that Rémy has wasted her promising strength on a boy she’s only just met. She does voice a reasonable viewpoint during a desperate situation:
“Rémy paused again. She remembered the first time she had seen him, looking up at her from the sawdust into which he’d fallen after he tried to save her. And here he was, trying to save her yet again – but this time, from herself.
‘Stop trying to rescue me, Thaddeus Rec,’ she said. ‘We are what we are. I am a thief. You are a policeman. I steal, and you try to stop me. You are on the right side of the law, and I will always be outside it. That’s all. Don’t pretend that we are more than we are. We never were. We never will be.’ ” (page 192)
But these thoughts don’t last for long. 50 pages later, Rémy already showcases weakness and acts as if she couldn’t live without Thaddeus:
“Rémy stared at him, and the expanse between them seemed immeasurable. Her sight was blurred and she was crying, but still she could not say a thing. She did not want him to die. She did not want to be the reason for it, and she did not want to die knowing that he was not living on in the world because of her. But she couldn’t say any of this. She couldn’t.” (page 240)
I have to admit, these words do carry meaning, but they could have been more successful after a proper character development of Rémy. At the end of the day, she is a Victorian woman. Why not focus on her fight to gain recognition in her society? Why waste this opportunity by emphasizing an exaggerated love? The story would have shared a better ending if Rémy and Thaddeus figured out on their own that they had a misconception about one another. Hey, there is something special about him / her, after all. A much more powerful observation than Thaddeus’ insubstantial I love you and Rémy’s penny plain desire to stare into the detective’s mismatched eyes, one blue, like the sky over Paris on a sunny day, one brown, like good chocolate.
Maybe it was unwise of me to expect a story revolving mostly around a girl and a diamond when the back cover summary subtly anticipates other intentions: “Will Thaddeus manage to rescue the jewel? Or is it really Rémy that he needs to save?” I need to admit I was more captivated by terms such as “prowling through the backstreets of Victorian London” or “a world of treachery and fiendish plots”. And this actually brings me back to what I’ve mentioned in the beginning: descriptions can be deceiving. Although the main idea lies in the common reflective question, the summary’s wordplay makes you pay attention to other details as well. That is an effective strategy... but you also have to stick to it till the end. I truly believe Sharon Gosling could have created a purely stirring story with a fierce heroine and sensible decisions. A story where the characters don’t repeatedly escape danger in the nick of time, through some inexplicable abilities. A story with a suitable and touching approach towards love.
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