Well, this novel definitely falls into the I Don't Know What The Fuck I Just Read category. Maestra by L.S. Hilton gave me some very conflicting thoughts, not unlike the book itself; it's Fifty Shades of Grey without the whiny Anastasia, and Nancy Drew with extra naughty. And if there is one thing the book taught me, it's to never underestimate the underling.
Judith is a put-upon art house assistant whose talents are grossly overlooked and taken advantage of. When she accidentally discovers an impending heist, Judith sets off on a European tour that would make even the Hilton sisters green with envy (and scream from all of the spanking).
Maestra starts out interesting enough, though the uncovering of the heist is a bit confusing. It helps that Judith's work and her obvious display of intelligence are interspersed with erotic sex scenes with strangers who also happen to swim in the same circles, which is just the beginning of the various contradictions.
Then Judith seems to put her Nancy Drew routine on hold while she high-end hooks from the French Riviera to Geneva. The book synopsis will have you believe that Judith sets out to reclaim what is rightfully her's when it's really more of something falling into her lap and she is just selfish enough to go after it. The story is empowering though degrading, overly complicated yet too easy, glamorous but trashy, and classy yet sleazy. The writing is pretentious and elitist even though Hilton has a proclivity for the word "cunt," and although Judith - as well as the book - scoffs at the idea that a woman embracing her sexuality is a result of trauma, she still peppers the story with snippets of Judith's violent childhood. Aside from that, we never get to know anything about Judith besides her fashion choices and how wet her pussy gets.
The writing - unlike the inside of Judith, apparently - is not smooth or fluid, and although Hilton obviously has a very broad vocabulary, it doesn't extend to her sex scenes. And what Judith makes look easy, Hilton over-complicates with her list of geographical places in lieu of any imagery.
Maestra is definite superficial erotic escapism in the way that is totally unreal and unbelievable. And even though Romance novels are always outside the realms of reality, I feel duped with this book for some reason; the execution just missed the mark. I won't rush out to the bookstore to continue the trilogy, but I won't turn it down if I happen across Domina at the Dollar Tree.
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