After diving into Mackenzi Lee’s The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue, I emerged with thoughts as mixed as a poorly stirred cocktail. Much like embarking on a grand tour across Europe, reading this book was a journey filled with both delightful vistas and bumpy, questionable roads. While the premise promised a thrilling adventure with a dash of romance and a sprinkle of historical charm, the execution occasionally veered off course.
The central plot revolves around Henry “Monty” Montague, a young British nobleman, as he embarks on a Grand Tour of Europe in the 1700s. Accompanied by his steadfast best friend Percy and his sharp-witted sister Felicity, Monty’s journey quickly transcends sightseeing and dips into a whirlwind of intrigue, treasure hunts, and pirate escapades. The initial allure of the narrative lies in its fast pace and adventurous spirit. The romantic tension simmering between Monty and Percy, alongside the welcome LGBTQ+ representation, adds layers of contemporary appeal to a historical setting. The concept of a young gentleman sowing his wild oats across Europe while dodging responsibilities and societal expectations is inherently engaging.
However, the narrative trajectory soon spirals into realms of implausibility. What begins as a coming-of-age journey morphs into an almost farcical series of events. Monty and his companions find themselves not just navigating cultural differences and social faux pas, but also being pursued across kingdoms, kidnapped by pirates, and stumbling upon alchemical secrets. While fiction grants authors creative license, the escalating outlandishness strains credulity. The line between adventurous and absurd becomes increasingly blurred, making it difficult to fully invest in the stakes.
Image alt text: Monty Montague looking skeptical and amused as his friend Percy outlines a risky and improbable plan, hinting at the fantastical elements of their European adventure.
Adding to this sense of disconnect is the writing style. Despite being set in the 18th century, the dialogue and narrative voice feel decidedly modern. Monty’s internal monologue and conversations often sound more akin to contemporary banter than the sophisticated prose one might expect from the Baroque era. While accessibility is valuable, the anachronistic language diminishes the sense of immersion in the historical period. Aside from occasional mentions of societal constraints faced by women, particularly through Felicity’s experiences, the 1700s setting often feels like a backdrop rather than an integral element of the story.
Felicity’s frustrations, eloquently captured in her lament about the unequal opportunities afforded to women, serve as poignant reminders of the historical context. Her yearning for intellectual pursuits and her resentment at being confined by her gender highlight a crucial aspect of the era that is often overshadowed by romanticized portrayals.
Image alt text: Felicity Montague engrossed in a book, symbolizing her intellectual curiosity and the limitations placed upon women’s education in the 18th century.
The writing also leans heavily on contemporary vernacular. While a touch of informal language can add character, the repetitive use of modern slang and expletives feels jarring within the historical context. Monty’s frequent use of phrases that feel distinctly 21st-century clashes with the supposed time period, further eroding the historical atmosphere. While aiming for relatability is understandable, a more nuanced approach to language could have enhanced the book’s immersive quality without sacrificing accessibility. The historical setting feels less like a carefully constructed world and more like a stage set for a modern drama in fancy costumes.
This issue extends to the setting itself. Despite being set in the 1700s and featuring locations like Versailles, the descriptions often lack the evocative detail needed to transport the reader. Monty’s dismissive observations of French nobles at Versailles, for instance, reveal a modern sensibility rather than an 18th-century perspective. His critique of their attire as “ridiculous” and “foolish” feels out of place in a narrative supposedly grounded in that era. Such descriptions, while potentially humorous, undermine the authenticity of the historical setting.
Furthermore, a particularly jarring moment arises when Monty, in a moment of frustration, laments the difficulty of undressing a woman in elaborate 18th-century attire. This extended complaint, while perhaps intended to be humorous or relatable, comes across as tone-deaf and self-absorbed. It highlights a recurring issue with Monty’s character: a tendency to prioritize his own minor inconveniences over broader perspectives and historical context.
Monty’s character, while intended to be a flawed and developing protagonist, often veers into the realm of unsympathetic. While his “sass” and rebellious nature are initially appealing, his self-absorption and insensitivity become increasingly prominent. His inability to empathize with others, coupled with his tendency to dominate conversations and disregard differing viewpoints, make him a challenging protagonist to fully root for.
Even when Monty attempts to be supportive, his actions are often driven by self-interest rather than genuine understanding. His interactions with Percy, for example, often reveal a lack of true listening and a tendency to project his own desires and interpretations onto Percy’s experiences.
Image alt text: A close-up of Monty and Percy engaged in a serious conversation, faces reflecting tension and unresolved emotions, hinting at the complexities of their relationship.
Monty’s insensitive remarks regarding mental health, particularly his flippant comment about poets and suicide, are particularly troubling. Given his own struggles with internal turmoil, such statements appear not only insensitive but also hypocritical. While historical stigma surrounding mental health is acknowledged in the narrative, Monty’s casual dismissal of such issues feels at odds with the book’s attempts to address them.
However, the supporting characters, Percy and Felicity, emerge as redeeming elements. Percy, a half-black Englishman navigating racial prejudice, is portrayed with depth and sensitivity. The book’s exploration of racism, while sometimes uncomfortable, is a crucial and impactful aspect of the narrative. Percy’s patience, understanding, and inherent kindness stand in stark contrast to Monty’s impulsiveness and self-centeredness, making him a far more compelling and sympathetic character.
Felicity, Monty’s younger sister, is a standout character. Her intelligence, academic aspirations, and unwavering determination to defy societal expectations make her a fiercely admirable figure. Her sharp wit and blunt honesty provide much-needed moments of clarity and humor, and her struggles against gender inequality resonate powerfully. Felicity’s character embodies a spirit of resilience and intellectual curiosity that is genuinely inspiring.
Image alt text: Felicity Montague with a focused expression, suggesting her intellectual pursuits and determination to overcome societal barriers to women in academia and medicine.
A significant point of historical inaccuracy arises with the mention of Jakarta. Monty lists Jakarta as a potential escape destination, placing it alongside Constantinople and Marseilles. However, this reference demonstrates a profound misunderstanding of 18th-century geography and colonial history. Jakarta, in the 1700s, was known as Batavia and was the heavily colonized center of the Dutch East Indies. It was far from an exotic escape destination, and its inclusion reveals a significant oversight in historical research. This historical blunder, while seemingly minor, undermines the book’s claim to historical fiction and raises questions about the overall attention to detail regarding the setting.
Despite these criticisms, The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue does offer moments of genuine enjoyment. The romance between Monty and Percy, while at times melodramatic and repetitive, possesses a certain charm. The dynamic between the two, characterized by playful banter, simmering attraction, and occasional misunderstandings, is undeniably engaging. However, the constant push-and-pull dynamic, where every moment of connection is quickly followed by separation, becomes somewhat tiresome and diminishes the emotional impact of their relationship.
The book also attempts to incorporate a mental health message, focusing on themes of self-worth and healing from trauma. While the intention is commendable, the execution is somewhat overshadowed by Monty’s character flaws and the overall fantastical nature of the plot. However, the underlying message about self-acceptance and recognizing one’s value is a positive element within the narrative.
In conclusion, The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue is a mixed bag. It offers a fast-paced, adventurous plot with LGBTQ+ representation and engaging supporting characters. However, it is significantly hampered by historical inaccuracies, an often unsympathetic protagonist, and a writing style that feels anachronistic. While the book has its enjoyable moments and addresses important themes, its flaws prevent it from fully realizing its potential. Despite its shortcomings, it remains a book that might warrant a reread, if only to further dissect its complexities and appreciate the more successful aspects alongside its more prominent missteps.
