I think I should probably just admit defeat when it comes to James' work. It's merely not my cup of tea. And yet... here I am, reading and reviewing The Mister. Oops.


London, 2019. Life has been easy for Maxim Trevelyan. With his good looks, aristocratic connections, and money, he’s never had to work and he’s rarely slept alone. But all that changes when tragedy strikes and Maxim inherits his family’s noble title, wealth, and estates, and all the responsibility that entails. It’s a role he’s not prepared for and one that he struggles to face.

But his biggest challenge is fighting his desire for an unexpected, enigmatic young woman who’s recently arrived in England, possessing little more than a dangerous and troublesome past. Reticent, beautiful, and musically gifted, she’s an alluring mystery, and Maxim’s longing for her deepens into a passion that he’s never experienced and dares not name. Just who is Alessia Demachi? Can Maxim protect her from the malevolence that threatens her? And what will she do when she learns that he’s been hiding secrets of his own?

From the heart of London through wild, rural Cornwall to the bleak, forbidding beauty of the Balkans, The Mister is a roller-coaster ride of danger and desire that leaves the reader breathless to the very last page. 


This was part of a buddy-read. Normally, I wouldn't have picked up another E.L. James book after the massive miss that was her prior releases. (I'm looking at you, Fifty!) But, my friend was very insistent that I give this a chance with her. And, admittedly, there was a spark of curiosity on my part. I wanted to see how E.L. James' writing has improved in the years; I wanted to see if this was a more thoroughly compelling book.

The Mister, unfortunately, was nothing short of a cringe fest. The brand of cringe that is E.L. James has expanded through the years. This book is just plain... not good. It is mediocre and dull. It is pretty much as lifeless as a novel can get in my eyes. The Mister wastes its own potential and falls into the trap that breaks a novel. If it's possible, James' writing has somehow become worse since her prior releases.

Much like with the Fifty Shades books The Mister has very little development and focuses far too intently on things that don't really matter in the end. There is basically no chemistry between the characters. Any sparks that may flicker in and out are subpar, at best. And, as always, her characters have the tendency to lack any sort of personality and talk in a way that is rather embarrassing. Nothing quite to 'my inner goddess' levels, but still... disjointed and awkward.

To make matters worse the flaws that were each so prominent in her previous novels were just as present now. In-fact, there are some moments that felt recycled from said books. Maybe even from others, I'm not sure. Regardless, next to nothing about The Mister worked. It read like a book that had nothing going beyond surface level and had the tendency to drag on.

I've always said that E.L. James' romance is flawed and cringe-worthy at its best, but that she has the potential to write something that would blow fans of the genre away--unfortunately, The Mister is not that book. This is the type of book that pulls me away from the genre from time to time and puts me in the worst kind of reading funk.